Disclaimer: I do not own D9

Notes: Been a while, hope you enjoy. Any constructive criticism is appreciated. :)

For some time Wikus sat in silence after Markus left. The buzz of the district – muffled clicks and whirls – failed to annoy or snap him awake. It was only until he realized how uncomfortable it was on the chair that he moved. Sore, weak, he pushed himself back with his legs. Fumbling briefly until his back met wood.

With his hands palm-side up, he drew a claw against its creases. Except for the hardened, sharpened finger, its sensation appeared normal. The rest of his body had the strange sensation of feeling slightly numbed; touch that seemed to be blocked by the hard shell surrounding his body.

Sighing quietly he leaned back.

He didn't mind this. Being alone, allowing his thoughts to dissolve, to be silent. The district would never sleep though – true silence was rare - , and the city of JBerg – grey towers and all – loomed with a vigilant and disconnected presence in the sky. For now he stared at his feet, the walls of the shack no longer small and insufferable.

With a snort he glanced at the door and the sharp, bright light of midday outlining its edges.

Hours passed without any sort of contemplation, a lack of thought streaming in an abyss; nothing, except for the strange senses and stimuli of his body. Wikus filled the hours by stretching out his legs, bringing them back in; from touching the segments on his small, small abdomen and poking at the secondary arms just above. Startled when they moved on their own, their quivering, hesitant state brought a greater feeling of disembodiment upon Wikus.

With a weak sigh he stopped there, ignoring those strange appendages as best he could. Focusing on the light outlining the door he began to wonder what day it was, the hour, where he would have been; and quickly transported himself into a cubicle with stacks of papers, and a computer screen where he'd attached a picture of Tania at its corner. Smiling.

Markus returned with a bag full of 'junk' slung across his arm. He made a soft trilling sound when he found that Wikus had crawled into his nest and appeared to have fallen asleep. Setting the bag on an old table, he began to carefully set his articles across its top. Piling edibles in one area, useful tools in another; such that included scissors, plastics of sorts, fabric or anything that needed re-stocking.

He turned with some of the material in hand when he noticed Wikus' eyes on him. Markus paused, but continued to shift across the shaft to place them away.

"Good, you're awake." He clicked pleasantly.

"I was just about to wake you." Markus squatted down, shifting the haphazard lids of metal and plastic containers. Standing up he took a moment to look at the food he collected that morning.

"You should be able to smell it; the food." He picked up a half-opened can of something; it wasn't necessarily cat food, its label was ripped off. Dipping his finger in and testing it, he'd discerned it was anything else but cat food. He looked back with the can in hand.

"Can you smell it?" Wikus didn't say anything, he couldn't; he just seemed to perpetually glare at Markus. When he came over with the can, Wikus shifted up into a sitting position, cautious of the prawn. Markus sat down and offered the contents of the can.

After a moment, and a huff from the hybrid's gills Wikus reached for the can.

"It helps to take it out and move it into your mouth. Like this." Markus demonstrated simply enough. It wasn't as easy as a piece or chunk of meat. The mandibles at least could hook on and allow the rest of the mouth to chew its way through as it was kept in place. Canned food, unless completely filled, had the annoying property of slipping and spilling all over the place.

Wikus was having trouble. Despite the needy, acidic hunger burning in his stomach, touching the loose tendrils of his mouth was odd and… disgusting. He shoved past them quickly. Pausing, he chewed quietly, figuring out the mechanics of his mouth with each uncertain motion while Markus watched carefully.

Each mouthful of the stuff slowly eased him though. And soon enough his hunger dictated the pace of his eating. There was a moment where he had eaten too fast, and spluttered the stuff everywhere with a gagging motion. Markus gave him a long look before he laughed; a sound Wikus had truly never heard before. Actually, the odd rhythm of rolls and sharp chirps made him go still and quiet out of fear. But as the prawn resumed what he was doing, he slowly went at the last pieces in silence.

For the rest of the evening Markus was fiddling with something at the table. He'd mentioned earlier that they were short on water for the moment, and that it shouldn't be too long for the rain to come. He also encouraged Wikus to try out the sounds in his throat. For the most part he'd left him alone though; sitting up at the corner quietly. He didn't mind it; for the most part he didn't want to think, anyways… he focused on watching Markus fiddle away. Not quite understanding how a prawn could be so efficient with his hands; his dexterity was quite precise, even if Wikus' angle prevented him from viewing what exactly he was working on. He'd only witnessed prawns cutting up meats with their claws, scrapping with each other or sifting through the dirt and junk. Nothing quite this focused; no… prawns had a limited span of focus, and this was quiet strange to witness.

Dark.

Everything was just dark and black. And by some kind of grace he felt comfortable and safe. The strange and wild antics of the district became dulled in his sleep. The distant and intermittent gun shots; hand guns and machine guns alike, did not wake him in the span of the night. In the depth and void of sleep he did not receive a visit from his 'angel', her haunted image or his former life. Sleep had come to him quickly, settled in, and rested him into a mind numbing embrace.

The sharp rays of the sun eventually drifted from their cracks and into the shack. He remained still as he broke free from his unconscious state, regretfully. It hit hard against his chest then, the mere fact that nothing had really changed and that he was alone. Truly alone; and the question of whether he was free in the presence of the prawns with him remained unknown, their intentions possibly skewed and malicious.

At that moment something shifted behind him, something immediately close. He jolted away, enough to realize that an arm had been slung around him, a prawn hand now resting against the side of his abdomen. A startled hissing sound erupted from his throat as he flung himself to the wall right against the bedding. Startling Markus awake, his alert and wide eyes searching for the cause. Pausing on Wikus, whose eyes could burn holes.

The prawn made an annoyed grunt, rubbing its eyes and whirling briefly. That fokking prawn was practically rolling its eyes at him, Wikus thought in outrage. As if it thought it had any right to nudge his way beside him and sleep with him. The hell was that for?

When Markus regarded Wikus again he simply clicked and stood up with a stretch. "Sorry."

A short, gasping sound escaped the prawn's mouth as his arms reached above its head for a few seconds. He brought them down to twist once, twice either side. "I didn't realize it would be that bad…" He said dismissively. "It's common for us to sleep together. That is my nest, and I thought nothing of it." He stared blankly at Wikus, who had refused to look at the prawn and balled his hands into fists. Cursing in his head. Wikus made an annoyed gesture with his antennae, flicking it when he realized Markus' unyielding gaze was still on him, frowning.

"That's strange; you haven't scented."

Wikus raised his hands up, shrugging, like he had no frick'n clue what that meant.

"Each of us has a scent. You should be able to recognize mine from another prawn. It's distinct. You… don't really have one." The prawn moved quickly and was up in Wikus' face, it made him lean back, but he hit the wall. Markus' antennae hovered above Wikus; the motion of it made him stiffen, shocked by the closeness of the creature and so pissed off that it practically locked his body in place. The prawn leaned back from where he squatted down.

"Having scented is a little bit different from producing mere pheromones…" Markus explained, his eyes locked onto Wikus' antennae. "It's easy enough to tell how angry you are now, but you have no identity." Wikus hissed, shrugging his shoulders; why should he care?

"The others will be suspicious of you. If you have no place, there's no reason to keep you around." Wikus lifted his eyes up. "That's what they'll think." The final click resounded strangely in his head. No place, no reason. His frown increased. But Markus had already started moving away, shifting through the containers and coming back with another can of mush. He placed it beside Wikus.

"I must go again. My supplies are low, and I can't afford a day without scavenging." Wikus stared at the can.

"I want you to work on your walking. After you eat I will be able to help a little bit, but you will have to help yourself while I'm gone. I will send for someone to check on you." Wikus gave no response. He grabbed the can; his stomach upset from being terribly hungry again and started eating.

Markus had helped him stand afterwards. But after the first try he needed to stop. He reached for the chair, hunched over and clenching his eyes shut. Emotionally it was overwhelming, he couldn't handle it; the thought of having to relearn this basic and simple task. The frustration of losing his balance, and having to be guided like an infant by the two hands ahead of him, defeated any will to push through it. Markus' hands reached out for a shoulder, but he swatted them away with a vile hiss.

He gave it one more try before Markus had to leave, instructing Wikus on how to strengthen his legs before he left. Yesterday the shack hadn't seemed so bad. He admitted that it was possibly the safest place he'd been in since his fallout with MNU; today was a completely different story. A shelter became a cage, and the hot light invading that cage made the wait even more unbearable. The small jug of water, half-filled and slightly murky, added to the thought.

Out of frustration he worked on the exercises. Besides making unintelligible sounds of rage, and between the lows of a mournful chirp, he began pulling around his unwilling body. He sat in the same wooden chair, exhausted and breathing heavily when the door creaked open.

Wikus automatically brought his gaze up. Fearfully expecting men in black MNU combat apparel to swarm in; instead there was really no heads to begin with. There was a sound down below the door, two bright yellow eyes peaked through and locked on.

A child? He thought. That fokk'n prawn sent a child to look after him?

He was mistaken though, as an adult prawn came behind and pushed the door open. It gave Wikus a weary look before entering. The child quickly pushed through, the adult warning it with a sharp sound. It hesitated, hovering close to Wikus but backed off, closer to the prawn. He stood before the hybrid.

"Markus sent us. Are you okay?" Wikus nodded, hesitated, and then pointed at the jug of water. "You want that?" He nodded again.

"Why can't he talk?" The little one piped up, staring at Wikus.

The prawn ignored the question, grabbed the jug and motioned for Wikus to catch it. He flung it to him.

"You need anything else?"

Wikus held the jug, and stared at the pair quietly. The adult was hesitant, he could sense the aversion; some sort of dislike hanging in the air. It was the first time he'd noticed anything like it.

"Yes is 'Yes'!" Wikus flicked his attention to the young one. "Yes." The child said slowly; it was familiar to him. But Wikus refused to respond. "And 'No'. 'No, I am good'." The child seemed to smile; the adult prawn was not impressed.

"He understands Eli." The child did not stop staring at Wikus. "Why doesn't he talk?"

The prawn shrugged with a small huff and regarded Wikus once more.

"You need anything?"

Wikus shook his head and looked away. The two left, just as quickly as they had arrived. Wikus didn't know what to make of it, except for the thought that he felt diseased or vile to them. To the one prawn at least; but perhaps they all thought of him in the same way. Or was it just a few who really knew 'who' he was? How would they have known? Did that prawn know who he was, or was he just being cautious out of habit…?

Wikus paused, unscrewed the jug and carefully placed the edge within his mouth. It tasted funny, but the liquid was a simple pleasure that he enjoyed regardless. He tried in vain to save a little of it at the end, though his thirst out won his judgment and he drank to the very last drop instead.

When Markus came back at the end of the day, he noticed something different. The hybrid had constructed a poorly made 'nest' on the other side of the 'room'. At some point he must have given up on moving about, because Wikus lay still and curled in the mess he had created.

Markus grunted as he went to work sorting and placing his materials away. He noticed that Wikus' eyes would open, stare at him for a while before drifting back to sleep. These instances were intermittent, and Markus wondered briefly if Wikus would sleep through the night all by his lonesome. Throughout his transformation he did well when someone was with him; comforting measures, for which he probably didn't remember, often soothed the physical aches and pains of his body.

Touch was powerful, as was one's presence.

Tonight they would see. Once more Markus would lie alone, and so would Wikus.

I wanted to spend more time on the adjustment phase here, the next chapter might speed things up but we'll see. Your reviews are greatly appreciated!

~ Rue.