Title: Element Drabbles

Author: dreamerchaos

Pairing: ChristopherxWikus hinted.

Rating: Rated R.

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

Summary: I posted a prompt on /coq/, focusing on the elements: Water. Earth. Fire. Air. Metal. Wood. This is a couple pieces of my own contribution.

Disclaimer: All recognizeable characters owned by other individuals than myself. I make no profit writing this.

Author's Note: 'Metal' ties together with another prompt on /coq/: Wikus essentially being booted out by Christopher after supposedly annoying the prawn to no end.

Water

'Finally!' Wikus nearly cries with relief when he wrings out his frayed gray shirt after dipping the soiled cloth into the river repeatedly. 'Some semblance of cleanliness!'

The human gently spreads out the wrinkled shirt across the warm rocks, settling his shirt and socks to dry along the dry shore.

Wikus sends silent thanks up towards the cloudy heavens for having stumbled across the tear in the tall District fence, the thin space providing Wikus enough measure to twist and squeeze through and carefully meander down the sloped grainy bank to the slow trickling river.

Slipping away from Christopher and Oliver had proven harder. The prawn not trusting Wikus with his own safety, and Oliver too curious and attached to his new half human, half prawn friend to allow Wikus far from his sight.

Today, however, Christopher was busy puttering around inside his shack to notice Wikus shiftily slipping outside, quickly to scurry for the fence and down to the river for a long, much needed wash of clothes.

Now he was ready to sink into the water until his skin prunes.

Wikus sighs with immense, sinful gluttony when he slips into the cool water, his dark slacks slicked to his legs like a second layer of skin. Near the middle of the river the water rises up to his shoulders, and Wikus laboriously begins to rub vigorously at the thick patches of dirt and dried sweat and grime. Opaque gray water raindrops off his pale flesh, followed with the tiny lakes and streams of dirty water traveling down the etched valleys of his ribs and spine.

He ducks under water, scratching at his itchy scalp, and tries to rub away the oil and dirt from his lank, dull hair.

When Wikus pushes up and out of the water, shielding his shut eyes from the splash of water flowing down his forehead, he twists around when his solitude is interrupted by a frightened frantic squeal.

"WIKUS!"

Oliver rolled down the incline of the river, rushing to Wikus.

"I'll save you, Wikus!" The little prawn leaped valiantly, pitching off the bank of the river and into the air.

A feeble 'splunk' marked where the sprawnling hit the water and sank like a stone, a perfect ring of water rippling from where his antenna has disappeared beneath the surface.

Wikus swiftly swam towards where Oliver had sank, thrusting his arms underwater. When his hands curl around the prawn's tiny waist, Wikus immediately yanks Oliver up and out of the water.

The little prawn squeals, clambering up Wikus' waist and curling his deceptively strong thin arms around the human's neck. Oliver hissed like a dunked feline, curled against the crook of Wikus' neck, burying his agitated, fidgeting mandibles against the thick growing carapace peppered throughout Wikus' flesh.

"Looks like I saved you." Wikus cannot help but laugh, easily settling onto his back and floating effortlessly, Oliver settled safely upon his chest as they float.

The little prawn blinks in wonder, calming ever so slightly as Wikus holds him safe and tight. "You don't sink, Wikus?"

Wikus shifts an eyebrow at the question. "Some humans don't know how to swim, or don't feel comfortable in water. My…my father taught me how to swim when I was younger." Wikus swallows the thick ball of throbbing pain that lodges in his throat at the memory of his loved ones so far and yet so close, his speeding mutation alienating him from his family and making it far too dangerous to approach his wife or parents without the risk of MNU catching him.

Oliver flexes his tiny claws against the damp, cool human flesh. Mandibles curl and his antenna nudge and scent the warmth and pheromone marker of his friend, "Father says that our planet has lots of water too. Like this planet. He says that we can survive and travel underwater, and even swim. But whenever I try, I just drop straight down to the bottom."

"Hey, now," Wikus bumps his forehead with the young prawn's. "Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, huh? You'll learn when the time is ready. You need to be patient. One thing my father taught me when learning to swim is that you have to learn to listen and watch the water to know when it is the safest and best time to enter. Push yourself too hard or jump in without considering the consequences, and you could end up in serious trouble."

"..'kay." Oliver sulks for a brief moment, but his sullen mood passes when his head jerks up sharply.

Wikus notes that the little prawn is rigid against his chest. "What is-"

Wikus has only a moment to recognize the red vest upon the large prawn before Christopher soars into the river, the impact of the prawn's dense body splitting the water sends a tall wave up and over Wikus and Oliver.

Just as quickly Wikus bobs up above the surface, hacking up water, Oliver suffering far less due to his gills, but the little prawn clings to Wikus like a persistent leech.

That is until Christopher wraps his arms around the hybrid and his prawn son. "Father!" Oliver excitedly announces Christopher's arrival, and leaps into his parent's arms.

Wikus sputters further when he is effortlessly hefted out of the water clutched within the prawn's long, compact arms. "What were you thinking?" He snaps, sweeping his wet hair out of his eyes.

Christopher's head sinks with embarrassment. "I…I thought the worst." He can't put forth adequate words to relate to his initial terror when he had first caught sight of Wikus and his son in the water, the absolute all consuming horror that his son and newest ward had drowned in the muddy brown river.

Wikus scowls, unmoved by the large prawn's sheepish features. "Now I know where Oliver gets his impetuousness." He ignores Oliver as the little prawn's giggles, "And I certainly don't need rescuing, so if you would be so kind as to put me down. And you better not have sent my shirt and socks into the river with that large splash of water!"

Metal

Wikus stumbles forward in a hop and a skip of tangled feet, gently but firmly shooed out of the shack. "Well fine!" He snaps for good measure as the door slams shut in his face, "See if I decide to help you with anything again!"

The hybrid grumbles and growls beneath his breath. Oliver chirps restlessly, "Are you and father fighting?"

Wikus mutters, his temper sour, "Your father decided he needs a bit of alone time without me hovering," he manages a harsh laugh with a brief flicker of a smile, trying to dispel the worried expression on the young prawn's face.

"It's okay." Oliver pats Wikus' knee in consolation, "You can play with me, sweetie man." The small prawn indicates his array of broken cans and rectangular cardboard candy boxes.

Wikus lacks the little prawn's enthusiasm, and he gently untangles Oliver's little claws from the wrinkled cotton of his pant leg, "Thanks, kid. I promise I'll play with you later. Right now, I should be out looking for some new material. Got to find the best pieces before anyone else finds those treasures and sell them, hmm?"

Oliver bops onto his feet, staring at Wikus' back in concern, "What about the bad humans, Wikus? What if they find you?"

"I'll be fine." Wikus assures him, "MNU is a bit busy dealing with the aftermath after an extreme environmentalist group bombed one of their labs."

"…really?"

Wikus sighs. He may not make it away by nighttime before Oliver is secure with allowing his new friend out of his sights, "Really really," He teases, "now why don't you go back to finish building your…it's an octopus, right?"

"It's not an octopus! It's a spaceship!" The little prawn hops up and down furiously with indignation.

Wikus laughs, stumbling away, hands held up for mercy while Oliver bemoans his friend's incapability to appreciate architecture and fine engineering.

"Fooking…fooking…fook!" Wikus gasps, a long hiss of pain incited when he tries to free his ankle from the cage of junkyard metal.

He curses as the last bloom of sunlight begins to fade upon the horizon. Panic begins to set in, dread pooling within his gut, Wikus fearing the nighttime feral dogs, or worse, the cackle of hyenas and the roar of lions on the edge of the District, the dangerous hunters lured by the cluster of too many unclean alien and human bodies and disgusting rotten garbage heaps.

He has paid in full for wandering so far away from Christopher's shack. In the farthest sector of the huge District, Wikus found a prime heap of discarded metal, the mountain of trash ripe for the picking.

Unfortunately he hadn't been as careful as he had thought while painstakingly clambering up the tall pile. His leg had suddenly sunk down through a concealed hole, the twisted metal slicing upwards towards his knee after his shoe slipped on something wet. A harsh twist and lance of tearing agony ripping upwards to tear a breathless cry from his lungs as the twisted tangle of metal trash crunches down around his leg like the maw of an well placed bear trap.

"God damn it!" He snarls, furious tears burning his eyelids. Trust him to be able to rip his own damn leg open; might as well test his luck further with a possible blood infection from the filthy grime and garbage strewn all over the place. He could only pray that all of his booster shots are up to date!

The full moon glows, a single, bright white marble in the cloudless night sky. The pale wash of light provides his weak, human eyes the capability to make out shadows and the faint, distant glow of trash can fires.

Something moves. Immediately Wikus tucks himself into a ball, trying not to move or make a sound lest he draw whatever it is closer.

The hybrid yips in fear, the shred of panic twisting into a yell of indignation spiced with a dash of hysterical relief when Christopher suddenly appears, clambering up the pile of trash, "You scared the shit out of me!" Wikus gasps.

Christopher's big, deep umber eyes blink slowly. "I doubt it. You smell exactly the same to me as you were hours ago."

"It's called a metaphor." Wikus grinds out, weakly trying to bat Christopher's hands away. "Don't touch it!" He begged, his ankle swollen so badly that he cannot shift or pop it loose.

Christopher chirrs with concern, mandibles clacking, gently pushing aside the shredded strips of Wikus' pant leg, "There is blood." The prawn tries not to nudge the streaks of clotted rusty fluid, unwilling to risk breaking open the wounds.

"Fook, it hurts…" The human's whisper isn't meant for his ear canals, but by no means is Christopher deaf.

The large prawn nudges Wikus to stay still, and the human blinks wet, red rimmed eyes. "Trust me," Christopher beseeches as he squeezes his long arm down amongst the tight, sharp cave of raw metal edges.

Wikus bites his cracked bottom lip, shivering from a combination of the steadily chilling nighttime air and aching fatigue. Christopher desperately needs to get him indoors and out of the cold.

First, though, he must get him free.

His long claws crook and find the soft, blistering hot damaged flesh of Wikus' lower limb. He frowns at the elevated temperature of the pale skin, concluding that the appendage is twisted, but thankfully not broken.

Wikus unconsciously curls against the prawn's hard chest, nestled close to the only source of heat amidst the chilly night.

Christopher wraps one arm around the smaller man's shoulders, bracing him. "On three." He warns, "One…two…"

Wikus shrieks when Christopher snaps apart the snarled metal beams on the count of two, freeing his leg and ankle. The hot burn of a wound reopened when the razor sharp metal edges break free from the meat of his calf.

Christopher quickly scoops Wikus into his arms, clamping pressure onto the wound, relieved that the spurt of blood is quick to stem off. Wikus sniffles, rubbing bitterly at his damp face. He refuses to meet Christopher's gaze, embarrassed by his tears, humiliated by the need to rely on the prawn to help him unless he wanted to stay outside and curl upon the ground for a few hours of restless sleep.

"Let's go home, Wikus." The prawn would normally hop off the pile of trash, but fearing that the jolt would harm Wikus further, instead he works his way down, spending over a minute traversing the steep walls unstable mountain of metal before his feet touch the ground, "I have clean water and rags so that we may sanitize the wound. And warm water. Won't that be nice?" He purrs, whispering praise and promises to the quiet, shivering man.

Oliver keens with alarm and dread when Christopher bursts into the shack carrying Wikus. The young prawn quickly follows his father's snapped direction and drags a huge metal pot from the corner of the room. Christopher fills the container with water and instructs his son to place in over the small, portable burning stove.

It is well into the first light of morning and several changes of the red and brown water and stained rags before Christopher settles Wikus into the nest. Clean gauze wrapped around the wound, Christopher dismayed by the initial sight of the slick red, long, jagged slice, the injury larger than he had initially thought.

Oliver crawls in amongst the sheets and newspaper and immediately curls against Wikus' chest. Christopher joins them, knowing well enough to slip into the nest when Wikus is half-asleep and less likely to holler and threaten him to the other side of the shack.

The next morning, their sore and grumpy friend remains reclined in the nest, Oliver his willing and eager nursemaid. Wikus glares at Christopher, daring him to make one…single…comment, the large prawn barely manages to stifle his humor at the sight of the smaller man bundled up like a chrysalis amongst the nesting material, Oliver perhaps too eager to attend to his ailing friend and make sure the nest was padded and extra comfortable.

Christopher promises to make it up to their reluctant patient. Certain that Wikus will enjoy the rare copper wires and soda pop cans he manages to scavenge from the junkyard, the material enough to last Wikus and his craft projects until he is well enough to bear weight on his leg again.