stilljustandrew | (no subject)

Current Mood: eek!

(no subject)

Andrew opens the door to his room a bit awkwardly, juggling the armful of Stuff he holds: a few apples, a package of processed snack cakes, a bottle of cola, a little paper carton of fried paradoxes. Getting through the door requires a little maneuvering.

It is perhaps to his credit that when he sees who's waiting in his room, he only drops the snack cakes. And squeaks.

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"Well, hello Andrew!" says Crichton. "So good to see you again."

W-what are you doing here?

*He edges along the wall, keeping his back to it, and tries to put his armful down on the little bedside table without taking his eyes off Cri- off the man who isn't Crichton.*

...and how'd you kn-know my name?

Crichton stands up, and moves to close the door behind Andrew. "And here I thought you knew all of my abilities from that television show. What was its name again?"

F -

I'm not telling you anything.

"You don't have to. But it seems the writers of the show got something wrong, didn't they?" A sharp intake of breath. "So, Andrew. It seems I underestimated your bravery." Another sharp intake of breath. "Or overestimated your intelligence."

W-what d'you mean?

*He is now gingerly edging his way around the bed, trying to put something between himself and the intruder.*

"Oh, do stop running around like a..." he searches Crichton's mind for an appropriate phrase "headless chicken. I'm not going to hurt you." A sharp intake of breath. "Not yet, anyway."

Uh, okay. Good.

Then, uh ... why are you here?

He spreads his arms out in a friendly gesture. "Merely to talk. You want your John Crichton back, yes? That's why you went and spoke to all of his friends, trying to find out how to get rid of me. Angelina. Tonks."

You're a good guesser.

"Merely an excellent judge of human character. Though I must admit" -a sharp intake of breath- "that I originally misjudged yours.

I say to you now, then, that we need not be at odds here."

We don't? Uh, needn't?

*He folds his arms, in a useless gesture of self-protection.*

Your words interest me. Go on.

"I have always been a man concerned with practicalities. This has not changed. All I want is the wormhole technology contained in Crichton's head -- knowledge that I already now possess. I give you my word, I have no reason to hurt him. I can even return him to you, unharmed."

If?

"If you help me leave the bar and bring the information to Scorpius. The wormhole information will be sufficient to return Crichton, personality intact, to this place and time."

...And if I don't?

"Then you will likely never see John Crichton again. Or anything else, for that matter."

A sharp intake of breath.

"Understand that I have nothing against you, no need to threaten you. However, anybody who stands in the way of my goal must be dealt with. Trust me, you don't want that to be you."

*Andrew is shaking his head, almost unconsciously: no, please no, I don't want that to be me. He stops himself, and swallows.*

I ...

I need some time to think about it.

"Good! Please do. Now, to show there are no hard feelings, come here and give me a hug."

*recoils, visibly*

Crichton grins. "Good night, Andrew," he says, then opens the door and walks out.

*Andrew stares at the door for a moment, then sinks down onto the bed, wraps his arms around his knees and sits there shaking.

After a time, he slowly gets up and makes his way across the floor to pick up the forgotten package of snack cakes.*

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