Peacekeeper Confessions

This is a little series I'm working on, short pieces for certain Peacekeeper characters about both their lives, and the human that showed up to disrupt them. Each piece will stand alone and I have plans for parts with Jenavian, Grayza, Braca, Gilina, Crais, Aeryn, and if I'm feeling daring, Harvey, because he's kind of a Peacekeeper. They may take place at any given time in the series or mini--so beware of spoilers if you haven't seen The Peacekeeper Wars. This first part does have mini spoilers, even though I hadn't intended to take it that far in the storyline.

Part One: Thirst (Scorpius)

Summary: Scorpius's relationship with John, from the start to the end.

Note: This came out not at all like I wanted, and I'm a little worried I've begun repeating myself, but there were some things I ended up liking about it, and it was a fun experiment if nothing else.

There was a routine to his life. Not like any of the others, naturally, who woke and donned their uniforms, asked no questions and did only as they were told, but routine nonetheless. He woke and gave into the Banik's pleading, let him ride in the chair, asked him what he was hiding and watched curiously as he cried out for another spin. He had a black body suit, and he didn't ever take it off. It was part of him, his shell, holding his body together while the cooling rods held together his mind.

There was little interference from the others with his plans, his mission. He was intelligent, unique, and they left him mostly alone. He had finally received the Gammak base he had been requesting, one hidden on the fringes of the Uncharted Territories, closer to the Scarrens and farther away from High Command. There was no one to tell him what to do or how to do it anymore, he held all the power, but it wasn't power he wanted.

He wanted revenge, and power was simply a means to an end.

His routine went unchallenged for cycles, until the thought of revenge consumed him and he could see nothing else. The heat in his blood, the half-Scarren blood, drove him on even as he resented it. And he did resent it, though he would not trade in the way he was for anything.

He could see the way Sebeceans looked at him, like he was some creature, beneath them--and he did not care. He knew he was better, and he had no desire to be just like the rest. He had no ill will towards Sebeceans, but they could be so surprisingly weak. His mother had been Sebecean, and he thought if she still lived he might actually have grown to care about something--but she was not, because of the Scarrens, because of him, and nothing mattered now but seeing them all dead.

The key to his revenge came walking through his base one day, while he was on his way to retrieve Stark, breaking his routine with that life signature he had never seen before--burning brightly like fire in the corner of his eye.

John Crichton.

He had been intrigued immediately. It wasn't every day a spy came walking into a top-secret Peacekeeper base, and it had never happened in one of his. And this particular spy carried in his brilliant mind everything he had been searching for, the answers to controlling wormholes. When he somehow managed to slip through his fingers, escape the base no prisoner had ever left alive, Scorpius had another mission in life.

The capture of the human fugitive, and the retrieval of the knowledge that would defeat the Scarrens once and for all.

Very little came as a challenge to Scorpius, and he handled most situations with startling ease. He had escaped the Scarrens when he was still a boy, and little could faze someone who had survived what he had. But John Crichton was a challenge, and he was forced to use all his intelligence to guess the human's next move--and he did not always guess right.

His Gammak base was destroyed in a flash of bright orange light, and many Sebeceans were lost to the explosion, and more still later, had succumbed to heat delirium and been put to death with mercy in mind. That was when John Crichton became more than simply a prisoner, a commodity and a curiosity--that was when he became an equal, and Scorpius had never before had an equal.

He became obsessed. Before, the only obsession Scorpius would allow himself to have was his quest for revenge--little else in his life mattered. He was drawn to the human that was as unique as he was, the only man he knew of to have the knowledge he so desperately needed, and with every day their kinship grew stronger.

John did not see it, of course. He fought him even when Scorpius came to his side, but that he would not acknowledge what was between them did not make it go away, and closer they became.

He got a thrill every time he woke on Moya, so far from his routine, so far from the power of before--in a cell, though admittedly one that had no chance of holding him. He felt this strange feeling of achievement despite that his situation did not warrant it, because he had been stripped of everything and made a prisoner by his former prey--he should have been furious, but this was Moya, this was John's Moya, and he was there now too. And John promised not to harm him, not that Scorpius believed he actually could.

When they stopped locking the door and he moved freely, he would watch Crichton when he did not know he was there. He could hear private conversations through the com system he had rewired to obey him, and he learned more and more, stored the knowledge in the back of his mind. Counted down the days until John realized what would have to be done.

He would entertain ideas of killing the ones he did not need, leaving alive only John and perhaps the Kalish girl, contacting High Command and getting them back on his side. He did not know, exactly, why he did not--but he had patience and he diligently put it to the test, because he knew how easily you could be destroyed by your own ambition. He had watched it happen. Grayza, Crais, countless others, they were all proof of this--but he was not like them.

So he waited in the shadows, and he watched but took no action other than to save Crichton's life if it was in danger, which it almost always was.

Eventually, John stopped fighting so hard. More today than yesterday, he had said, and the pattern had continued to the point John had actually come to him for help. With reluctance, of course, but this was something Scorpius could understand. He did not enjoy asking for help, either, but John did not see it was different for them--they could help each other without shame, they were tied together. So very much alike.

Different, too, obviously. Crichton had many ideas of loyalty and honor, friendship and love, and Scorpius supposed this was a result of his isolated former life. He was learning, and soon he would see, there was no place for such things here.

They had taken the blood oath, the one brutal legacy of his Scarren heritage that he had not thrown away in distain--and John did not realize, but it bound them together. The bitter taste of his blood, coppery, and warm like his, had lingered for days.

There was so much more to John Crichton than some knew, and though he disagreed with his recklessness there was much to be admired in his foolish flare--and for all his knack for trouble, he made it out of situations without a scratch that would have killed anyone else. Scorpius had learned never to underestimate him, because he could look you in the eye and pretend he didn't have a clue, while gears were spinning plans in the back of his mind.

He would have made an impeccable Peacekeeper, a dangerous one with his indiscipline, but effective none the less. If Crais had not been such a fool, it might not have taken four cycles to force John to give in to him, for the words 'pretty please' to unlock the weapon that would stop a war in its tracks, and force the Scarren Emperor to his knees.

But no matter how much enjoyment he got from this, it was not enough. John and his wife ex-Officer Sun, their half-breed child, were gone somewhere on Moya--let them think they can live their lives now, in this tenuous peace, he knew the war was not over. It would never be over, not for him, and none of them would understand. He still had his mission, the Scarren Empire continued on, and that could not be allowed.

It wasn't the only thing now, though. Revenge was not the only thing occupying his mind, because his other obsession had not slipped away as it was supposed to. He did not need John Crichton anymore, but he continued to think of the human. John Crichton was a powerful ally, but it was more than just that, he missed the hunt--check mate and there was no pleasure in the victory, only absence in the loss of the fight.

He had thought he had won, but he had not. Aeryn Sun and John Crichton had everything they wanted, and they believed this world was now in peace, they were the ones to enjoy the end of the war. Not him, because he could not see it was over.

John saw some kind of connection between himself and Officer Sun, which Scorpius did not understand, because there was a connection so much stronger between them. Not the same kind, but stronger none the less. And still, it was Aeryn Sun that had won, this time, because she still had him.

He could not find comfort in much, as revenge began to build itself up again in his soul and the rest began to fade away, as Sikozu's face was forgotten and he decided he did not care if she had lived or died, as he plotted his war and planned the fall of an Empire. But there was one thing that comforted him while he sat in his command carrier alone, or stood watching prisoners that had none of the strength he sought screaming in the aurora chair.

Aeryn Sun may have him, but she did not know the taste of his blood.

The End.