Title: Flash of Human Days

Author: dreamerchaos

Pairing: Wikus centered. Oliver and Wikus interaction.

Rating: R

Warnings: Language. Slash if you squint reaaaaaaaaaally hard.

Summary: The prawns arrived on Earth over twenty years ago. Setting up a colony and harvesting the planet for necessary resources, they must continue to associate with the sentient natives known as humans…

Author's Note: These drabbles are not meant to interconnect unless explicitly stated. I'll place a note where any may connect…

Author's Note2: Err…I don't know where this came from exactly. Hopefully it's not too crazy. It's received mixed comments, so I don't know if I will leave this as a one-shot or pursue this further.

The Young and the Young

Oliver has wandered far beyond his father. The young prawn gleefully scuttles through the garbage kingdom of filth as he picks through the piles of discarded metal. Several leviathan ships loom above, machinery slowly moans as gears and shuttles continue to exploit resources and harvest the supplies.

Cresting a mountain of trash, Oliver chirps in surprise. Below, with his back to the young prawn, a young human perhaps in his late twenties, fiddles with a metal stem and curved Coke can petals.

Near his knee, the human has a small pile of gleaming semi-precious gems.

Oliver mistakes the sparkling jewels for the candy that some of the humans sell to the Poleepkwas.

"Shiny!" He peeps and dives for the pile.

The human startles, gasps when the young prawn literally drops into his lap.

Instinctively Wikus scoops the young prawn higher to prevent him from snatching up the stones and trying to swallow.

"That's not candy!" Wikus snaps as he holds the young prawn over his head.

Oliver deflates within his grasp. The young prawn too naïve to realize the danger of being clutched in a 'wild' human's grasp. Many humans were willing to kill a young prawn out of fear or spite. "Not sweeties?" Oliver asks.

Wikus places the Poleepkwa child back onto the ground. His gaze twitches left and right. Where there is a young prawn, inevitably an adult will follow. "No. Not a sweetie."

Oliver bobs upon his feet, antennas quirked with curiosity. "What are you doing?" He places his small clawed hands upon Wikus' knee, again ignoring the danger of getting too close to a wild human.

Wikus is alarmed by the child's proximity, the young prawn's inherent curiosity such an opposite many of the wild human children, their eyes blank and faces dirty as they paw at their parents for food. "…I'm making a flower."

"But flowers are supposed to be green!" Oliver chirps, tapping the metal flower. "…It's pretty…but its petals are red and the stem is black."

Wikus smiles gently, handing over the flower and allowing the young prawn to closely inspect it. "You're right. It's not a real flower. Its…humans call it art."

"Aaa-rr-t?"

Wikus nods. "Humans interpret nature, songs, and other things differently. So they express it on paper, on walls, or they make something with their hands."

Oliver hums. Gently tweaks the metal petals. "I like it." His antennas wriggle with pleasure.

"Then you keep it."

"Really?" Oliver scampers up to him again. Eyes bright, "I can have it?"

Wikus' smile is sad, poignant, ashen face and dirt tattoos rim the dark circles of his eyes. "I don't have anyone else to give it to. It would be sad to let it go to waste."

Oliver moans sadly. "You don't have any friends?"

Wikus' throat grows hard, an aching ball settling in his esophagus at the innocent question. 'It's hard to trust other humans when they're ready and willing to either kill you or sell you.' He can't force his voice to work, so instead his quietly shakes his head.

"OLIVER!"

"Father!" Oliver chirps, excitedly hopping away from his new human friend. "Father!" He summons.

Wikus gasps, falls forward in his rush to get to his feet.

"Wait!" Oliver keens, but Wikus is already running. Oliver bounds after him half-heartedly, keening for his friend.

Christopher scales over the trash heap, flanked by other larger prawns that have joined Christopher in his search for his son. To his right, Paul raises his head, wasp-yellow exoskeleton bright against the mold and trash.

"A human!" Paul shouts, catching sight of the running wild male human. The other prawns clatter and hiss, sending coordinates to the larger soldier prawns that will track and capture the lone human.

Oliver wriggles within his father's grip as Christopher scoops him up, the older Poleepkwa clutching onto his son for dear life after having spent the last few hours fearing that he had lost his son for good. "No! He's my friend!" Oliver waves his arms up and down, brandishing the metal flower, "He gave me this!"

"A human gave you this?" Paul gently cups Oliver's waving hand and gift into his larger hand, claws encircling and allowing the large prawn to inspect the unusual flower, "Most humans would steal your food from your plate before they gave you anything." He scoffs.

"Father!" Oliver pleads, clutching onto Christopher. He burrows his face into his father's chest, "He was nice to me. He gave me a flower."

Christopher sighs gently rubbing Oliver's back to sooth the whimpering young prawn. "All right. I will speak with the soldiers and ask to see your little human before they tag and release him back to the wild."

Oliver practically shrieks with joy, nuzzling his father and throwing his arms around Christopher's neck.

Raid

(Sequel to The Young and the Young)

The other humans warily watch him as he races through the filth covered walkways littered with muddy water and trash. He circles a burning fire, avoids a snarling, lunging hound.

Wikus nearly kicks himself when he ducks into his shack, scrambling to throw together a small bag of personal effects before he can leave this sector of the city.

He was so stupid! What was he thinking, entertaining a young prawn? He doesn't know how he managed to avoid an enraged parent, but Wikus counts his luck as short-term.

The human isn't certain whether a soldier task force has been summoned to follow and bag him, and he doesn't plan to wait around and find out.

Outside the shack, the human chatter suddenly halts. A few seconds later, the screaming begins.

"It's a raid!" The warning ripples throughout the throng of shacks and squatting humans. Men and women scatter as the larger soldier prawns and smaller workers swarm their hovels, half a dozen hovering shuttles light the crusty shacks and mountains of filth with their spotlights.

Wikus hasn't the time to make a run for it. The door to his shack is kicked open, the rectangular square of dim light illuminating the startled human.

"There you are." The large soldier's thick antennas shiver, the sensitive sensory system making it entirely too easy to track the human male.

Wikus kicks and flails as the large mottled black soldier captures his wrists, forcing him to drop his small bag. "Let me go!" The smaller human isn't a match whatsoever, his much slighter, gaunt body and weaker strength incapable of shoving the other prawn away or tearing his arms free.

Wikus struggles as the soldier's arms loop around his shoulders as he is dragged out of his shack. Other prawns waylay and pin other humans down, a soldier nearly ripping a human male's arm off when the redheaded male brandishes a knife.

A young female screams shrilly, her long black hair a tangled mat around her pale face while she tries to crawl out from underneath the wide-spread talons pressed upon her back. The prawn who pins her mindfully avoids pushing down too hard onto her bulging stomach, keenly aware that the female is carrying unborn offspring.

One of the prawns chatters busily, waving a stencil and computer pad with one hand while he records the capture of the wild humans, preparing the data and the smaller natives for transport to the Facilities for cleaning and cataloguing. "All of them must be decontaminated immediately! Who knows how many are crawling with fleas or lice!" He shudders and covers his curled mandibles and feelers with one hand in response to the reek of noxious scents from the filthy creatures.

"I have someone who wants this one to be seen." The soldier clasps Wikus to his chest, the smaller man wriggling within his grasp.

"Hmmm…" The prawn holding the stencil and pad peers closer at the human, "Fine. Put him and the pregnant female on a separate shuttle. They will both be cleaned and attended to immediately. And for the Queen's sake, someone please make certain that all of the others are tagged and sterilized before they are returned back to the wild. The population of stray humans is still far too high."

Protocol

(Sequel to Raid)

Wikus can't remember how long it has been since he has felt this clean. His skin and hair scoured with soap and water, the human dunked in a solution to kill off any parasites that may hide upon his flesh or within his hair.

He has had everything from his eyes, teeth, and other parts checked over by the large team of medical personnel. The smaller human is overwhelmed by so many large Poleepkwas looming around him. But his anxiety is taken care of when a conscientious aid slips a needle into a vein the potent sedative relaxes the shivering, fearful human.

Wikus is gently pushed and cajoled into a clean pair of clothes, the cut too large for his skinny malnourished frame. The large white shirt slips off one shoulder, and the waist of his pants barely cling on to his hips. Wikus secretly delights in the thick socks and clean pair of shoes, the human quietly enjoying the simple pleasure of his sore aching feet no longer wet from large puddles of muck or his disintegrating shoes flaked with layers of filth.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" One of the aids gently pats his head. The slim pale Poleepkwa marveling at the soft texture of the human's spiked hair, chuckling at the springy bounce of the dark blond hair.

"You'll have to make sure that he eats regularly." The doctor advises Christopher from the other side of the viewing glass window, both Poleepkwas looking into the medical room where the aid continues to pitter around and watch over the dazed human while the sedatives slowly wear off, "He is dehydrated as well, so keep an eye on that."

Christopher sighs, begetting a look of 'What have I gotten myself into?' to slide across his face.

"You've made a wise choice, the best that can be made with a human as a pet." The doctor assures, "He has no disease or any food aggression. Fairly intelligent, and has noticeable skill with crafts. And your son adores him."

From his vantage point Christopher can watch as Oliver hurries into the room, led by another aid, the smaller prawn immediately running to Wikus.

Oliver leaps into the human's lap. The action startles the smaller human, but Wikus wraps his arms around Oliver to keep him from toppling over onto the metal floor.

"You're not covered in dirt and ickie anymore. I can see your face now!" Oliver preens, his antennas weave through the human's soft hair.

Wikus shivers and barks out a startled laugh at the tickling touch. "S-stop it!" He chokes on another laugh as Oliver burrows against his chest, little binary arms scratching against his sensitive sides.

Christopher's expression softens as his son and the human mingle, the Poleepkwa's hesitation slowly melting away. "I think we will manage." He agrees with the doctor.