A fic written for an anon on /coq/, I decided to share it here. Of course, reviews are always nice, but if you've got a chip you want to get off your shoulder about my fic, please send all complaints to CrowTChickATaolDOTcom. Just common curtosey, s'all. :D
Title: Little Piece of Heaven
Warnings: Moderate or so squick from prawn birth, canon mpreg
Summary: Written for /coq/, the prompt was "CJ hatching". So, let's hope this response satisfies. Please note: I refer to CJ as Oliver, but in this fic it's unimportant.
Disclaimer: I own none of this shit, man.
Paul sat quietly in the cool mud, enjoying the small favors this Hell hole was capable of providing. The sun was baking District 9 like an oven, heat waves billowing from the tin roofs and garbage piles. The stench was even more deplorable this time of the year, making everyone trekking and living in it naseuous, though some were able to adjust to the foul aroma. Yet Paul was patient (miraculously, but he had reason to be) and he waited, giving swats at flies and looking behind him every now and then.
It had been nearly an hour now. Paul had wandered about; keeping in the vicinity, however. It was less than twenty minutes ago when he finally restlessly sat, picking at dried skin and dirt caked beneath dermal plates. A young prawn had wandered past him on all fours, paused to stare, twitch his feelers then be on his way. Paul couldn't help but smile.
"It is done."
The yellow-striped alien raised his head, antennae flicking upright. He gazed over his shoulder before pushing himself to his feet and wiping the mud from his rear. Christopher was approaching him, a look of relief in his yellow eyes. The two friends met half way before Paul inquired, "Well? Were you approved?"
Christopher produced the small packet of papers. Paul took it, flipping through the pages, skimming the words in both their native language and the resident human's. Finally, he found the answer and smiled. A single thin card of metal with all the information he needed clipped to the top corner of the last page. "Congratulations," he clicked and returned the files.
"The queue for licenses is all ready delayed by two hundred," Christopher sighed. "It was amazing I was accepted. From the information I gathered, only one of ten get approved."
"Then we thank our lucky stars, I suppose," Paul suggested. He clapped the vested prawn's shoulder supportively. "I am happy for you, my friend. You will make a fine parent."
Christoper cast his weary gaze aside. "I wonder..." he murmured and stared at his license. "If it would be wise to... introduce a child to this world."
"You are all ready carrying. I know you would have chosen otherwise if you were not," Paul explained. He looked uneasy for a moment. "Besides birthing it, there is another option..."
Christopher was fast to rebuke the suggestion. "No," he disagreed quickly. "As hesitant as I am to raise a child in this environment, I am not about to abort it." He bowed his head with nostalgic sadness. "I have all ready lost one..."
Paul winced. It had been nearly eleven years since Sherry's death, but it still stung like yesterday. It was not just his passing, but the way he died, how he had been found. The Nigerian gangsters had only managed to remove Sherry's arms before Christopher arrived after hours of frantic searching, interrupting the disembowelment and sending the humans scampering. A shot to the head, and Sherry collapsed, lying in a puddle of entrails. Christopher recognized his child's scent and knew it was him, as much as he wanted to believe otherwise.
It never gets easier, just numbs as time goes by.
"In this case," Paul murmured regretfully, "you are not the one to blame."
Christopher roughly placed a hand to the side of his adjuvant companion's neck, giving it a squeeze - a reassuring one, despite the initial force of the touch. "We will not be playing this game," he snorted, tentacles giving a quick shiver. His hand dropped then and he brushed past Paul, letting the yellow-striped prawn have a moment of disappointment and pity before returning to business.
There was really no use in wallowing, Paul knew. What's done is done. Christopher had made his decision, and by choosing to turn and follow him, Paul had as well.
The reproduction process of laying the egg was akin to that of going into labor. The span of time depended on the individual. In their weaker, sickly state, going into labor could be arduous and tedious for hours on end. In Christopher's case, it lasted a little over four hours, for which he was grateful.
Paul had been there the entire time, ducking in and out of his friend's shack, bringing and supplying him with whatever he needed. As the egg came to a head, the yellow-striped prawn had been there to counsel Christopher, taking a rag of cold (though unfortunately unclean) water to his head. The heat was only making him weaker and when the egg was finally free of his body, a sphere of black larvae membrane and moist protective tissue casing, Christopher could barely move.
The prawn's body was immobile, throbbing with pain, his inner thighs and legs slicked with blood and the same liquid encasing the egg. Paul did a thorough examination, making sure all obvious vital signs were steady. Christopher watched him, helpless, unable to do much besides lay there, chest hitching in heavy strokes. Paul looked to him and nodded. Relief washed through both aliens and Paul gently pushed the egg toward his friend.
"Hook it up," Christopher heaved weakly. But not before he wrapped a quivering arm around the sack and pulled it close to his bowed head. His reclined feelers drew forward as they studied the egg, taking in its peculiar and unique scent and texture. Its content shifted, the little prawn within all ready making adjustments.
Christopher gave the pod another squeeze before rolling out on his back and falling unconscious from pure exhaustion. Paul kindly gathered the egg in his arms and stared at the top of it for a moment or two. His smaller appendages brushed over the "newborn", an expression of tenderness. Claws clicking, he then retreated, promising to return to tend to his feeble, unconscious companion.
The incubation period lasted a little over two weeks, an extreme jump back from the spectrum of human development and maturity. That is, if all things went as planned.
The pod had been placed in a small temporary shack built next to Christopher's own but an assiduous was kept on it at all times. A cow had been slaughtered a day prior to the egg's birth, prepared early for initial arrival. Tubes and wires penetrated the cow's decaying body, an intricate system of circuitry transferring minerals, vitamins and nutrition into the egg, pumping vital fluids inside the developing tiny esurient prawn's body within. With only one child spawned, the single cow would suffice.
In less than that span of time, two noisome MNU agents had confronted Christopher, demanding to see his license else-wise they planned on burning the shack and its precious cargo inside down. One of the men seemed displeased when the license was readily at hand and left with a sulk. It was obvious to Christopher he had his hope set on eliminating the fetus; humans seemed to take enjoyment out of killing their young. He'd never understand their desire for carnage and violence, but it wasn't like his fellows were a peaceful, subdued lot either.
It was shortly after sundown on the 16th night when Christopher was woken from fitful slumber by the sounds coming from the miniature shack. He hurried outside and shooed away a stray dog attracted by the noise and scratching curiously at the hut's door. Paul too had heard the sounds from the shack over, stumbling from his own sleep to aide his friend.
Unlocking the door, the two adult prawns looked upon the egg. Its shell had cracked away, the sack bulging as the prawn inside writhed about. Tiny limbs were pushing against the thick membrane as the newborn within struggled to climb and dig his way out. Tubes had been dislodged and flapped to the ground, gushing the remains of foul smelling blood and meat.
Christopher and Paul went to work quietly, carefully but quickly removing the remaining wires. Once finished, the vested prawn gently clasped claws around the bouncing pod and dragged it out into the open. To help the little one on its way, Christopher picked, peeled and tore away the sheets and coils of drying, thick larvae tissue. Finally a trio of tiny little claws punctured the surface, swishing in the warm night's air before tearing down more and more of the protective layers.
Paul had taken off, gathering supplies. He returned shortly to see a lithe arm, five times smaller than his own, stretch out of the sack. "Here," Paul muttered, squatted and placed a jorum of water and rag at his and Christopher's feet. Chris just nodded in recognition but continued to pick apart the cracked egg.
A few minutes later, there was a big enough gap in the sticky pod for Christopher to reach in and remove his offspring. His arms, just about to his elbows, were encased with thick liquid, his digits carefully feeling for the baby before wrapping around his tiny hips. After guarantying his hold was secure, Christopher very carefully lifted the prawnling from the egg, the liquid rising alongside as it clung to his arms and the baby's body.
The newborn was a little larger in size compared to the average, normal newborn human. His structure was basic, sinuous, though his smaller appendages were still in an immobile stage alongside his legs. Christopher carefully wiped the goo from over the thin eyelids, another claw tenderly sweeping under miniature mandibles and tentacles to dislodge the film of liquid.
The prawnling stirred before finally opening his mouth and releasing a harsh, shrill keen, an octave similar to a baby bird. His eyes, however, remained sealed closed. Christopher clicked and chirped at his child, releasing a small vibrating hum deep from his throat. The baby seemed to have liked this and his chirk softened until it, too, was almost tweeting back in higher pitches, like a reply.
Christopher, satisfied the prawnling knew he was in safe hands, laid him on his back carefully. Paul dampened and wrung out the cloth before carefully cleaning away the rest of the liquid membrane. The newborn gave a short chirrup, wiggled, before calming. Much like a cat with her kittens, Christopher watched closely and timidly as his friend washed his child. Though he trusted Paul, it was of course instincts that made him want to gather the prawnling up and keep him from being touched by anyone else.
Just as Paul rubbed beneath tiny toes, the baby gave a small, pleased hic and wriggled. Both adults couldn't help but smirk and just as the bath was about to finish, the newborn finally opened his eyes. They were giant protruding glass marbles that nearly took up his tiny, shimmering face, a radiant amazing ashen blue. His miniature feelers stretched and studied the air, the awakening of another sense.
It left the two adults speechless, immobile for a moment. Warmth swelled in their chests and Christopher lifted the fragile creature carefully back into his hands, where he nearly fit perfectly. Three digits curled around one of Christopher's own and he smiled underneath his tentacles.
Paul carefully touched the top of the prawnling's head, which was perhaps not much bigger than a melon. "Have you decided on what you wish to name him?" he inquired, eyes moving between parent and child.
"Yes," Christopher answered quietly. He studied his newborn. "Though, on this planet, it will not be the one to which he shall follow."
Paul smirked. "It matters not, at this point," he assured. "This life - it is a fair gift of hope enough."
So, this was a little difficult to write in terms of just how Christopher got pregnant. Being a hermaphrodite, he needs a partner. However, who would that be? I sort of hinted at who (it's kinda obvious anyway), though honestly I don't see Chris as someone interested in sex during these dark times. Which also brings me to this: I picture in human years, CJ/Oliver is about 6 to 8 years old. If prawns have the same lifespan/etc. of humans, then this implies he was born on Earth. If he was born on the ship, since obviously he wasn't on their home planet, then by 2009 he's over twenty years old. I don't really think this is likely, but given the fact not much information about these aliens have been released, you never know. Also, I believe on one of the official websites, Christopher references he has/had two children, Sherry and Oliver. I decided I'd use Sherry and make him one of his older kids, somewhat a teenager. My fanon has placed Sherry as a feminine prawn, but I went for default male.
But this is all fan speculation, as is obviously the birthing process. I just rolled with what was shown and tweaked it a bit. I could be entirely wrong on the time spans of certain periods during the process. Also, I didn't go in depth into the laying of Oliver as that was another prompt and I think some other anon should give it a go. Again, no need to point out errors/mistakes, as I didn't go to great lengths to make everything perfect, especially when there's not much to go on. Feel free to concrit, however, regarding my general prose and whatnot.
Also, my good friend and source of inspiration, Curry-tan, has made me want to write sequels to this which are basically little adventures between Oliver and his two papas. HMMMMM idk.