furrgirl@usa.net

Well, hell. Looks like the infamous "They" were right all along.

You can never go home again.

I wonder if that's true for all of us - Rygel, Zhaan, Aeryn, me. D'Argo. Should I just accept it now, and save myself the trouble? Accept that "home" is something I can't have - just a shitty pipe dream - and start the arduous process of "coping"?

Coping has never been my strong suit. Hang on, maybe I'm not giving myself enough credit, here.

I'm out here, God knows how far away from earth, on a living ship - I'm never gonna get my mind around that one - with a woman who looks basically human, but really isn't, another woman who looks somewhat human, except for the fact that she's blue - I mean, I haven't seen anyone like that outside of a Star Trek convention - and a little froggy "Dominar" who's too weird for even the untold legions of Trekkies to deal with.

I haven't gone nuts yet.

At least, I don't think I have. I guess I could have gone nuts a long time ago, and all this is just the bizarre fever-dream of a raving lunatic. How the hell would I - the raving lunatic in question - know I was a raving lunatic? That's the point, right? I wouldn't know.

Pleasant thoughts, there, Johnny.

And D'Argo...I doubt D'Argo would fit in at a Trek con, either, despite the fact that sometimes he really reminds me of a Klingon. Big, kinda grumpy guy from a battle-centered culture. Gruff as a grizzly, as my granddad used to say, but basically a softie under it all.

You know, a lot of what happened on "Earth" scared the living hell out of me, and a lot of it really pissed me off. An almost wholly shitty experience. Don't get me wrong - it was great to see the sky again, even if it wasn't really the sky, and it was nice to have sex with Aeryn, even if it wasn't really Aeryn, but...

I did realize one thing, though. I'm not in love with her. Aeryn, that is. I was starting to think that I might have been in love with her, or at least in the process of falling in love with her, but after sleeping with her - even if it wasn't really her - I don't think that I am.

I mean, the sex was good and all - okay, the sex was great, water after a drought, you know - but that's all it was - sex. I didn't even really sleep with her because of my so-called "feelings". I slept with her because we needed comfort just then - I needed comfort, and she was there. Hardly "honourable intentions", I know, but it's the truth.

I slept with her because, for some reason that I couldn't really pinpoint, I was scared shitless. But now, looking back with as much objectivity that I can muster about such a thing as this - read: not much - I know why I was so scared.

It wasn't because we were being hunted. Hell, no, I've almost gotten used to that since I've been on Moya, since I arrived here, wherever here is. It wasn't because Rygel was dead - why be scared of that? It wasn't something I could change.

No, I was scared out of my wits for one reason and one reason alone.

I thought that D'Argo might be dead.

And as admirable as I'm beginning to see that my coping skills truly are, I could not have dealt with that.

A saying has just occurred to me, this one exclusive to the Crichton family.

What a bitch of an epiphany.

***

What the frell - no, scratch that. I've been trying to get used to that, too, and it isn't working. It may mean the same thing, but is doesn't give me the same satisfaction. So, let me start over.

What the fuck is going on with D'Argo? And what the fuck is going on with me?

We've been back on Moya for almost three days, now - three abnormally uneventful days. Confusing days, yeah, confusing as hell, but, compared to the norm around here, pretty damn quiet.

Right now I'm sitting in the room I've started thinking of as the mess hall. There's a plate of food cubes in front of me, which I've absently - not to mention tritely - arranged in a heart shape. I'm staring at them.

D'Argo, who's sitting about three chairs away, is staring at me, just like he's been staring at me since returning to Moya. Sometimes, during the day - or the night, who can really tell, in space? - I can feel him staring at me, almost feel those deep-set eyes boring twin holes in the back of my head, like lasers.

But when I look at him, he looks away.

I can feel him staring now, and there's a weird feeling an almost...tension in here, between he and I. It's the same tension D'Argo and I have always dealt with, the same, but...different. Aggressive, almost antagonistic, but...not.

Yeah, that makes a whole hell of a lot of sense, John.

I've tried to ask him about it a couple times - I mean, is he angry at me? I can't really think of anything I've done (recently, anyway) to piss him off - but he evades my leading questions, and denies the plainly stated ones.

He says nothing's going on. Not in so many words, but that's about the gist of it. Bullshit. I hope whatever it is resolves itself, and resolves itself soon.

If it doesn't...I'll just have to figure it out.

Y'know, D'Argo, there's this expression we have back on earth.

Something is making you act like this - staring at me non-fucking-stop, snapping at me even more that you usually do. Something is causing it all.

And damn it, I'll figure it out if it kills me.

Snap out of it, D'Argo, you're giving me a woody.

Jesus God. The willies, I mean. The willies.

Holy shit. Ain't that the Freudian slip of the century?

***

All epiphanies aside - this cannot be what I think it is. Can it? Aw, hell, it just might be.

The weirdest fucking thing just happened. I got a hard-on. Really. Now, being that I am a stunningly virile specimen of my race, this fact, in and of itself, is really not that weird at all. The weird thing is what caused the mother of all chubbies in the first place.

I was heading to my room to get some sleep, and passed D'Argo in the hallway. Just then - the universe really has it in for me - we hit a bump. Some sort of space bump, or something, I never got a straight answer out of Pilot - space-turbulence, whatever.

It knocked me off balance, so, when D'Argo bumped into me, I fell. Shit, there's gonna be a bruise the size of a soup tureen on my ass in the morning. If only there were carpets. I fell a lot as a kid, but we had carpets, so it never really hurt. Can you carpet a living ship? I doubt it.

Anyway, there I was, flat on my back with about two hundred pounds of angry-looking Luxan writhing around on top, and that's when my dick decided to get in on the game.

I hope to God that D'Argo didn't notice - I don't think he did. He just got up, dusted himself off, muttered "welnitz", and stormed away. Me? I stayed where I was - sprawled across the floor, my heart going a mile a minute and my poor little brain struggling to catch up.

I had to give myself a little pep-talk before I could get up and continue towards my room for this sleep I had been so intent upon mere moments earlier. Of course, that was almost an hour ago, and now I find myself intent upon something else entirely.

It occurs to me that Zhaan might know some relaxation or meditation techniques, and anyway, a little stroll around the ship might do me some good. I end up outside her cell, knocking softly in case she's asleep. She calls out, "Come in," so I do.

She's sitting on the floor, meditating. Naked, as usual. Weirdly enough, Zhaan's casual nudity is one of the few things I have gotten used to. the sight doesn't even register as Naked Zhaan anymore, just as Zhaan. Go figure.

"What can I do for you, John?" she asks without moving or even opening her eyes.

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her about relaxation techniques, but what I actually say is,

"You Delvians are pretty open-minded, huh?"

Watching her profile, I can see her lips curve into a half-smiling, half-smirking expression.

"Yes," she replies. "Why do you ask?"

Her tone of voice tells me that she knows good and god damn well why I'm asking, but wants to make me say it and watch me squirm. Are all Pa'us so...impish?

"I was just...wondering," I say, and watch her self-satisfied smirk take on epic proportions, "have you ever, uh, had sex with another woman?"

"Delvians," she says, "believe that when one has sexual relations with another person, one is sharing not only the pleasures of the body, but a part of oneself, as well. Some believe that such a gift is too precious to be shared with more than one person, while others - myself included - believe that it is too precious to limit to one person, and should be shared with everyone with whom one shares a bond or trust, respect and friendship. In short, to answer your question, yes, I have."

She's looking at me in that way she has, that way that makes me feel like my head's transparent, and she can see all of my thoughts and feelings. She peers at me, studying me, and a smile breaks out over hr face.

"What?" I ask, somewhat suspiciously. When Zhaan smiles like that, there's always something cooking behind those baby blues.

"My people have a saying, John," she says. "Eat when you are hungry, laugh when you are merry, and when you love, say so."

I can feel my jaw drop. Is it some Delvian thing, or am I just totally transparent? Opaque as water, my mom used to say. Zhaan is smiling up at me earnestly. I'm staring at her blankly.

"Wh - what if it's...just me?" I ask, praying she won't ask me to elaborate. She doesn't.

"It's not, John," she says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "It's not."

I briefly consider questioning her further, but I hear mom's voice in my head.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, John-Boy.

Or a gift Delvian, as the case may be.

Feets, don't fail me now!