Title: Leave and Forget

Author: dreamerchaos

Pairing: ChristopherxWikus.

Rating: Mature. A bit of non-con(?)...

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

Summary: When Christopher returns, Wikus is far from overjoyed at his reappearance.

The howls of neighborhood dogs and the pitched yips of the hyenas outside the city is the first warning. Johannesburg is woken at 4 AM in the morning by the sudden sharp pops of windows exploding, while the ground quakes like an agitated mutt shaking its fur to relieve itself of fleas.

Streets are quarantined to prevent vehicles and people from travelling over the traps of broken glass and debris. The citizens of the city, agitated, demand an answer as repairs and cleanup are quickly underway. Poking their heads out and scanning the cloudless sky.

Scientists rule it as a freak earthquake, many citizens relieved when they look out their windows and see that the skies are overcast, but void of any alien crafts. Their worst fears proved false, and they shake their heads and laugh in ridicule.

Of course the prawns hadn't returned to Earth. And why should they? No oath or affection bound them to the blue and green marble of a planet. The left behind gruesome refugees were the reminder, the stain upon the country, the prawns scratching a survival amongst the heaps and hills that the humans call District 10.

The refugees do not bother to look to the heavens. What was the point of looking towards the sky, when they would only face disappointment yet again and again?

It has been over three years since Christopher promised to return for him.

Wikus had given up hardly a year into his exile amongst the disgusting pitted hole known as the District.

The smaller prawn is lackluster, barely dredging up the desire to scavenge food or socialize with the other residents. He keeps primarily to himself, usually hiding inside his shack or sitting out back behind the metal walls in his 'yard', idly picking at the smooth metal petals of another flower he has designed.

Wikus snarls and tosses the piece of rubbish away, out of his sight. What was the point? He had seen for himself that Tania has moved on with her life…The new, picturesque perfect husband and the blushing bride, standing alongside with their pretty, chubby, curly blond baby girl.

'That could have been my life.' Wikus traces his claws in the dirt, passively spelling out English words, scraping the sharp scratches away with the back of his fingers, 'But no, not for Wikus. Too dumb. Too trusting. Too plain. Not good for anything besides a desk job tucked away in the back of the room.'

'Bet dear old daddy would be gloating by now if he hadn't suffered a heart attack last year.' Wikus grins savagely, severely disappointed when he had heard that the MNU director had died peacefully in his sleep in the hospital after suffering from massive heart failure.

Wikus sighs, finally deciding to crush the new slew of bitter thoughts. His negative mood would prove little satisfaction, and he has so little to be happy for.

A self-made recluse amongst the other prawns, scorned by the MNU guards, his wife and parents have bought an empty casket and grave plot in his memory, Wikus truly has nothing left.

Nothing.

When he stands, he picks up the discarded metal flower. He brushes off the dust, deciding not to let his work go to waste even while no one would appreciate the sentiment of the gift.

He steps into his shack, quietly closes the door behind him, resolutely ignoring the screeches and chirrs of the other prawns trekking through the District, chasing after a smaller prawn that races away from them while greedily clutching a large can of expired cat food.

The MNU instigates another raid, searching for contraband and illegal weaponry. They shove the larger prawns out of their shacks, the muzzles of their guns aimed at the refugees while the armed humans swarm their domiciles, tossing their few possessions and bedding around while they look everywhere for any illegal paraphernalia.

Wikus is forced onto his knees, the muzzle of a gun nudging the back of his head. His hands are raised in the air, but the submission doesn't dissuade the men from shouting at him to get down.

A field officer pats down his pressed pant legs as he strides out of Wikus' shack, puffs of dust pluming off his pants like clouds of cigarette smoke, "Nothing illegal. Although we did find these…" Another officer carries out several large evidence bags full of Wikus' artwork and projects, one bag holding a bouquet of metal wreathed flowers.

"Pretty impressive," The second field operator says, "never seen a prawn show any interest or dexterity with these sorts of crafts."

The man holding the gun to Wikus' head guffaws, "What, are you saying that the prawns are intelligent just because this little fag can craft flowers?" Wikus shudders, the guard reminding him too much of Koopus, the man even sports a similar closely shaved head.

"Jameson!" The older field officer admonishes.

"Get off your high horse, Rupert." The loud guard shoves at Wikus with the gun, ordering the prawn to stand.

Wikus shifts onto his feet, his hands tucked against his chest, hunched over and trying to look as acquiescent as possible. Other larger prawns, also forced onto their knees by the other MNU guards, growl as Jameson struts left and right, pacing while brandishing his gun. Wikus' round eyes following the human's every step.

"Tell us, you ugly sucker." James snatches the evidence bag from the second officer's hands, and he slaps the bag against Wikus' face, the sharp points of metal within the thin plastic stinging across the softer dermal plates of the prawn's forehead and cheek, "Do these mean that you are as smart as me?"

Wikus doesn't dare to raise his hands to cover his face, fearful that the gesture would be taken as aggressive. Instead he shakes his head in disclaimer.

"Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you." The guard snaps, Wikus squeals in pain when the man reaches forward and twists his antenna.

"Jameson! I must insist that you release him!" Rupert and the other officer Giles fearfully look around; growing more worried as the other prawns show increasing signs of intense agitation, their distemper noteworthy when they ignore the plies of cat food from the other field officers, the men and women desperately trying to calm the large Poleepkwas down.

"N-n-No.." Wikus ducks his head, whining around the unforgiving fingers twisted around his sensitive antenna, "N-Not smart…"

"Now you're saying that I'm not smart, huh?" Wikus is prepared for the blow, but not for the man to use the butt of his rifle, Jameson cracking the thick handlebar against Wikus' head, "Fooking bug." When Wikus gags from the rattling blow and falls to his knees, Jameson strikes him again, bringing the gun down on the back of the small prawn's head and neck.

"Jesus, Jameson!"

The armed guards shake their guns in the prawns' faces, shouting and trying to discourage them from rising to their feet. Their efforts fail, the other prawns clatter and hiss at the whiff of blood seeping from the smaller prawn's head wounds, further agitating the others, the increasing tension marked by the shiver of their antennas and the bent talons curled and raised.

Jameson kicks Wikus when he is down, smashing the heavy boot into the prawn's gut. Wikus curls around the blow, and air whooshes from his lungs, the smaller prawn keening at the sharp explosion of pain that erupts underneath his exoskeleton. "I'll teach you not to talk back to me, prawn." He growls in promise, "You think that you're something, but you…all of you are lower than dogs! You should be grateful to be allowed to sleep underneath MNU tents and shacks, but all you do is whine and hiss."

"This is getting out of hand." Rupert stutters, backing away from the furiously cursing guard.

Giles grabs for his walkie-talkie, prepared to shout the command to summon more ground support as the number of prawns in their area begins to exponentially grow.

Rupert misses the shadow that slides upwards from behind the other field officer, an unprecedentedly large armored prawn shifting out of the shadows in between the rows of shacks, the enormous shadow darting forward and underneath the hot South Africa sun.

Giles' petrified cry is muffled by the glossy black large hand that slaps over his mouth, the smaller human yanked off his feet, jerked backwards into the darkest shadows of the shack.

The sharp crackle and pop of bones and cartilage spur Rupert to twist around, the officer now realizing that Giles hasn't spoken a command into the radio.

"O-Oh god!" Rupert stumbles back, his weak vision allows him to just barely make out the much larger prawn wrapped around Giles, the smaller field officer's neck twisted around, broken, while Giles' hands and legs twitch spasmodically.

One of the larger worker prawns, sensing the spike of fear, slaps away the gun pointed at his face. A primordial shriek let loose as he pounces upon the armed woman, forcing the screaming guard to the ground with his hands wrapped around her white helmet, the prawn's sharp beak and mandibles dive down and sink into her face.

"Ambush!" Another guard manages to scream before his head is twisted off by another huge prawn appearing out of the shadows of another stack of shacks. The mounting presence of such massive prawns turns the tide of dominance; the workers scream and leap upon the guards and field officers.

The whole District rings with the howls of the prawns, overwhelming the wails and terrified screams of the MNU officers and hired guns as the prawns throughout the concentration camp respond to the ripple of violence. The time bomb explodes, setting off a chain reaction. The guards on top of the lookout towers swarmed by a mass of prawns, screaming as they are tossed out of the towers and down into the seething mass of workers.

"Tear it down." The huge Praetorian commands from the vantage point on top of one of the guard towers, clutching the ravaged human torso within his large talons. Shanks of meat hang from the curled mandibles, "Rip everything and every one of them apart."

Hundreds of drop ships break off from the mother ship which suddenly drops its cloaking device, the shining black seeds pepper the ground, the impact of the drop ships rattle windows and several refugee shacks crumble. The drop ship doors hiss open. Tall, long lean scouts rush out in mass and swarm the District rows, pouring into the hills and subdivisions. Humans scream and run as the Poleepkwa scouts hiss, running on all four limbs as they search and scout the area. When the tall sinewy creatures meet the MNU and local police, they easily topple the vehicles with sheer brawn, flipping the vehicles aside with one shoulder.

Jameson paused his assault on the injured prawn, head tilted back and staring up at the sky as the holograph flickers and drops. The leviathan of a mother ship hovers over a mile above District 10, rimmed by other smaller, but heavily armed vessels. The smaller ships' aim their cannons and fire, ripping apart the streets filled with military tanks, swiveling guns spin and shoot a series of exploding rounds that tear apart the wings and tails of the black helicopters that zoom towards the District.

The helicopters' smoldering carcasses smash to the ground like black wasps smacked out of midair with a large metal bat, the burning wreckage crashing just outside the District fences.

"F-Fook." Jameson takes a step back, "It-it's an invasion party…"

Wikus uses the human's awed gapping distraction to try to crawl away. His vision wobbles, blood slicking over his eyes, temporarily blinding him.

Jameson turns around again when the scrawny prawn grunts and collapses onto the ground several feet from where he had lain a few seconds earlier.

"You think that you shit sacks will get away with this?" He stomps down with one foot, pushing the prawn flat with the thick heel of his boot in the middle of the prawn's shoulders. Jameson guides the barrel of the gun to aim for the back of Wikus' head, "I'll mow all of you down, one sucker at a time!"

Wikus screws his eyes shut, his sensitive ear canals explode with pain from the compact boom of the rifle firing at close range.

He can barely make sense of another loud boom, his hearing temporarily lost from the blast. Wikus' eyes flutter open, staring numbly at the hole in the ground and metal shell mere inches from his head.

Wikus yelps when a dead weight crashes onto his back. He kicks and flails, shoving the human officer off him.

The smaller prawn keens with alarm when he shoves the gory body away, the top half of the man completely gone, from the waist down Jameson's legs twitch, the ragged glistening pink and red upper torso pumping out gouts of blood onto the dusty grimy Earth soil.

Wikus is jerked from his frozen befuddlement by the hum of a weapon.

He is on his feet and runs, ignoring the hail from another prawn. Wikus doesn't dare to look back after catching the ominous recharge of an extraterrestrial gun.

"Wikus!"

Wikus tumbled head over heels over a crouched prawn; the creature jerks with surprise, raising its beak from the torn throat of a gasping MNU guard, the man gurgling blood, still alive with his hands quivering in a crawl towards his gun.

"WIKUS!"

Wikus ducks and avoids a Praetorian who reaches for him, narrowly diving under the huge paw of a hand. He skitters around a sharp corner of shacks and weaves between the line of MNU armored-vehicles. The doors ripped open while human men and women are pulled and dragged from the cabins by the cluster of prawns crawling all over the vans.

He realizes he is merely running around in a large circle. He makes a sharp right, turning on a dime in order to race in another direction.

Before he can take a step another Praetorian swings a hand towards him.

This time he cannot duck or evade.

Wikus makes a spectacle of flails and screeches, scratching at the arms and face of the Praetorian who scoops him up. The larger Poleepkwa very much not amused by his behavior, but hangs on to the smaller starved prawn.

"Calm him down, or I'll do it for you." The Praetorian has had enough. He tosses the smaller prawn towards the one who has been chasing Wikus since Jameson and the shack.

Christopher drops his gun into his smaller binary hands and catches Wikus within his arms while the Praetorian turns with an annoyed huff, having far better things to distract himself with than a wailing young prawn who doesn't deign to listen to the hails and pleas of another worker.

"Wikus!" Christopher grapples with the smaller prawn, whispering an altercation of pleas and commands. "Calm down! Do you not recognize me?"

Wikus reacts as if he hasn't heard a word. "Let me go! Let me go!"

Christopher growls. He cannot and will not spar with Wikus in the middle of a gun battle. The humans and prawns persist and crash together with their weapons and bare hands never mind that the tide slowly turns in the Poleepkwa favor.

The larger prawn drags Wikus into a vacant shed, kicking aside a fresh human carcass lying partially inside the doorway that blocks him from slamming the door shut. The tiny shack barely muffles the 'pop pop pop' of machine gun fire that pings across the metal roofs and the sharp scream of interstellar weapons which scorch the buildings and the roiling mass of human offense.

"By the Queen, what has possessed you?" Christopher demands as he lets Wikus drop onto the floor of the shack.

Wikus hisses and crawls away, tentacles waving, laced with spider web thin strands of his still dripping blood, "Just leave me alone!"

Christopher ignores his command. Crouched down in front of Wikus he edges towards the terrified prawn but he is not stupid enough to place down his weapon.

Wikus flinches as hands gently press upon his wounds. Too many years under the raised fists of the guards and other abuse from the humans making him instinctively curl away from any contact.

Christopher hums a litany of purrs and clicks as he tries to coax Wikus to calm down. "I promised I would return for you."

Wikus sneers darkly. "You're three years too late. I can't and don't want to be saved."

"Stop it." Christopher hisses, "Stop being dramatic. I've returned with a cure-"

Wikus slaps his hands away, "The last thing I want is to turn back into one of those meat bags." The smaller prawn hunches within the deepest corner of the room, tucked underneath a rickety table, "My wife forgot all about me after a couple of months. Now she and her bland husband are on their way to a nice little home with a white picket fence and two kids and a little yapping dog."

"…I'm sorry." Christopher's tentacles weave in the air as he crawls closer, "I truly am. But that doesn't mean all hope is lost. You still have a home. With me…With Oliver and me."

Wikus guffaws with frigid ironic laughter, "You think that really means anything?"

"Yes." Christopher insists, "A family."

"My family buried me and every memory three years ago!" Wikus snaps, "I can't show my face to them now, and it's not as if Tania would open her door to me. And what makes you think that I'd be accepted amongst the other prawns? It's not as if they've forgotten about everything I did when I was human. Look at the big picture, Christopher. I will never be accepted back amongst the humans, and I will never be forgiven and allowed to stay amongst your kind."

"You don't know that." Christopher continues to press, just barely able to fold all four of his limbs in order to allow him to crawl partway under the table with Wikus, "You cannot make such judgment about us when you have no proof of how we will or will not act. Nor should we judge you for your sins in the past. You've made peace with your role and swallowed the shame, but now you can move on."

"God. You're not listening at all." Wikus glares, thrusting his face well into Christopher's comfort zone, "Look, for all intents and purposes, I get what you're trying to say. But the fact is I belong in this trash heap. I want my old life back, but that won't ever happen now, will it? You and your son were good to me, but you both need to just go home and not look back. The best thing, for all of our sakes, would be for you to just…Leave. Me. Alone." Wikus growls the last three words as he shoves his way past Christopher, pushing onto his feet.

"So that is it?" Christopher asks from behind him. Wikus lacks the compulsion to turn around and face him, listening only to the disappointment in the larger prawn, "You choose this destructive path? You are willing to abandon a better future while you wallow and decay in the festering wound of your past?"

"You don't need to be so poetic," Wikus strides to the door, his three clawed hand curls around the handle, "You'll get over the disappointment. I've already learned several times that I'm pretty easy to forget and bury."

"Wikus!"

"What?" Wikus turns around. He expects that the prawn is horrified by his glib comment.

There is a blur too fast to follow as Christopher swings his makeshift weapon. The short nub of a wood plank smashes against the smaller prawn's temple.

Wikus drops onto his knees, a flurry of thoughts spinning through his head as the world tilts as he collapses. 'Foooook,' Was the first, then 'Bastard, that's a cheap shot,' until finally 'Shit, can't believe he learned and took that from me.'

And then it was lights out and good night.

Wikus doesn't awaken completely. His head lolls, the darkness pocketed with little bubble bursts of white, light trickling into his sensitive reopening eyes.

He moans weakly as hands wound through his, pinning the appendages before they can reach up and palpitate the throbbing carapace of his temple.

He blinks repeatedly as the world swims into focus. The dim lights glow upon the soft blue metal ceiling. Christopher leans above him, tentacles tracing the air just above Wikus.

Over the larger prawn's shoulder Wikus can make out a small porthole window, the dots of white stars winking from the black canvas of space.

"Fook!" Wikus jerks twisting his hands within Christopher's while trying to roll aside and tries to leap off the cushy nest.

"You bastard-"

Christopher shoves Wikus back down, the smaller prawn yowling in surprise. More so because he now realizes the larger prawn is settled between his thighs, proboscis imbedded into the depths of Wikus.

"Shut up, Wikus." Christopher has lost patience with Wikus' whining and dark words. The smaller prawn wriggles and tries to escape again, but Christopher's superior weight and grip allows him to easily push Wikus deeper into the nest. His binary hands snap forward and grapple with Wikus', the smaller prawn cursing as these too are captured.

"Bas..tard…" Wikus gasps. His head jerks side to side, groaning at the slow painful stretch of the larger prawn inside him, "D-Didn't know that you would fooking have your way with me, you sick-"

"Be. Quiet."

Wikus automatically wilts underneath the authoritative snarl, instinctively whining and baring his throat as his head is tilted aside in submission.

"I grow tired of your fatalist words and mood. I won't tolerate it any longer." Christopher swears. "If you will not live for yourself, I will ensure that you live for your family."

"You are not my family."

Christopher rocks forward, Wikus choking on a scream as the larger prawn manages to push deeper. The smaller prawn tries to dig his thighs into Christopher's sides and halt his movements, hating the stab of sharp pleasure when the prawn above him moved.

"I have taken you into my nest." Christopher curls his shoulders above the smaller prawn. Hips jerk in a stucco of short fast thrusts while Wikus keens and helplessly pumps his hips in accordance with Christopher's motions, "Oliver adores you. Ignoring your moods and temper, I find you pleasant to be around. I wish to mate and tie with you. I want you to carry my young and bring them into this world. And I want to show you and my newest young one the splendid wonders of our home."

Wikus' panting breath intermingles with Christopher's, tentacles kissing and stroking together, "Y-You could have any prawn…and you chose the..the smallest, scrawniest one?"

"I like the way you fit within my arms." Christopher disagrees. He takes a risk in releasing his grip, and slides his hands upward to cup Wikus' face, "I am fixated by the color of your eyes. Your exoskeleton is alluring in color and texture," He dips his head down, nuzzles and brushes his face and tentacles with the stunned prawn, "and your taste and smell tests my fortitude like no other."

"Jesus, you have a skewed definition of attraction." Wikus laughs shakily. He winds his arms around Christopher's neck when the larger prawn begins to quicken his pace, Wikus clawing and hanging on for dear life.

"And you need to step out of the dark hole you have dug and look towards a bright future." Christopher countered.

Wikus drags his hands down Christopher's back, curling his long fingers around the lower portion of the prawn's hips and back. Their abdomens stretch taut and touch another, binary hands bend and entwine. The smaller prawn continues to arch and shudder, copying Christopher's thrusts by pushing against each forward motion with his spread thighs.

Wikus curses and whines. "Bastard. Pushy, bossy, perverted-" The smaller prawn shudders all the while Christopher persists, the larger prawn mounting him and showing no adverse need to separate their tangled forms.

"I have been called far worse." Christopher has heard worse from Oliver, the young one innocently mimicking the colorful cursed growls of the larger prawns in District 9 during their years there as refugees.

"S-Stop!" Wikus begs, covering his eyes and face with his hands. The steady friction combined with the pleasurable grinding motion against his abdomen and thighs is driving him crazy. He can hardly think straight, unable to string together words of denial or order Christopher off him.

"No. I will not." Christopher's weight traps and presses down any physical effort to push him or try to twist away.

"Christopher—" Wikus pleads.

Christopher disregards the smaller prawn's pleas, focusing instead on the manner in which Wikus arches and rubs against his chest.

"Am I so horrible?" Christopher wonders, "Do you hate this act?"

The smaller prawn keens, still covering his mortified face. Wikus mutely shakes his head.

Realization struck. "You abhor this because it reminds you how it feels to be alive."

Wikus doesn't meet his gaze. But his silence damns him.

"Put your trust in me, Wikus." Christopher wraps his arms around the smaller prawn, holding Wikus tight as his mate bucks and whines, Wikus' entire body trembling as release peaks. Christopher growls around the tight wet vibrating clench of Wikus' cloaca.

Wikus yelps when Christopher presses his face into his neck, sharp beak buried into the soft flesh between armor. The larger prawn releases a startled gasp tinged growl, hips buckling as he too reaches release. Black tar essence seeps into the smaller prawn's depths, black paint strokes traveling down both their armored thighs.

"…fook." Wikus wriggles underneath the larger prawn sprawled atop of him. Hips tremble at the warm thickness between his legs. His head falls back, exhaustion and reluctant acceptance settling in, "…fook." His vocabulary appears to have regressed down to one favorite phrase.

Christopher's limbs tremble but he manages to hoist himself partially off the fatigued, reclined prawn, "Wikus?" He asks, worried.

"…Fook." Wikus wiggles about, gasping when Christopher grudgingly slides out of him. The smaller prawn grimaces as the viscous fluid follows, dripping down his legs, "If an egg does grow inside of me, you better be a good father, otherwise I'll kick your sorry ass from one side of your home planet to another." The smaller prawn hisses his threat while curling sullenly on his side while he continues to grouse and mutter on about his violated state.

"Does this mean that your attitude towards your life and our future will improve?" Christopher dares to ask while sliding up behind his smaller growling mate.

"My attitude will improve by leaps and bounds if you let me stay in this perfectly nice, clean warm nest and if you hush and let me sleep."

Christopher burrows against Wikus' back, wrapping his arms around the other prawn. He breathes in, antennas also tasting the scent of the smaller prawn, Wikus practically doused in the larger prawn's scent. The perfume of their coupling fills the air. "Rest, then. It will not be too long before we are home."

Wikus makes himself comfortable in between the depths of the nest and Christopher's arms. He snuffles and kicks the thick padding until he is satisfied. "Whenever Oliver decides to sneak in here, I'll let you tell him that he is going to be a big brother." Wikus foresees a great deal of high pitched squeals and an excited sprawnling literally bouncing off the walls and ceiling.

END