feldman

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Not for those of you with tender tummies. I'm not sure if it carries through to what I wrote, but the google research I did for it...*is queasy*

Jool looks at the scanner display, a bumpy plane of dark blue roiling slowly as the human's heart and lungs plod along. Another reason why interons are superior--this level of circulation would signal the failure of deep portions of the brain, and would not be sufficient to fuel higher brain functions like thrashing and bellowing. The interon brain is a high-performance organ, requiring plenty of oxygen and sugars to run--if he were interon, he'd be dying or dead already. The difference is startling.

The human(s) might not be very intelligent, but she'll accede this: they're robust and tenacious. If respiration weren't a given, Jool would suspect that the only reason he's breathing at all is to shout.

She shifts her gaze from the display to the patient, and thinks that maybe her assumption that he's alive needs to be tested first. She turns to the normal specimen. "I'll need some samples."

John squares his shoulders.

~*~

D'Argo suggests tonguing, but Jool wants a clean sample to work with. Aeryn hangs close for backup, but doesn't seem to want to touch the man if she doesn't have to.

Despite his twin's illness, what he's begun to think of as his 'delicate condition', they're still evenly matched. John has to lean his weight down on the wrist to bare the inside of the elbow for Jool. She clearly doesn't want to come near the man, but she bucks up and does her part. The blood in the tubing is inky and thick.

John meets the eyes of his double, pupils blown out black with only the barest rims of blue. He stills and then whimpers at John, pleading. John's still got a hold of his wrist, dry and cold, and he feels it bend back, feels the fingers brush against his own wrist. There's something in the eyes as his raw voice whines, but after a moment he lets himself fall back against the gurney. He shakes his head and snuffles, a gasping rictus between laughing and crying.

John squeezes the arm, then steps back, heading for Jool at the other end of the bay. "What are brains made of?"

She doesn't bother to look up from the equipment. "Oddly enough," her tone is chipper but the flick of her ringlets underlines the words with sarcasm, "brain tissue."

John gives her a blank glare which she doesn't see, but seems to hear.

She sighs. "Neural tissue, vascular tissue, fatty tissue."

"We have any of that kind of thing lying around?"

"Sorry." She looks up, her manner poisonous sweet like anti-freeze. "I'm fresh out of cousins."

John lets that remark cool before proceeding. "I was thinking of some kind of fatty concoction. D--I know I'm gonna regret this--where does lutra oil come from?"

D'Argo indicates something the size of a terrier. "An insect."

"Yeah, I was right. But it might work." John turns to Aeryn. "What was that little squawky bird, multiple heads, you eat the brains?"

"Trelkez."

"Right, trelkez. What does it taste like?"

Aeryn walks over to John, turning away from the man on the prisoner gurney. "You want to feed him brains?"

John flicks his gaze at the scrape on her head. "Ersatz brains."

Aeryn looks over her shoulder, and for a moment all that can be heard is his thick breathing, sluggish and suffocating. "Do you think it will help?"

"I don't know. Can't hurt, can it?"

Aeryn stares at the man, hand resting on her pulse pistol. Blood and fluid have weeped from her wound through the bandage at her temple. "Brains are salty. Meaty. Juicy, like mushrooms and blo--"

John stops her with a hand. "You think you can taste test, tell me if I come close?"

"Yes."

"That's all I need." He pulls her to the galley.

~*~

John squints against the bright light. The smell of food knots his stomach, making his whole body ache with hunger. He can't move, but he's trying to stay angry instead of giving into the fear. He's still home, that much he can tell by the ceiling and the occasional face he can see from where he lies. They look scared but they still smell friendly, even though Silent Bob has convinced them to tie him down and hurt him.

This won't last. Aeryn will come. She'll make them stop, and she'll free him. Then he can eat something. Food will clear his head. John closes his eyes against the light, grunts against the cramp in his belly, and waits for Aeryn to notice he's gone.

Current Mood: urpy

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From:

astrogirl2.livejournal.com

Ick. :)

From:

kernezelda

Loving this so very, very much. Poor Dead!John, starving, needing Aeryn to save him. *hearts Dead!John.*

It's very good of Living!John to offer succor.

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Farscape - NC-17 for previous themes and gastric challenge

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