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Glossy, black doors slid open with a hiss.
Before Scorpius stepped inside of his spacious personal quarters, he already knew that he was not alone. Commander John Crichton was waiting for him. He was casually leaning against a far wall, arms crossed, foot braced on the wall behind him, likely leaving a boot print on the paint. Half his face was bathed in shadow, but his perpetually self-assured expression was apparent.
Scorpius walked past him, over to his desk and pulled out a data pad, prepared to ignore his intruder indefinitely.
"Good evening, Commander." Crichton spoke with saccharine affectation.
"Good evening" Scorpius replied politely, sparing only a brief nod in his fellow Commander's direction.
Commander Crichton and his personnel had docked nearly three weeks prior. Crichton was a rising star in the eyes of Peacekeeper High Command and had a talent for finding and neutralizing Scarran agents, amongst other talents. He had a reputation as a maverick, but proved so effective that he was allowed his operational irregularities. Scorpius was inclined to respect such a man... from a distance. However, his presence here spelled trouble.
Crichton had vaguely offered the initial explanation that he was here to review the Wormhole Project, report the immediate military applications of its findings, and to aid in the security of the operation as necessary. His brash, unbidden arrival had left Scorpius expecting a power grab or political posturing. Although, thus far, Crichton had not been particularly disruptive to the project itself.
Unnervingly, Commander Crichton's interest seemed to fall on Scorpius. His time and questions largely focused on Scorpius's habits, credentials, and accomplishments. This only furthered Scorpius's suspicions that Crichton was likely acting as a High Command sanctioned spy, assassin, or saboteur.
These last weeks, Crichton had been an intrusive constant in Scorpius's life. An undoubtedly nefarious one.
Crichton drew him into lengthy conversations every few days about a number of topics, sometimes even over meals. They spoke of the Wormhole Project, but also of security, leadership tactics, war strategy, alien technologies, and sometimes touched upon the border of philosophy. Crichton often urged him to speak of his own classified missions, and personal experiences. Scorpius was, of course, politely evasive.
Crichton, on the other hand, enjoyed talking about himself. He bragged about victories, and rattled off non sequiturs as if they were great wisdom. Crichton was very candid about some things. He never lied. If he did, Scorpius would know. Scorpius always knew. (Un)fortunately, you don't need lies to master deception. Whether Crichton's contributions to these little talks of theirs were meant to obfuscate the purpose of his mission, lull Scorpius into a false sense of friendship, or if they were merely the irrepressible musings of a loquacious egomaniac, Scorpius was unsure.
At least Crichton was an intelligent and challenging conversationalist who was competent in wormhole technology. Sometimes, Scorpius thought, more than he let on.
As intriguing as Crichton was, he had overstayed his welcome, and Scorpius intended to expose the true reason for his presence. He doubted it was to get pointers on management style.
"I do hope you are having a pleasant stay, Commander Crichton. I must say, again, how very surprised I was when an officer with your impressive background was chosen to grace my project, in a mere "observe and report" capacity, no less."
"Please, no need to be humble! This is a cutting edge operation you got here. In fact, I requested this assignment." Crichton said with an ominous smile.
Of course he did.
"I appreciate your interest in my operation, Commander. But, surely, you've completed your evaluation after the extensive time you've spent... collecting data. May I ask what more information you require?"
"Well, Scorp... May I call you Scorp?" Crichton didn't wait for a response before continuing.
"This operation isn't what I expected. You aren't what I expected." Crichton said pointedly and ran his eyes across Scorpius's gaunt frame. That was perhaps the only statement that Scorpius had heard from him today that was free of sarcasm or double meaning.
Scorpius's annoyance shifted to intrigue.
"I must admit," Commander Crichton began tentatively. "I'm becoming curious about hybrids."
And, there it was- the puritanical Peacekeeper mind. Was this to be a well-meaning attempt at reconciling dogma with reality, or was it simply the preface to a long-winded insult?
"Have you now?" Scorpius asked coolly, his back still turned.
Crichton's black and red leather Peacekeeper uniform creaked as he pushed himself away from the wall and approached Scorpius. Scorpius didn't spare him a glance. His eyes remained fixed to his pad of wormhole data, but Crichton had all of his attention. He registered the precise distance of every quiet footfall as they drew nearer. He was prepared for any manner of attack.
"Tell me, Commander..." Crichton's hushed voice reverberated over Scorpius's shoulder. Scorpius could read people, and now he sensed a wave of sharp anticipation. Crichton was much too close now. He was close enough to stab, or shoot, or garote, or inject poison, not that such pedestrian means of assassination would be sufficiently fatal. But, his aspiring killers never learn.
Scorpius felt the first sensations of pressure against his shoulder. With an explosively fast and fluid movement, he had Commander Crichton pinned against the desk, his neck grasped firmly in his insebaceanly strong hand, the data pad thrown safely into a nearby chair. The impact of Crichton's back with the top of the desk echoed in the cavernous room.
Crichton regained his breath quickly and locked eyes with Scorpius, his expression unreadable, but seemed remarkablely unfazed. Scorpius could see no weapon present, and wondered if he had misjudged the situation. Perhaps Crichton intended only to annoy or intimidate him. A brave man he must be either way. Perhaps he intended to provoke him into using his Scarran strength, so that he could prove Scorpius to be the violent, unhinged hybrid that he may regard him as.
If Crichton were a lower-ranking or less decorated officer, it may have been expedient to simply snap his neck. But, alas.
Scorpius loosened his hold on Crichton's neck, but did not remove his hand.
Crichton cleared his throat in an obnoxiously loud manner. Still pinned against the desk, but holding Scorpius in his steely gaze, he continued casually as if the last 42 microts hadn't happened.
"As I was saying... are you capable of standard recreation?" His tone was business-like, his eyes mischievous.
Recreation? Certainly he misspoke. Perhaps his head had struck the desk and he had sustained concussive delirium. Alternatively, this could be an attempt to play off an attempted murder.
"Perhaps you would like to elaborate." Scorpius prompted calmly, with no intention of letting Crichton go any time soon.
"Do you have sex, Scorp?"
Scorpius felt a shiny, black boot nudge his ankle and then slowly tail upwards along the inside of his leg. Scorpius emitted a noise that even he couldn't distinguish as a purr or a growl. He fought it, as he would hate a potential enemy to see him flustered. Crichton continued speaking:
"Do you have sex with Sebaceans?"
The boot ventured upwards still, ever so lightly, heavy eye-contact unrelenting as Crichton elaborated on his question yet further:
"Would you like to have sex with me?"
"Is that what you want" Scorpius asked.
Crichton looked at him for a moment as if genuinely considering the question.
"Yeah."
Scorpius had yet to uncover Crichton's true mission. He didn't know his intentions for approaching him tonight, whether he sought to bed him or enact his death. He was certain of only one thing: In this moment, Crichton was telling the truth.