stilljustandrew | (no subject)

Current Mood: exhausted

(no subject)

*He rolls over in his blanket-nest on the floor to face the wall, clutching one of the pillows to his stomach. The bed is empty, but Andrew has not slept in it since finding out the nature of the one with whom he so briefly shared it.*

*He's waking up, after too little and too troubled sleep, and would much rather not be.*

*The door opens.*

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*It's Meg, of course, who enters - using the name loosely, of course.

Where she's coming from isn't terribly important, and it's not anywhere Andrew will ever see anyways. Not Andrew, Good through and through and determined not to fall again.

She looks down at Andrew on the floor, her eyes expressionless.*

Wake up. We have things to discuss.

*Andrew pulls himself up into a sitting position, his back to the wall, and looks up at Meg with barely concealed fear.*

I heard some interesting things last night.

*One of Meg's eyebrows raises.*

One of them was that your plans had - accelerated somewhat.

It's time for another progress report, Andrew.

I --

*Smothering fear clutches at his throat. His plans, Scorpy's found out about his plans, he's been careless and stupid and now everything's going to --*

*He forces himself to stay calm. At least outwardly.*

*If nothing else, these past days have done wonders for his skill as an actor.*

Right. Um ... what d'you want to know?

I want to know, Andrew, when the chip is going back in John Crichton's head.

*Meg's eyes, normally a hectic blue, seem to be shading today towards stony gray.*

I've been very patient, Andrew.

I --

okay, I think I've got Tim on board, I just need ... some way to get Crichton in position for it ...

*He's still hunched around the pillow, and his arms tighten a little around it as though in response to a stomach pain.*

Tonight.

*Meg's voice is calm and emotionless.*

It happens tonight.

*Andrew's head sags forward, sinking his face briefly into the pillow he's clutching. His voice comes out muffled.*

I can't do this.

You will do this.

*Meg examines her hands calmly.*

Or would you rather I walked this body down the hall and had it give a demonstration of its talents to whoever it came across first? Todd, perhaps, that boy seems so very fond of her - and of course I can always free up her mind for that length of time, I wouldn't begrudge it at all.

But then, that might leave bruises, which would cause awkward questions.

Now, on the other hand, Andrew, if you'll just be patient and wait while I take her off to Paris to kill a street urchin - one of her friends, one who'll never be missed - with her own hands - well, that doesn't leave any outer markings, does it? Only internal stains, that are rather difficult to get out. As you know.

*She turns around, as if to go.* You won't have to wait long, this shouldn't take too much time -

*Andrew's hand shoots out and catches Meg's wrist as she turns to go.*

don't--

*His voice is flat and hollow and dead, as is the look in his eyes.*

You don't have to do that.

I'll get Crichton for you.

I knew you'd see the light.

*Meg glances down at her wrist, then up at Andrew, her eyes limpid and open now.* Shall we, then?

*Tonight.*

*It'll have to be tonight, then. Whether or not Tim can manage the caught-out-of-time spell, whether or not he can get the protective charm around Meg's neck, whether or not Warren and Jonathan have come up with anything at all -- they've run out of time.*

*One way or another, it ends tonight.*

*Andrew lets go of Meg's wrist and gets to his feet, a grim shadow in his eyes.*

After you.

*Meg curtseys mockingly, and then heads out the door

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