albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[He's never told her. Never hinted at it or suggested that soon either one or both of them might be staring down the inevitable. That said, he doesn't need to: even a soldier knows what it means to run on exhaustible resources. As he works to replace the rod, Aeryn's lidded eyes slide open, fixing themselves on the scored lines of his features.]

He's not coming back, you know.

[His work in securing the replacement slows, and he utters a sigh that speaks of more patience than he can truly take credit for.]

No, not likely. But I believe that if he is alive, he will return to this ship. [The blue rod snaps into place.] And for that we wait.

[Neither of them can stand to delay an excursion for supplies much longer. A crew of two eats very little, but to distill the solanterum within the Leviathan into a potent enough substitute fuel for his coolant system is beyond his skills.]

We can't wait much longer, Scorpius-- [Which isn't precisely what she means to say, and there's a few microts pause as she swallows thickly, ignoring the sweat staining her exposed skin.

Corrects herself:] I can't wait much longer.

[Scorpius does her the courtesy of not acknowledging the slip as he carefully locks away the remaining rods in their case and returns them to storage.

He sucks in a lungful of cool air through his teeth before turning back to her.]

If we leave this sector, we risk discovery, imprisonment, and worse. We risk missing the others entirely should they attempt to return. However [A short, weighted pause.] In doing so, we may yet survive.

And you could last out here twice as long if you weren't halving your supply. [The illness is worse these days. Worse than what it had been, and she burns through rods faster than he does, which means he technically has less than half his own inventory for personal use.

Bottom line: it isn't worth it.

Aeryn reaches up with the strength she's earned in that chilled section of Moya, pulling the rod free and extending it towards him. Half a cycle of waiting like this, and it's been long enough. More time than she had any right to from the start when she'd been infected.] Take it.

[On the whole, the illness has worked to his advantage. It granted him access to Moya, Aeryn's trust, and made him an indispensable part of her survival. But its usefulness has long since run its course; every day he shares his coolant solution is a threat to his own health.

Nevertheless, he takes the rod from her, catches her wrist to prevent her from resisting, and immediately circles back to re-engage it into her suit.]

I intend to hold up my end of our arrangement.

Then you'll die with me. [She hasn't got the strength to fight his grip, or to chase after the rod again. Not yet, at least, and as Aeryn's fingers go limp, she shuts her eyes again, painting out the vivid imagery that is their inevitable downfall: Peacekeepers, ruthless traders with knowledgeable ties...Scarrans.

Ullom.]

Survival has never been a particular issue for me. [And Scorpius can survive without the rods, without the suit. He spent his childhood in a perpetual state of heat delirium and perhaps because of his mixed parentage, he never did experience the Living Death in the way full-blooded Sebaceans do. Only pain.

He brushes the back of his gloved fingers against Aeryn's sweat-slick cheek.]

I believe we are overdue for a change in heading.

Don't. [Her eyes are still closed, but there's urgency in her tone that stresses exactly how certain she is that venturing into occupied territory will effectively kill the only comfort she has left.

And they'll miss him. He's not coming back, he won't get their transmissions but the microt they leave is the one all the pieces finally fall into place and all of this will be for nothing.]

[Even desperately ill, she is no less stubborn than she ever was at peak physical condition. Perhaps even moreso, he can't be certain. Before encountering her prowler a half-cycle ago, Scorpius had very limited contact with Aeryn Sun.

He places his hands on the edge of the platform, inclining himself over her.]

The time we buy in obtaining supplies--perhaps even in acquiring a cure for your condition--is far more valuable than the few dozen solar days we have left here.

[He earns a look for it: the effort it takes to open her eyes and focus directly on something absolutely worth it if only because in the moment, it matters. It matters to her that he understand how alone he'll be in his efforts if he goes because she hasn't got the strength to follow. To assist.]

If you're certain, I can't stop you.

Fortunately for you, I do not require your blessing to save your life. [Scorpius pushes himself back, straightens up through his shoulders, and turns toward the door. He hesitates, then pauses with his hand raised to the door controls.] I believe you know who is responsible for your illness. I intend to find out, with or without your cooperation.

[It's a bitter sort of smile that surfaces as a byproduct of his intentions, even if he's not paying attention enough to see it.]

Charting a course into occupied space is one thing, but if you try to find who is responsible for this, Scorpius, I can guarantee there won't be any coming back from it.

[The door opens, and Scorpius brings his chin toward his shoulder.] You underestimate my resilience.

[She believes him in that. Genuinely, and he ought to know that much by now, but as removed as Scorpius so often likes to think himself, he's made mistakes before. Costly ones, and it was usually the entire crew plus one John Crichton to blame for it.

Alone, and without a full set of resources at his disposal, Scorpius is more vulnerable than he believes.

And that leaves Aeryn-- weak, nearly ineffective Aeryn-- attempting to regulate things on Moya with Pilot's help in the meanwhile. Which really just means that for an arn or two each solar day Aeryn finds the strength to check the helm, pour over local broadcasts for a sign of something familiar ( John, Scorpius ) before retreating to Moya's regulator with a depleted supply of coolant rods.

Soon she won't have the option of leaving at all.]

[While he has spent a great many cycles with nearly limitless resources at his disposal, Scorpius has not forgotten what it is to be and to have nothing. There is no denying the risk he takes in flying his Marauder unaccompanied into Peacekeeper space, but the very likely possibility of discovery and imprisonment does nothing to flag his confidence in successful completion of his mission.

Communicating with Braca is difficult and meeting with him even more so. Nevertheless, they are able to coordinate a rendezvous at a commerce planet well within Peacekeeper borders, making neither vehicle, nor the exchange of cargo between them, particularly out of place.

In catching up on recent transmissions in the territory's public channels, Scorpius also happens across a very, very interesting bounty.

And then, business concluded, he makes the long return to Moya.]

Still clinging to life, are we? [Scorpius opens the transmission well before he is within visual range of the Leviathan, not wishing to startle her meager and entirely vulnerable crew.]

Stubbornly. As I see you are. [The transmission's patched through via Pilot; Aeryn's locked predictably in her chamber, mask pulled off owing to a lack of coolant rods for it.

She wasn't expecting him to make it-- much less for him to make it in time.]

Always. [Given her body's typical daily consumption of cooling rods, he estimates she is long through her remaining supply. And he is more relieved to hear her voice than he anticipated. ] Prepare the docking web, Pilot. I shall be aboard shortly.

[Once the Marauder is safely tucked inside Moya's docking bay, Scorpius takes a single case from its cargo hold under his arm and moves swiftly to the cooling chamber.]

[She's curled up across the station that's been set up in there, drenched in sweat despite the chill, dimly aware of the sound of the door as Scorpius slips in looking as if no time had passed at all.]

You're late.

I prefer "just in time". [And he wastes no time in crossing the room to help Aeryn onto her back, gathering the sweaty, wild mass of her hair behind her and retrieving the suit's hood to reattach at the neck.]

I apologize. I should have left you with more of my share. [Impossible. Because in truth, Scorpius needed a clear head for his mission and a single arn's distraction from the task due to inadequate cooling might have spelled disaster for them both.]

[She helps where she can, which equates to not at all: sweat slick across her skin under the mask, feeling a thousand degrees too hot to think under its insulated surface. If she could, she'd point out how he's obviously lying - as it stands, her breathing hitches; she pants through the edges of her teeth, unfocused eyes fixed elsewhere.]

[Callous a creature though Scorpius may be, he would not wish heat delirium on any Sebacean, even his worst of enemies. And now, to see this one so close to the brink of the Living Death, he feels...something he cannot qualify. But it is accompanied by urgency enough that in a fraction of the time it would normally take him to fit her with the newly formulated coolant, it is done.

He steps back from the platform to allow her space to breathe, his own exertion evident in the subtly quicker rise and fall of his chest, in his barely parted lips and teeth. ]

Pilot, reduce the temperature of this chamber as low as Moya can withstand.

[That she maintains consciousness is a miracle. It's the barest, thinnest sense of the word: eyes centimeters short of shutting entirely, the rise and fall of her chest shallow as anything for nearly a quarter of an arn. After that, Aeryn sleeps. Without pain or noticeable struggling, and it lasts long enough that when she finally does come out of it, disorientation takes control of her senses. Makes the process abrupt and unfocused.]

Scorpius--

[Scorpius is present when Aeryn wakes, assessing her temperature and waiting patiently for her mind to push through the thinning haze of heat holding her captive in a delirious fever.

He places a hand on her forehead, dissuading her from making any abrupt movements.]

I am here. And so, miraculously, are you.

[She settles under the weight of his palm, muscles going slack almost instantaneously. It's a relief to see him there, alive and unscathed with coolant pressed to her own skin.

He'd gambled and succeeded, and part of her-- the rapidly recovering part-- needs to know how he'd managed it at all.] Miraculously is right.

I thought I was hallucinating you at first.

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