Wow. So, uh, I guess you guys liked that last chapter, judging by the response. All those lovely reviews inspired me to buckle down and crank out another chapter! Kurichi-chan: The end of this chapter was made with you in mind. (*In jigsaw voice*oh, yes. There will be cuddling. Muhahaha!) And to all of you who liked the staple gun thing, I must give credit to Murder Junkie: Your ideas are ridiculously helpful. I am sorry for making your family gape at you. Your description of Chris and Wikus made me giggle like a fool if it's any consolation. And of course Oliver is cute as a bug. He pretty much is a bug. Seriously, he's the only child I can think of that I don't hate. I really don't do well with children, but I get the feeling that lil Oliver and I would get along well. We would scheme together to set up his daddy with Wikus. Thing With No Talent: Yeah, I'm trying (seemingly in vain) to keep it a little more towards the light-n-happy side, but who knows? I'm inspired by what goes on around me. And by you people. Mistah Eleganza: Here is a tissue for your nosebleed. Experiments you say? Well, all in the name of Science, right? Hmm, you may want another one of those tissues. In fact, just take the whole box. Illyric: I have not yet seen The Pursuit of Happiness; it's on my To See list, but I can tell already that I will grin dorkily at that scene. Glad to get your opinion on the whole Poleepkwa thing, I pretty much agree with you. Wow, sorry for the long opening credits, guys. Here's the chapter, enjoy! Cheery-bye!
"Okay," Wikus said apprehensively, holding the staple gun like a first-time surgeon holds a scalpel. "So, uh, I don't know if this is gonna hurt or not, but I'm betting it will."
Christopher nodded, his eyes half-lidded. He looked absolutely exhausted.
Well, shit, he's had seven kinds of crap kicked out of him and had to deal with taking care of his kid and me. No wonder he's tuckered.
The prawn, who was seated on the edge of the new mattress, turned and clacked calmly at his son.
"Little One, perhaps it would be best if you were not here for this."
Oliver chirped obediently and scampered into the other room, carrying the small holographic projection of their home world.
Wikus cleared his throat. "Ready?"
"Yes." The prawn faced him.
Taking a deep breath, the human reached out and placed his alien hand against one of the cracks that ran down the smaller plates of Christopher's right arm. Pressing the two jagged halves of the broken piece together, he quickly brought the staple gun up with his unchanged hand and punched it against the rift. Christopher cried out as the heavy-duty staple pierced him, his hands clenching, before he cut himself off, forcing his mandibles to still. Wikus winced in sympathy and punched in the next metal barb. This time the alien managed to stay silent, his face tightening as he bore the pain.
The process continued for almost an hour, with Wikus having to occasionally pick out and redo a misdirected or crooked suture. Each time the bit of the gun plunged, the human felt a twinge of guilt, but the prawn remained quietly controlled, his harsh breathing the only giveaway. Wikus was impressed.
At last he said, "Alright, I think that's all of 'em, except for this one on your back. I can probably get a better shot at it if you roll over on your stomach."
Christopher complied, flattening out on the bed, his head resting against his folded arms. Wikus pulled the prawn's vest up and unwrapped the bandage under it. He sucked in a breath. This one's gonna be difficult.
He fumbled about for a few minutes, trying to get a good angle, before Christopher quietly suggested, "Maybe—if you sat on my back, you could- get a better position…"
"Yeah." Wikus swallowed nervously. "Uh, are you sure you can handle my, uh, weight?"
"If you straddle my pelvis there shouldn't be a problem." Christopher was extremely glad of the fact that the human couldn't see his face or read the horrible embarrassment in his voice.
"Right. Great. Okay." Wikus croaked weakly. After several false starts, he buckled down and swung a leg over the prawn's hip. On the bright side, he thought, at least Christopher was facing down so he couldn't see how red the human's face was.
Just get it over with, he told himself.
When the first staple entered the damaged carapace, Christopher shuddered in pent up agony. The tremors shot straight through Wikus, who had to bite down on his lip to keep a surprised moan from escaping as he punched in the next one, and the next. For every staple, there was a shiver, a jolt of pain for the alien and guilty pleasure for the human.
All of a sudden, Wikus froze completely.
Christopher turned his head as far as he could. "Is something wrong?" His voice was strained but concerned.
"I—I've got a—I've g-got a…" The man astride his back stuttered.
"What?"
Wikus sputtered helplessly. "I've got—I- I- I've gotta go… outside. For a minute. I, uh, I have to take a piss. Alone." He scrambled off the alien and bolted out the door before the prawn could stop him.
Christopher cocked his head, baffled by the human's behavior.
Wikus scurried around to the back of the hovel, stumbling in the dark, breathing heavily. He crouched, back pressed to the wall, in some semblance of privacy, and dropped his head into his hands.
"Ohhh, go, no, I'm sick, I'm so sick, this is so, so wrong." He forced himself to look down. Yes, there it was.
"Oh god. Oh god. What is wrong with me? What the fuck kind of person gets a fucking hard-on sitting on a goddamn prawn?!"
He drew several big, deep breaths. "Shit. Shit."
Nothing else for it, I guess.
He swiftly unzipped the tattered remains of his trousers and pushed his underwear down. Biting his lip, he gripped his erection mercilessly with his left hand and began pumping quickly. Unbidden, his eyes closed and his mind's eye filled with images of Christopher, looming over him in concern. Christopher, eyes wide with surprise and distrust as he supported the bleeding human who had broken into his house and collapsed in his arms. Christopher nursing his wounds, dodging insults and punches. Christopher, stumbling home bleeding in the dark. Christopher, cradling the human against his chest. Christopher. Christopher.
"Ah, god," Wikus grunted, imagining the feel of the alien's hands down there instead of his own. The gentle susurrus of Christopher's mouthparts caressing his burning skin. With a sound halfway between a moan and a sob, Wikus came. He wiped his hand on a bloodstained t-shirt on the ground, zipped his pants, and hurried back inside.
~~~~~~*~~~~~~
Christopher was slowly and painfully struggling to sit up when Wikus walked in. The prawn was visibly trembling from pain and exhaustion.
"Hey, just lie back down, mate. It's gotta be almost eleven pm anyway." The human patted Christopher on the shoulder lightly.
The alien nodded and lay down on his side. Wikus stuck his head in the adjoining room and called for Oliver. The kid was sound asleep under the glow of the hologram. Wikus chuckled tiredly and lifted the child, carrying him out to the other prawn. Christopher's eyes shone with that unidentifiable emotion as the human set his son in his arms.
"Thank you, Wikus."
"Yeah, well, y'know. One good turn and all." Wikus crawled in behind the big prawn on the mercifully soft mattress and pulled up the ragged blankets. He was asleep in minutes.
He was back with the MNU people. He was strapped to a gun, alien arm bolted down, hand clamped to the trigger. The men pushed a prawn onto the range, threatening it with human guns and harsh words. The creature staggered, thin and delirious from whatever had previously been done to it. An "X" had been painted crudely on its shell. Wikus didn't understand for an instant, and then he saw the "X" and began to sob and beg anew.
"Please, no, don't make me, I'll- I'll pull the trigger, just please don't make me shoot that prawn, please, don't, I don't want to, please—"
But one of the men with the electrical batons stabbed at his arm and his fingers tightened convulsively and the blast of light shot out of the barrel. In the split second before it struck, he looked up and made eye contact with the doomed alien and oh god it was Christopher, it was Christopher throwing his arms up and screaming—
"NO!"
--and then he was gone in a million pieces thrown all over the wall and floor like a Jackson Pollock painting and the men were pushing another prawn, a child, onto the range to stand sobbing in the ruin of its father, and somehow Christopher was still screaming and Wikus realized that it was him, that primal, raw sound of overwhelming grief tearing out of his throat as the baton arced down once more toward his arm—
"NOOOOOO!!"
He shot up in bed, blanket flying off of him, covered in a cold sweat. Christopher was immediately awake at his side, Oliver blearily chirping in surprise and worry.
"Are you in pain?" The older prawn touched Wikus' left shoulder comfortingly.
Wikus shook his head violently, trying to drive the dream away. "Nuh-no."
"Did you have a bad dream?" Oliver trilled.
"Yeah." The human settled back down, turning away and dragging the covers back up to his neck. "Yeah. A dream." He couldn't stop trembling.
"It's alright, Little One. Go back to sleep." Christopher clicked quietly to his child. He turned back to Wikus and lay down facing him, wrapped himself around the human's form and stroked his hair gently. With a choking sound of relief and fear, Wikus rolled over and buried his nightmare in the solid presence of the wounded being. He slept again, and did not dream.