Title: The Wrath

Author: dreamerchaos

Pairing: ChristopherxWikus.

Rating: R

Warnings: Language. Slash (and slash hints) between an alien and a human(Or who was human…).

Summary: Christopher returns for Wikus. But so many things have changed. MNU managed to find Wikus.

And the Queen, following her worker back to Earth, is far from pleased at the treatment of her brood.

Author's note: Err…a different one-shot than the one I'm working on with swipeatronspark. I warned you that I have the attention span of a gnat!

Christopher supplicates himself before his Majesty, the Queen towering over the prawn worker.

"That is all, my Queen." Christopher bows his shoulders, his forehead tapping the floor. He hears the sharp swipe of her arched, sharp-toed feet slide across the tiled floor as she shifts, absorbing the horrible details that her loyal worker has whispered into her ear.

She hisses lowly, the massive monarch seated upon her throne, three pairs of limbs―two much larger, a third smaller, but deceptively strong set set into two pockets of her chest cavity―curl against her chest as she quakes with fury.

The Queen seethes, after she has patiently listened in length through his story of the trials of his people on Earth. The Queen tilts back her head, and releases a long, wailing moan og grief over the loss of the queen aboard the mother ship, the large, ancient Queen aggrieved by the death of one of her daughters.

"Our daughter…Our children," Her larger set of mandibles flex, opening to reveal a smaller, sharper maw of lined teeth, glistening pink gums which grin through a shark-tooth smile, "Those humans. Those inseeeccts."

At the ivory Queen's flanks, the Praetorian Guard answer her snarls, wicked talons curled around the length of obsidian spears, their dark carapace glistening in the pale light of her chambers, their sharp wings folded, rattling under the curved black plating of their shoulders. An impressive number latched onto the walls and ceiling of the huge chamber, faithfully surround their Queen, their narrow gold eyes glaring down at the worker for stirring the monarch's fury.

The Queen's Consort curls around her lower pair of legs, the Queen's chosen twice as tall as Christopher, but he stands mere feet above her Majesty's waist. "My Queen," Her mate beseeches, hunkered down to avoid her curled, lower set of flexing limbs. His faded, rusty plates marked by the shredded tatters of his wings, clipped by the Praetorian Guard when they had first captured the elite Poleepkwa, snipped his wings and dragged him to his Queen's side, where he loyally remained; curing her tiny bouts of rage, while sating and aiding her endless desire to expand her spawn.

The Queen rears up; ignoring her mate's outstretched hands. Although she makes note not to crush or harm him, easily stepping around her much smaller Consort.

"We are not amused." She stretches forward onto all limbs, her long, eloquent, dangerous form looms over Christopher's prostrated form. The warm air of her breath misting down his shivering back, the worker cringing underneath her shadow.

"Christopher," She whispers, curving a long, viciously sharp hand over her worker, coaxing him to stand before her, "Lead Us to Our children. Show Us. Show Us the way to that miserable planet so that We may claim back what is Ours."

"My…my Queen…" Christopher stretches forward, meeting her grin, and she ducks downward, allowing her worker to coax and plead, their tentacles intertwined as he supplicates for her mercy, "There is one human…human, but no longer…he assisted me so that I may return to you. I beg of you, to spare this one should you and your glorious mercy allow."

The Queen's mandibles flex into a parody of a smile, the gesture proving little to sooth the smaller worker, until she finally speaks.

"If it should please Us. Yes…" The Queen tilts her head, contemplating her worker and the desperate plea he has laid before her feet, "Perhaps. Perhaps We will show mercy. But for only that one. Your Wikus."

The human governments, and Johannesburg, are far from welcoming.

"Absolutely not!" The Prime Minster slams his fist onto the podium. Glaring indolently at the entourage of Praetorian Guards who ring around their Queen, the massive monarch filling a majority of the room while human officials and television crews are crammed throughout the remainder of the conference room, "We have already transferred the prawns into District 10! We have done more than enough for them. And after three years of blue skies and peace, your kind returns with your mass of ships, and you order us to stand down while your horde scavenges the city, the planet, for the remainder of your species!"

The Queen unfurls from her hunched position, growing ever steadily bored with the tiny human's screeching. Her mandibles clack together as she rises, and the humans rear back, mounted cameras following her as she stands upright, but is forced to remain partially crouched since her head easily bumps the ceiling.

"Silence," The Queen growls, her head twisting left and right, surveying the humans standing throughout the room, particularly eyeing the armed guards, with their small guns embraced and the safeties unlocked, "We grow bored with you, little man. Pathetic, whining creature. Snapping your little blunt fangs. You dare to incite Us."

The human is still amazingly daring. Going so far as to meet her glare, "You are an illegal alien. You have no rights here. The government asks that all of you leave immediately."

"They are Ours." The Queen hisses, "Workers. Loyal to their Queen. But We are theirs as well. Workers serve their Queen, but the Queen and Guard protect Their loyal servants. It never changes."

"Whatever the case!" The Prime Minister insists, "Again. We must ask you to leave at once!"

The Queen uses one hand to urge Christopher behind her, and thus behind her Guard, as she answers the human's commands with one single, chilling syllable.

"No."

The human guards make the grave error of raising and pointing their weapons.

Far worse is when they point their guns directly at the Queen.

The Queen and Praetorian Guard shock everyone in the room―and the viewers watching the live television feed―when the group of elite Poleepkwa jerk their heads, jaws yawning open, and shoot a spew of viscous green fluid at the humans, especially aiming for the guards.

The men and women drop their guns, clawing at their melting faces and popping eyeballs as they howl, dropping to their knees as flesh bubbles and melts, the grinning skulls peeking through the ravaged seared flesh.

Other humans, too close to the human targets and dotted with the spray acidic fluids, fall to the ground, roll and clutch at their pitted flesh as clothing and flesh burn. Foreign dignitaries scream shrilly and and break to run for the doors, but other Praetorian Guard drop from the ceiling and cut off their escape with snarls and sharp cuffs, knocking the humans away from the exits.

The Queen idly laps at the hot fluid coating her talons with a long, thin unfurling tongue, sneering, unaffected by the acidic properties. Her glands of acid still active, a mixture of saliva and pale green fluid dripping from her ivory fangs and curled obsidian mandibles and rippling tentacles.

"Christopher." She beckons, extending the hand untouched by the scorching acid, "Show Us the way to Our People."

Christopher curls his hands over his head with frustration, jerking impatiently to watch and follow every Poleepkwa being led from their tents, the workers stumbling and dropping to their knees before the Queen as she preens and stretches to her full height and extends her multiple arms outwards to embrace her brood as they swarm around her.

"Where is he?" Christopher drags a prawn away from the group, shaking him, rattling his exoskeleton, "Where is Wikus? Why is he not here?" He demands.

The prawn keens, and raises his arms to shield his head. "Don't know anyone by that name!"

Christopher releases the prawn with a barking growl. Spinning around and helplessly surveying the stretching rows of white tents.

"Where could your Wikus possibly be?" One of the tallest members of the Praetorian Guard steps forward beside him, scanning the abandoned tents with clear distaste, "Has he found a hole and dug himself in?" He wonders.

For some strange reason, the Praetorian's scoffed words stir an icy chill to run up his back.

"..no…" Christopher rears back, twisting around to look into the distance, towards the tall goliath of a building, the MNU headquarters, "No..He couldn't be.."

The Queen is disgusted that she can not fit into the building through the tiny doors, but she deigns to await outside with Christopher and a handful of her Guards break into the building.

Not that they meet much resistance. Many of the humans long since fled from Johannesburg, none too daring or stupid to stand against the Queen or her Guard after the press event that had aired live.

A few secretaries and guards were all who stood in their path, but they were quick to scurry out of sight when the Praetorians waved their weapons, Christopher following with one of the guns salvaged from the Nigerian stockpile.

"This way," Christopher feels sick that he remembers the way down into the hidden labs, but he squashes that thrill of nausea, leading the Praetorians down the stairway, much to the larger Poleepkwa's distaste at the tighter corridors and awkward steps.

Shots fired from Christopher's gun make short work of the doors and their locks.

When the doors open, the familiar stench of dead prawns and preservative fluids hit their faces. A pair of scientists in hazmat suits try to run, but are swarmed by furious Praetorian Guards who drag them to the ground, the humans curling into fetal positions, covering their heads and vulnerable stomachs, bleating for mercy.

The Praetorians screech with outrage, eyeing the desiccated remains of their brethren lying on slabs of cold metal, body parts filling wide basins at the side of the medical beds, "What is this place?" One demands, circling a hanging, tarp covered body of a disemboweled Poleepkwa.

"Never mind," Christopher urges, "I will explain later. First, we must find Wikus."

The Praetorian Guards callously knock aside experiments and papers scattered with readouts and data, searching for hidden doorways, peering into hallways and breaking down locked doors as they continue to search.

"We never went this deep before." Christopher remembers both he and Wikus fleeing before they had ventured down another set of hallways after Wikus had recovered the fluid to power the drop ship.

One of the Praetorians sniffs at the air, using his dexterous mandibles to taste the scent molecules hanging in the air, "Someone is down here. I can smell them."

Christopher also scented the air. "It's not a human."

"No." Another Guard indicated the locked doors ahead, "It is one of ours. This way..."

The door is far more advanced, thicker and of higher quality of metal. It takes more than two shots of the gun before the walls give way, and Christopher kicks the warped door down to clang upon the floor, widening the entrance and allowing the Guards to follow inside without having to squeeze their larger frames through a tight hole in the wall.

White walls, floor, and ceiling lit by halogen lights briefly blind Christopher as he steps inside.

In the middle of the room, a small plexiglass cage sits, the clear box holding a shivering prawn, the hunched, gaunt figure curled on the floor of his cage, shuddering at the noise of gunfire and the rising screams of the scientists.

"N-not bad..won't be bad..won't show my ugly face.." Wikus rocks, arms wrapped around his thin waist, limbs dotted with patches of dirty bandages speckled with blood, "I won't make a sound…j-just don't hit me again…not the electrode stick.."

Christopher smashes trays full of medical instruments and laptops out of the way as he rushes towards the cage, dropping to his knees, hands curling upon the clear wall of Wikus' prison.

"Wikus!" Christopher claws at the barrier, "Wikus! Look at me! I'm here. I promised I would return for you!"

"N-no…" Wikus moans, "Not Wikus. Stupid..too stupid…don't deserve to be called by that..Filthy, filthy beast…so ugly.." He covers his dirty face, the bottom of his tank streaked with bodily filth and blood and a few scraps of rotten meat from the scant meals the scientists occasionally deign to remember to supply to their precious patient.

"H-Help me.." Christopher jumps onto the lid of the cage, curling his claws around the edges, trying to find the seam, "Tear it open!" He begs.

A pair of Guards answers his cries. With a snap of their hands they bury their claws into the narrow edges, and slowly peel the cage apart, shards of bent plexiglass snapping off and shattering into jagged pieces, tossed aside with an annoyed huff as the Praetorians continue to break into Wikus' prison.

Wikus shivers, hands slapping at Christopher's shoulders and hands as the larger prawn scoops the thinner prawn out of the carved and warped cage, "—nononononoooo…Don't hurt me!" Wikus pleads, trying to claw his way free when catching sight of the much larger Praetorians, keening fearfully.

"Get him outside." The taller Guard growls to Christopher, the rest beginning to smash and loot the lab, "We will finish here."

Christopher takes the steps two and three at a time, refusing to drop or release Wikus as he races towards the exit, while the smaller prawn's eyes roll in their sockets, Wikus completely petrified by his rescuers, the sensory overload of sounds, sight, and touch far too overwhelming after three years abused and equally neglected by the uncaring human scientists and guards.

"T-Tania…" Wikus' words puff against the exoskeleton of his chest, "please don't leave me…don't cry..It-it's me…"

"Stay with me.." Christopher pleads, "We're almost there, Wikus! Stay awake!"

Much to Christopher's complete shock, before he can bust through the doors and outside, the Queen extends her arms through the small doorway.

"Give him to Us. Now." She demands, scooping Wikus up before Christopher could even dream to argue.

Wikus curls into her arms, as small as Oliver had been in Christopher's arms when he was young. Blearily, Wikus rolls his head, staring up at the Queen's grinning mandibles. The ivory figure of the Queen's huge form blurring with the wedding photo of his wife surrounded by a halo of light and white glow.

"A-Angel? Is that you?" He begs, hands outstretched towards her wide, arched features.

The Queen purrs, cooing down at the weak prawn in her arms.

"Shhhh, little one. So small…" Benevolently smiling upon the frail creature in her multiple arms, tentacles wreathed together with immense joy at the young creature tucked within her embrace, and the Queen shifts her gaze, eyeing Christopher knowingly, immediately discerning the smaller prawn's identity by the panicked look on the worker's face and the desperate sound he had released when she snatched the prawn out of his arms, "Little one. Wikus. Little Wikus," She preens, pleased to have discovered the one who has consumed Christopher's every thought and action.

"Come, Christopher." She commands, never halting or depositing her cargo into the arms of her worker or Guards. Her large form turns around, deeming them all to return to the mother ship post haste.

Christopher knows only to obey his Queen, following on her heels as she strides confident and quickly through the territory unchallenged by prawn and human alike.

"You do not wish to know what was done to him." The Queen sits once again upon her throne, and her eyes again survey Christopher, this time her fury quenched, her attentions tuned to much more pleasurable pursuits while she wheedles and rattling purrs spur her Consort into her arms, "Be comforted that he has healed as well as possible during the journey home. Now you must heal the scars of his mistreatment from his human brethren."

"Yes, my Queen." Christopher bends into a bow, wanting nothing more than to return to Wikus' side now that the doctors have released him into Christopher's custody.

"Before you leave…We have one request." The Queen's claws tap a tempo upon the arm of her throne, her other hands roaming over her Consort, teasing the smaller mate's quivering antenna.

"Yes, my Queen?"

His Queen grins lasciviously, crooking her finger to draw Christopher closer to whisper conspiringly.

"When he is complacent…when he opens his arms to you.." She purrs into the narrow duct of his ear chamber, "Breed with him."

Pulling back, she chuckles at the worker's stunned, frozen look of shocked awe.

"I want him to give Us sprawnlings." She grins, "Your Wikus is sweet. He pleases Us. Little Wikuses would please Us greatly. Those pretty eyes…looking upon Us for the first time..So much trust..."

She leans forward again, this time cupping Christopher's chin inside her huge hand.

"We want his sprawnlings. His sprawnlings and Ours as one will breed a new lineage. Fresh and new to replenish the soil," She waves proudly at her Praetorian Guard, "And when his offspring grow, and should they agree, it would please Us to see union between his and Ours."

The distinction of tying his blood line with the Queen's is far too much for him to swallow. Christopher reels.

"M-my Queen. I…I am humbled that you consider me…us..worthy.." Christopher swallows, the pinprick of her talons digging into his plates, "B-but I will wait for Wikus to decide. If he so chooses, I will pair with him, and should he desire sprawnlings, this too I will honor."

The Queen rattles her mandibles in clear admiration of his steadfastness to remain loyal and firmly at the other prawn's side, and she grins in approval, as she releases her claws from her worker.

"We will accept your conditions." The Queen generously complies. Her attention flickering, she tugs her Consort into her lap, purring and weaving her tentacles with her mate's. Her Consort whining, arching into her multiple hands as they scratch and trace down his back and thighs, "Leave Us, then, Christopher. We wish to distract Ourselves in other matters." Her tolerance now passing, she snaps her jaws in clear warning, never ceasing in molesting her Consort while Christopher quickly and willingly backs out of her chambers, the Praetorian Guard sealing the entrance of the chamber with the bulk of their bodies and multitude of weapons, prepared to guard their Queen and Consort while the pair share a much desired period of intimacy.

"My father-in-law brought my wife down to the labs not too long after my capture." Wikus whispered, burrowing into Christopher's arms, the smaller Poleepkwa harboring a fear of the dark, his phobia only cured by the other prawn's proximity.

Nestled deep within the concave, warm bed, Christopher chirred in confusion and question.

Wikus shudders, "She couldn't disguise the look on her face. So disgusted…No matter how she said she would wait for me, when she actually saw me…I'll never forget the dark circles around her eyes, or the way her cheeks turned white." The smaller prawn quietly remembers the smug face of her father, the taller man standing behind her, while Wikus paws at the glass of his cage, crying out for her as Tania flees from the room, fleeing from his sight, covering her face and muffling the wet sobs and tears.

Christopher moans in sympathy, hunched over Wikus as if to shield his smaller nest partner from the harm and shame of the cruel memories.

"I would have waited for her." Wikus croaks out a sharp, bitter laugh, "She rode on a seesaw of indecision, unable to decide whether she believed in me. And as soon as she promised to wait for me, she turns tail and bolts."

The smaller prawn whimpers, shoulders quaking with angered sobs, betrayal and grief warring, "I know…I know that she thought I was hideous. But..All I wanted was her promise. I wanted her to believe in me."

"I'm here…" Christopher swore, Wikus unresisting as the larger prawn guides the other to stretch out and lay across his chest, "…Wikus." Here Wikus breaks at the utterance of his name. The rock-hard steadfastness and trust the final sledgehammer to his walls and it sends those three year old bricks of patient, hard-earned control scattering.

Wikus sobs, fingers digging into the seams of Christopher's shoulders. "She was the only one who made me feel…made me feel worthy of being human." He keens, "Were those wedding vows for nothing? We were supposed to be partners and mates, and grow old together!"

"We are all responsible for our own choices." Christopher answers after a long time, quietly listening to Wikus' broken sobs, while running his hands up and down his nest partner's back, "Nothing you could have done would have salvaged the vows that were broken."

"But…but you came back for me," Wikus levers onto his hands and knees, staring into the depths of Christopher's compassionate gaze, "What the fook do you see in me that she couldn't?"

Christopher stretches upward, carefully, so gently tracing his claws over Wikus' disbelieving features.

"I do not see a man. Nor do I see a Poleepkwa. I see Wikus. Wikus..." Christopher leans up, sealing their tentacles and mandibles together briefly, a version of a kiss, whispering softly to the stunned Poleepkwa, "Wikus."

Such a simple answer. But Wikus' shoulders rattle, a low whine of pained relief, and a dash of acceptance salted with a hint of despair stifles him. Wikus throws himself forward, curling his arms around Christopher, sinking into the other prawn's arms for the first time without feeling shredded by guilt or seething betrayal for lying in another's bed.

"Christopher-"

Christopher thrums with joy, wrapping his arms around the other. "Wikus," He repeats his chant of the smaller prawn's name, well into the night, until they are both too exhausted to speak or do anything beside remain within each other's arms, listening to the assuring sound of their breathing, awash in the scent and heat of their intertwined forms.

Both are awakened during the morning when Oliver dives into the nest, squealing 'Sweetie-man!' at the top of his lungs, bouncing on top of his father and Wikus before Christopher manages to corral the youngster and calm him down.

Wikus snickers and clutches onto his aching sides, heaving with laughter from within the depths of the nest while Christopher scoots the whining young prawn out of the room, urging him back to his own rooms while attempting to snap the door shut, this time making sure to lock the damn door before returning to their nest.

'Yes,' Wikus decides, twisting to lie on his back, opening his arms for Christopher to lie down, within his embrace, 'Yes. Our Nest. Ours…' He purrs, burying his face into Christopher's neck, curling against the larger prawn, sinking into slumber once his partner returns, allowing Wikus to curl into the sanctuary of Christopher's arms.

END