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Hybrid (3/x)
misaditas wrote in misaditas_fic
Characters: Bialar Crais, Aeryn Sun
Setting: Season 4. AU
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Aeryn leaves Moya and John, heads off into the unknown. But passing the site of the Carrier's destruction she receives a signal that should not be possible...

( One | Two )

Aeryn jumps forward as Talyn – Crais – collapses. The eyes are closed, but the body shudders violently, rebelling against the unnatural juxtaposition of consciousnesses. She carefully arranges him so that he is lying on one side. His breathing is ragged, as if he has run a long distance, and sweat beads the dark forehead. But he still feels oddly cool to the touch.

She sits next to him, knees drawn up to her chest, and watches him struggle. There is nothing she can do to help, not that she knows of anyway, and it is hard to see him in such pain. It makes her tremble and her hand shakes as she lifts the flask to her lips again. The cool water does little to ease the lump in her throat.


Tearing a strip from his already ruined clothing, Aeryn tips the flask and soaks it, and then she leans over him to dab at the sweaty face. The cloth comes away sooty and, with a lack of anything else to do, she sets about cleaning him.

It is not long before she discovers that there is a layer of soot over his skin. Underneath it is still black, but there is a second colour – a ruddy shade. Aeryn’s hand slows as the cloth reveals the extent of the… merging. They are of one body, one that is neither Sebacean nor Leviathan.


She sits back on her heels, stunned. It clearly isn’t simply a case of Talyn being in Crais’ mind, but a full melding of two beings. They have survived, but it has taken a complete rewrite of their DNA. She lifts a hand and examines it. Faint lines run over the metallic surface, energy lines like Talyn had born in his previous form. Those lines had lit in Starburst but this body was surely not capable of that? In truth she has no idea.

But the thought that he might still have access to that power sobers her and she regards his face seriously. He could be dangerous. She snorts at herself; this is Bialar Crais – he was always dangerous. Nothing there has changed, just the form of danger he represents.

Aeryn knows that if Crichton were here he would tell her to leave because of that precise danger. That alone is enough to make her stay, never mind that she is probably the only person who can help Crais now. She was joined to Talyn and she knows him, knows Crais as well through that brief joining and though more normal experiences.

“Is there anything you want to say to me?”

“I think we covered it all when you left me for dead in the Aurora Chair.”

The memory makes her lips twist in a grim smile. Normal? They have never done normal and she sees no reason why they should start now – this is as far from normal as it gets.

She wets the cloth again and wipes the sweat off his forehead. He stirs, sighs a moan, and the eyes open. She is still not used to that black gaze but she manages not to recoil this time.

“Bialar?” she asks uncertainly.

“Yeah.” He puts a hand to his forehead and rubs at his temple.

Her fingers twist the cloth. “D-do you know what happened?”

He grunts softly. “What happened, yes. How…” He waves his hand vaguely.

“Well, no. I don’t think anyone could know the answer to that.” She gives him a small smile. “I do think that you have completely redefined irreversible contamination though.”

An eyebrow arches and he is clearly not amused. “Yes,” he replies dryly and she coughs.


He blinks slowly and then shoves himself into a sitting position. She watches him, the flex of muscle and sinew under the metallic skin. Biomechanoid, she thinks and frowns.

“What?” he asks.

“I... I was just thinking,” she says. “Can you tell if… I mean, do you still need to eat? And what?”

He is staring at her. “I should have thought so,” he returns. “Why ever not?”

“Because…” She pauses and looks away, bites at her bottom lip. “Because you aren’t… Sebacean any more Bialar,” she says quietly. “You are… something else.”

“I had noticed.”

She glares at him. “Stop that! I can do without sarcasm, thank you very much. How should I know? It’s not like I’ve come across this before.”

“No. I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “This is all… well it’s new to me as well Aeryn.”

“I know.” She reaches out and takes his hand. “We’ll work it out together hm?”

A faint smile touches his lips, but then his expression darkens. “What about Crichton? What about Moya and the others?”

“I’ve left them,” she replies firmly. “And anyway, you need me more right now.”

He purses his lips and looks away, but he does not argue and that surprises her. She glances down at their joined hands, how much more alien he appears when there is an immediate comparison. When she looks up she finds his eyes on her, the bleakness in his expression telling her that he knows what she has been thinking.

“It doesn’t matter,” she tells him.

“Don’t lie to me Aeryn,” he retorts. “It rather patently does.”

“I… I just need to adjust.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“Exactly,” she says and he jolts slightly at her tone. “Which is why I’m staying with you. Or the other way around.” She glances at his ruined uniform. “I think you’re going to need new clothing.”

He opens his mouth, undoubtedly to argue, but then decides against it and gives a resigned sigh. “I am not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

She grins at him. “No.”

“Thought as much.”

Aeryn debates the situation and then looks up, holds the void that is his gaze. “Your… strategy led you to this. You cannot go back and I do not want to. I have made my move.” She smiles softly, sadly. “It’s time you planned yours.”

The black eyes widen as she paraphrases words he once spoke to her. Then his jaw clenches and several emotions pass over his face, too quickly for her to follow, but she recognises the look that settles there.

“I planned to die,” he notes. “As such, I have nothing.”

“You have your life,” she retorts sharply, then softens her tone. “A new start. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

He snorts. “Not exactly like this.”

“You came to us,” she chuckles. “Obviously bad planning is contagious.”

“Obviously,” he agrees, but there is a touch of humour to his tone now and the bleak expression has lightened. “So what do you suggest?”

“Well… how do you actually feel? I would have thought what you’ve been through would be rather traumatic. Are you in need of medical aid?”

He looks at her steadily. “Do you honestly think there’s a single diagnosian out there that has any experience with this?” he asks and holds up one black hand. She sighs.

“You may have a point there,” she allows.


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