Furrygirl@usa.net

I'm wandering the halls again, muttering to myself like a loon, looking up now and then to make sure I don't walk into a wall, or trip on a DRD or something. I can't think, and I really need to think. What the hell is wrong with me? I've always been able to think it through, whatever the situation. I've counted on that.

Inside my mind, the trains always ran on time. They carried passengers that were refugees from Fellini and Tarantino flicks, but they ran on time.

Now I can't think worth a damn, I'm totally fucked up, and it's not my fault, it's his. D'Argo's. Why does he have to lay this shit on me? Christ, what a fucking trip. Looking back now, I have no idea what I was really expecting when I hauled ass from Zhaan's cell to D'Argo's, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't this.

All or nothing.

Jesus Christ, how nuts am I? I'm alarmingly unperturbed by the fact that this...thing, this bond that seems essentially like a marriage, or at the very least, a seriously committed relationship - with a man, mind you, and a man of another species at that - doesn't seem nuts at all. It seems reasonable, almost...natural. The way it should be.

Oh, yeah, just call me Johnny in Wonderland.

Nuts or not, I need to think this whole damn thing through, and since my logical mind - me, a logical mind? But I never! Ever! I must have caught it off a toilet seat - has apparently vacated the premises, talking it out's the next best thing, I guess, and there's really only one person I can talk to about this.

She's still sitting there, utterly still, utterly serene, utterly naked. Damn, how long has she been at this? How long could she keep it up? I wouldn't be surprised if she could do it for days at a time, maybe weeks. I've long since stopped underestimating her abilities, long since stopped being astonished when she demonstrates her ability to do anything and everything.

So it doesn't really surprise me that she knows I'm here without even looking.

"Well that didn't take long," She said, and I heard the familiar imp in her tone. "Is this the norm for human males, or can they...last it out for more than half an arn?"

When I don't answer her, she turns her head and looks at me. "You're still dressed and impeccably groomed, John." She says with mild disapproval. "Hardly a good sign. What happened? Sit down, tell me. What's wrong?"

As she's asking me all these question, she stands up, wraps a robe around her body, and ushers me to a chair. What did I ever do without a Delvian mother hen?

She sits down in a chair opposite mine, and waits for me to speak. When I do, what I say isn't what I had planned to say. That seems to be happening a lot of late.

"You're D'Argo's friend, right, Zhaan?"

She looks slightly puzzled, but after a momentary pause, she nods. "Yes. I am. But D'Argo is very selective about whom he calls a friend. Why do you ask?"

"Do you know much about the Luxan culture?"

She nods again. "Some. What do you want to know?"

"What's the Blood Bond?"

She looks pretty surprised this time. "The Blood Bond?" she repeats dully, as if she's having a hard time processing.

"That's what I said. What is it? I have a kindof...surface impression, but what is it exactly?"

She's silent again. Then, "It is the Oath of love and allegiance between to Sword Brothers." Big pause. "Did D'Argo tell you about it?"

I shrug, trying for apathetic and falling pathetically short. "A little. Just that is was a Luxan warriors' ritual. What does it, er, entail?" Steady, Johnny, I think, trying to maintain the guise of Cucumber Boy (as in "cool as a").

But it doesn't seem to be working. Zhaan's looking at me, peering at me, as if I'm a particularly interesting species she wants to understand through observation. Or maybe dissection. It's kind of freaky. "What?"

"Did D'Argo ask you to complete the Oath and the Bond?"

I wish she'd quit looking at me like that. How can I lie to her when those eyes that see everything are staring directly at me?

"Not...exactly," I venture cautiously. "Not straight out."

"But he did ask you."

"Not technically, no, he just - "

"John!" she snaps. "Did D'Argo ask you to complete the Oath and forge the Bond - in an implied, roundabout or specific manner, any of the above, did he ask you?"

A word of warning to anyone who might find themselves in a situation such as mine: Don't piss off a Delvian Pa'u. At least not this Delvian Pa'u. Angry Zhaan can be just as intimidating as Angry D'Argo. And Angry Aeryn outclasses them all.

Properly repentant, I nod. "Yeah, he did." I'm not sure what to make of her reaction to that, what to feel about it, because I'm seeing something on her face that I've never really seen there before.

Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan is flat-out amazed, and it prompts another "what?" from me, this one much more nervous than the first.

"I hadn't realized he felt that...strongly," she said. "Sword Brother pairs are common on D'Argo's homeworld, but those linked by the Blood Bond are comparatively rare. It's an expression of the utmost commitment, the final step in the Journey of Intimacy. He asked this of you?" that idea seems to trouble her, and I say quickly,

"No, not really, like I said, he didn't flat-out ask...but he made it clear that it was something he was prepared to do, something that he wanted. But only if I want it too, he said. He didn't pressure me or anything, just...told me what he wanted."

The almost-angry light goes out of Zhaan's eyes, replaced by an echo of the earlier shock, and a tenderness that softens her face into stark, sudden beauty. "Is it what you want, John? It has to be your decision, after all. Do you want to be Bonded to D'Argo?"

Well that's the $64,000 question, isn't it?

My decision. All or nothing.

"Shit, Zhaan," I tell her, shaking my head. "I just don't know. I don't know at all."

"When the path is uncertain, it is better to wait," she tells me in that cryptic, all-wise Pa'u tone, but the impishness is still in her eyes. "Think about it, John, think long and hard. Listen to the voice of your blood."

"D'Argo said the same exact thing to me," I tell her. "What does it mean?"

Ah, the Delvian Lecturer Look.

"To a Luxan warrior, his blood is the source of his power and his prowess. It is also the force that guides his decisions and actions, forms his temperament and character. 'Listen to the voice of your blood.' A simplification would be trust your instincts. Feel, don't think. Your blood will lead you."

Well, let's see, did that help...?

Nope, still confused as all hell. "Thanks, Zhaan," I say, getting up to leave. "I'll see you later."

"Crichton," she calls as I reach the door. "What are you going to do?"

"Haven't the foggiest," I say and sweep out of the room with nary a backward glance.

When has ignorance ever stopped me before?

So, back to my wandering. Attempting to sleep would be pointless, I'm sure of that. No rest for the wicked, as They say. Them again? They sure get around, don't They?

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, what are you doing, huh? If only I'd paid more attention during that bullshit "Critical Thinking" class they forced on me in high school.

But wait a second, Mrs. Darrin did teach us this one thing...something she said would help with practically any problem, didn't she? Okay, so let's break it down.

Who? John. Me.

What? Developed this major jones for Ka D'Argo.

When? In the hall, when he was all over me like weirdos at a Trekkie convention.

Where? Here. On Moya, specifically. More generally, god knows where.

Why?...WHY?...Uh, well, shit. Like I said, the $64,000 question, right?

Well golly-gee-whiz, fuck me blind and call me Trudy, lookie here, guys and dolls - I'm standing outside D'Argo's door. It's still open, and the lights are dimmed. But I can see him, asleep on the bed, dressed in his, shall we say, lovely black tunic and pants.

All or nothing?

All I want is the joy of sex and desire without any verbal expressions of commitment, and apparently D'Argo wants Forever, pledges of Love Everlasting. That's not what I want.

But I hear mom in my head again. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, John-boy, and maybe someday you'll believe it.

I guess I could try listening to my blood, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? Damned if I know. But here goes nothing. Okay, blood, speak up.

I look at D'Argo.

Holy shit. You know what?

There are moments in life when everything stops, and suddenly you see with perfect clarity. It's like your mind leaps into another space, a space somewhere above its normal plane, and you watch yourself from outside your body.

And you know, you know without even thinking about it that the details of this scene are being burned into your memory, that you'll see it on the insides of your eyelids every night for the rest of your life. In that one second, you know you'll remember forever.

Moments of revelation. Moments of truth.

You never expect it. You can't prepare for it. Who can know when their world is about to change? Maybe I should have seen it coming, but maybe not; who can smell revelation in the wind?

Okay, I know I'm getting melodramatic, but damn. I'm standing here, staring at D'Argo, and suddenly everything...shifts.

Suddenly, he's so beautiful to me - his skin shining silver-pale in the near-darkness - that I can hardly even look at him, and I feel a sort of pain that I don't understand, and I want to tell him about it. I want to tell him about this thing I'm feeling, this sudden and colossal affection for him that feels like it's too big for my heart to hold.

I want to ask him if I'm his friend, I want to tell him that he's mine, my friend, my brother and more than a brother, and that I never want to lose him. Ever. And then I almost feel like crying because I know that no matter what I say, no matter what words I use, I can't ever make him understand this. Hell, I'm living it, and I sure as fuck don't understand it. And I don't think I ever will.

But I also think I can deal with that.

There are things I want to say to him, things I want to ask him, and I find myself thinking strange and surprising things. I wonder what we would be like together, what it would be like to live with him, on our own ship, even on some planet or other we took a fancy to. I wonder if there will ever be another Lo'Laan, if D'Argo wants that, or if maybe he wants something else, maybe something only I could give him...

"Crichton?" His voice, sleep-rough and puzzled. "John, what are you doing in my doorway again?"

Well, whadd'ya know? My feet have mutinied. Staged a coup. They carry me through the doorway, into the room, and to his bed, where my knees go out again, forcing me to sit down on the edge, unable, now, to take my eyes off of him. Apparently my body knows what I want - probably knew it all along. It might have saved me a lot of trouble if it had let me in on the secret a little earlier.

D'Argo isn't saying anything. He's just waiting, seeming somehow endlessly patient, like he might be content to do nothing but this - to simply wait for me, forever, if need be, and I'm scared shitless and I want to run. I can't. How could I? How can he touch these things in me, these places I didn't even know were there?

I know what it is that I ache for, what I need more than words could ever express.

"D'Argo?" I say it softly, almost whisper it, because I need for him to hear how much I need this, how much I need him. His face remains completely, absolutely still, and it amazes me that his eyes are so dark and so bright at the same time.

"You are so beautiful," I tell him. "Do you know that?"

It's certainly nothing I planned to say. And suddenly everything I did plan seems so idiotic, so hopelessly inadequate. How can there be words for this?

I see it when he understands, the moment it sparks in him, a flash, a current of something arcing between us. I feel it, and I think he does, too. He makes this sound, this soft gasp of surprised pleasure, and after what seems like a really long time, he moves, sitting up, taking my face in his hands with a touch like nothing I've ever known before.

"According to the dictates of tradition, John," he says softly near my ear, and the dark timbre of his voice is like a quiet note in my soul, "this can go no further than a kiss." There was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation. There was no mercy in it, either...

"The hell it can't," I growl at him, and chuckling low in his throat, he growls back.

I think...I think that's when I begin to know, somewhere, that I'm playing with fire, but then he's kissing me and I'm kissing him and this is the fire, this kiss, it's spontaneous combustion, and when I know anything else, my hands are inside his tunic, against the silky-hot skin at his waist, and I know I must be in love because this couldn't be so perfect - he couldn't be so perfect - without the benefit of that one searing emotion. To me, he had become the most beautiful creature in all the galaxies across all the universes throughout all of time.

He pulls me close and my hands slide beneath the waistband of the loose pants and when my hand closes around him, he tenses for a moment before growling low in his throat and pulling me even closer, a feat I would not have thought possible - you couldn't have gotten the crack of dawn between us.

He feels incredible. I could have tried for years to imagine what he'd feel like, and I would never have come close to this, to the reality of him, responding to me, the feel of that velvet heat in my hand, or the little noises he makes, the small, choked sounds, like he's trying and failing to hold them back...

"No, John," he says suddenly, raggedly, and pulls back, out of my grip. I try to follow, but his hand in the center of my chest holds me at bay. "If we are to do this, we must do it properly," softly spoken, yet forceful just the same. Satin on velvet on iron on diamond. "We must take the Oath, and complete the Bond. Then there will be ample time for...other things."

I almost come in my damn pants at the sheer sexual intensity of D'Argo's gaze, his tone of voice. Christ Almighty, he should register that look as a lethal weapon.

I'm about to protest, but then I see the near-pleading expression in his eyes and realize that he's holding as much back as I am, struggling with it as much as me. Drawing a deep breath, I nod to him. Reluctantly, but I nod. He has to take the lead here, at least for now, and I have to let him.

Alpha dog, and all.

He's smoothing his hands over his face and neck, and for a moment I'm reminded of an animal cleaning itself after it feeds.

All or nothing, big guy?

For some crazy-ass, mysterious reason that I don't really want to think about - analyzing it would dull it - I think I can do that.

I know I can do it.

'Cause I'm the Little Human Who Could.

END