"Well, Dad, I'm back on Moya again, although I guess I never left," Crichton began, cradling his IASA voice recorder near his mouth. Even the feel of the small machine whirring in his hand brought a small measure of comfort, and his 'talks' with his father and best friend often helped him cope when he felt lost, as he did now.

He sat in the mess lounging across the top of a shelf beneath one of the large triangular viewports, his plate of food cubes untouched on the table behind him. They still had some fresh supplies on board, but Crichton decided that it would be wise to avoid the local delicacies for a while. He leaned against a bulkhead and gazed at the random pattern of stars as he continued his recording. "Things will return to normal soon—well what passes for normal in these parts, anyway—but Zhaan has me on injured reserve for another ten arns. That's about half a day to us Earthlings. She's afraid I'm going to have another seizure, so no excitement, no work shifts, and especially no maintenance duty unless I want another round of the shakes, rattles, and rolls." He chuckled ruefully.

"So now I'm bored. And exhausted," he added. "After about a week of lying in bed dreaming, I'm too tired to even think straight," he said, shaking his head. "But there's this little part of me that won't let me sleep, no matter how tired I feel. I don't know. Maybe I'm afraid of where I might wake up this time. But I guess it's still better than being dead."

Crichton shifted the recorder to his left hand and groped around on the shelf underneath him with his right, eventually closing his hand around a small dark fruit. He tossed it lightly in the air and bounced it off the inside of his elbow before catching it again. He opened his palm and inspected the object it held.

"A small purple orange did all this to me, Dad. Thanks to it, I almost got a one-way trip to the home of my dreams. It wasn't exactly Dickens' Ghost of Christmas Present, but it was some trip. Over three months on dream-Earth passed in barely a week here. At least I know what's real, now. That was the worst part, I think. Not knowing. Not being able to let go."

He ran his fingers over the fruit's smooth, dark skin. The others had taken to calling it a 'purple', each using the color name indigenous to his or her own language. The name was appropriate: except for the coloring, the fruit could easily pass for an Earth orange. "It's funny, Dad. If I close my eyes, I could imagine that this little thing is a clementine or a tangerine. Even the taste is similar to what I remember." He closed his hand over the purple, squeezing it slightly. "This is the first food I've found in this end of the galaxy that vaguely resembled something from home. I even had visions of fresh squeezed... purple juice to wash down my morning food cubes." Crichton smiled slightly at the image, but couldn't help feeling a tinge of bitterness at the same time. "I guess I ended up with more than I bargained for nostalgia-wise," he concluded with a smirk.

"Next time you crave nostalgia, at least eat the seeds."

Crichton clicked his recorder off and turned in the direction of the voice. Aeryn stepped out of the shadow of the entrance, a hint of amusement dancing in her dark blue eyes. "Hey," he said in greeting.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked as she reached for a metal cup above the refrigeration unit. She poured herself a glass of k'toulsa, the Peacekeeper equivalent of coffee that was served cold rather than hot. Sebaceans obviously did not crave hot, caffeinated beverages.

"I could use the company," he replied impulsively. Actually, he had wanted to be alone, but her appearance in the doorway seemed to change that. She had that effect on him sometimes.

Aeryn collected her cup and the pitcher of k'toulsa and approached him, regarding the purple in his hand and the forgotten food cubes still on the dining table. "You weren't seriously considering eating that, were you?" she asked with a crooked eyebrow. "There are better ways to relieve your homesickness, Crichton," she admonished.

"Don't worry, Mom. I'm not going to eat it. I just wanted to... I don't know. I needed to see it, to hold it in my hand..." he stammered. "To make sure..."

"To make sure it's real?" she asked as she folded herself into the opposite corner of the window's alcove. Once seated, she stretched her legs out to one side so that her boots sat under his outer thigh, and she rested her legs against his. She leaned over to deposit the pitcher of Peacekeeper iced coffee on the shelf below her and held her cup in both hands.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said with a small smile. When had Aeryn become so perceptive of anything that did not involve aggression? "Three and a half months on Earth, all because I picked the seeds out of my fruit? I guess I should count my blessings. Most food poisoning I've heard of involves puking your guts out for a week."

"John, you almost died," she reminded him quietly, her eyes intent on the fluid inside her cup.

Crichton balanced the purple on his knee and reached over to remove one of her hands from her cup, squeezing it. He waited until the Sebacean looked at him before he replied. "But I didn't, did I? I almost lost my mind, sure." He released her hand and picked up the purple again, studying it. "There is a God up there, Aeryn, and he has a very sick sense of humor," he continued bitterly.

"Some say that loss is the hardest emotion to deal with," she remarked, glancing out of the window at the starscape.

Crichton felt the ends of his mouth form into a small smile in spite of his dark mood as he recognized his own words. "Do they, Officer Sun? I thought that showing pain was a sign of weakness on your world," he retorted, his tone harsher than he intended.

"We're not on my world, John, and you are not a Peacekeeper." She sipped her drink. "Besides, you're not very good at hiding your feelings."

He couldn't argue with that. "I'm not in the mood to talk about it, Aeryn."

"No, you would prefer to talk to someone who can't answer you," she replied, indicating the recorder still clenched in his left hand.

Crichton opened his mouth to disagree with her, but found he didn't have anything to counter her words. He had the distinct notion that he would soon be tasting a large dose of his own medicine. "And how does our resident Peacekeeper suggest I deal with my emotions?"

She flinched slightly at his sarcastic tone. "You could start by telling me what's really bothering you."

"What's bothering me? I think that's obvious," he replied petulantly, refusing to meet her eyes.

"I don't think that it is. Yes, you're upset because of the dream. You're upset because you went home, again, and it wasn't real, again. But there's something else bothering you, isn't there?"

He looked up and stared wide-eyed in astonishment. Was this the same bad-assed, feelings-are-for-wimps Peacekeeper who'd accidentally hitched her way on-board not even a year ago? She smiled slightly, as if she knew she had breached his defenses. He sighed and shook his head, trying to gather the jumble of his thoughts.

"In my dream, I got to pick up where my life left off when I went through the wormhole: no Crais, no fire-spitting froggies, no psychopathic non-corporeal vampires, no commune of blue people with a loose grip on reality, and no intellent viruses. The only Peacekeepers were those appointed by the UN in the Balkans and pulse rifles were only used in scifi movies. There was no Uncharted Territories, no pregnant leviathans, no Luxan hyper-rage." More quietly, he added, "No you." He swallowed over a small lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "My best friend and I were just a couple of rocket scientists trying to solve the mystery of space travel, and our biggest worries were funding grants and IASA politics.

"And you know what I found out?" he asked, raising his voice. "I don't fit in there any more. I'm not the same person who took Farscape 1 into orbit to prove a theory." He stared blankly out the window, his exhaustion suddenly weighing on him like an anvil. "I've seen too much."

"Did you expect to be the same?" she asked, her head cocked slightly to one side.

"It's not that. I know I've changed. I couldn't have survived out here if I hadn't." He paused, trying to put his vague fears into words. He remembered his dad's words on the beach shortly before he returned: A father can tell. "But when I go back home, if I find a way home, what if I don't fit in there any more? What if I've changed too much?" He tucked his recorder back into its pouch on his belt and spread his left hand over the warm surface of the window. "What if the more that Moya becomes home to me, the less my real one can be?" He faced her again, almost pleading with her. "What happens when this place is no longer alien, and I miss it when it's gone?" In a rush, he swung his legs over hers and pivoted so that his back was to the stars. "Where is my home then?" he whispered.

Aeryn put her cup down and turned so that she sat by his side, their shoulders touching. "What was that human expression you used once? 'Home is where the heart is?'"

Crichton snorted to cover his surprise. He made a mental note to ask D'Argo if all Sebaceans had photographic memories. He considered her question as the silence between them stretched. "What if my heart is in two places?" he ventured.

She looked at him, questioning.

"When I was home, all I could think about was how empty I felt knowing this place wasn't real. I finally got my wish, my 'dream-come-true' you could say, and all I could do was mope because I wasn't here. Talk about pathetic," he scoffed.

Crichton took one of her pale hands in his, palm facing up as he traced the lines that ran across it with his other hand. "I thought about you, wondering if you were real or not, hoping that you existed somewhere even if Moya was just a delusion." He glanced sidelong at her face. Her gaze was transfixed on their joined hands. "I couldn't stand to think that you weren't out there happily dominating the lesser races."

She made a face. "I don't think I could go back and pick up that life, either."

"Even if you could go back before Moya and start over again minus the 'irreversibly contaminated' part?"

Her eyes searched his for a moment. "Our lives are not in the past, John. None of us could go back, not that way. Not even D'Argo, I think. I suppose we are all 'irreversibly contaminated'," she added with a smile.

He turned her hand over and laced his fingers between hers. "Irreversibly contaminated, huh?"

Aeryn nodded.

"Then what happens down the road, if I ever make it to Earth?"

"I think you will construct your future, on your own terms," she replied. "It seems that it's rarely what we expect, anyway."

He turned to face her completely. "When did you get so smart, Aeryn Sun?" he marveled.

"I believe it started when I began associating with lower life forms," she answered, squeezing his hand.

Crichton laughed, feeling his dark mood abating. "Thanks, Aeryn," he said, releasing her hand and touching the side of her face as he rose to his feet. He stood there for a moment, frozen by his ambivalence. As tired as he was, a large part of him longed to continue sitting in the deserted dining hall with Aeryn, watching the stars and philosophizing. Another part of him dreaded the thought of closing his eyes to this world for fear of waking up somewhere else.

"You should sleep," she prompted, with a twinge of regret. "Zhaan said that returning to your regular sleep rhythms would help you reorient to life aboard Moya."

"I'm not tired," he lied, still unable to move. "I'm not so sure I want to sleep right now."

Aeryn stood and positioned herself directly in front of him. "Are you afraid?" she asked with no hint of challenge or reproach.

"I little, I guess," he admitted. "I can't help but worry that if I close my eyes again..."

She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Moya will be here and so will I." She turned and walked towards the door. "Come on," she urged, offering her hand.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, Aeryn, right behind you," he replied, taking her hand.

They walked in silence to his quarters, his exhaustion weighing heavier with each step. When they arrived, Aeryn deftly entered his lock code and ushered him inside. He briefly wondered how she had learned his code, but he wasn't certain he wanted to know. Besides, he didn't have the energy to press the issue. Crichton removed his tool belt and hung it across one of the spines of the improvised "coat rack" that stood near his door. He swiped the door control with a lazy movement, then crossed the room to stand in front of Aeryn, who regarded him with an unreadable expression. As on many other occasions, he wished that he could read the Sebacean woman better.

"Thank you," he said after a moment.

"For what?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I don't know. For taking care of me. For making sure that the bed bugs don't bite and all that," he replied, not bothering to edit the human expression.

"Is that what I'm doing?" Amusement drew her words out, making them sound like a drawl.

"Well, I'm not so afraid anymore," he commented as he leaned into her space so that his face was barely an inch from hers. He placed a hand on her shoulder, brushing the bare skin lightly with his thumb.

"You're welcome, then," she answered, touching her forehead to his. He closed his eyes as an electric warmth coursed through his body from the point of contact, momentarily energizing him. Brief seconds later they parted, leaving him slightly dizzy.

"You need to sleep now, John," she said, capturing the hand that rested on her shoulder and leading him to his bed. He sat down and she crouched in front of him, helping him remove his boots. "I'll show you a new exercise routine tomorrow before the morning meal, but only if you rest now," she promised as she pulled one boot off and started on the other. Under other circumstances he might have found the image of Aeryn undressing him for bed… intriguing, but right now his exhaustion was overwhelming.

"What if I dream?" he asked as he swung his feet into bed and maneuvered under the cover.

Aeryn sat on the bed beside him. "Then you dream. But when you wake again, it will be in this place," she replied, brushing the short hair near his temples with her fingertips. Her light touch soothed him, making it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. "Stop fighting it, John. Sleep." He felt her pull the blanket to cover his shoulders.

"Pleasant dreams," she whispered as he slipped into oblivion again.

"Hey, buddy," sounded a familiar voice in the mist.

A part of Crichton's mind registered that leviathans were rarely misty, but it didn't set off any of the usual alarms in his mind. He found himself in the maintenance bay staring at Aeryn's Prowler and his now-clean module behind it. A figure jumped from the canopy of Farscape 1 and landed with a less than graceful thud. "DK?"

"Wow, Bro, this is pretty sweet," his friend enthused as he took a slow circuit around the Prowler. "I'll bet she's ten times sexier in the air than she is on the ground."

"DK, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, feeling impatient.

"Just visiting," he replied, not taking his eyes off the alien fighter. "I hear that this baby's pilot is pretty hot, too."

"I'm dreaming again, aren't I?" he asked, a knot of fear swelling in the pit of his stomach.

DK climbed on top of the Prowler's wing, peering inside the cockpit. "Yeah, a dream," he answered distractedly as he hunted for a better view. "Damn, what kind of tinting grade do these Peacekeepers use on their glass?" he muttered in frustration.

"I don't think it's glass," Crichton noted as he climbed up the opposite side and released the canopy.

"Thanks, Bro." DK dropped into the cockpit and scanned the controls, running his fingers over the Sebacean markings. "An engineer's nirvana," he marveled.

"DK, I really need some straight answers here," Crichton pressed, annoyed. His friend continued to examine the cockpit, unperturbed by Crichton's tone. "Is this some sort of relapse? Is this dream like the other one?"

DK looked at his friend and grinned. "Relax, John. You're not dying." He returned to studying the controls. Out of nowhere he produced a full-sized notebook and began sketching. "What does this one do?" he asked, pointing to a red triangular control.

"Don't touch that—" The rest of Crichton's warning was drowned out by a loud roar, which ended abruptly with a spray of sparks. "That activates the hetch drive, and it gets cranky if the engines aren't already engaged," he explained, batting smoke out of his eyes. Aeryn was going to kill him if DK fried the Prowler's hetch drive.

"Whoops, sorry!" DK climbed out of the cockpit and jumped to the ground. Crichton lowered himself from the Prowler wing and followed his friend as he headed for the module.

DK whistled in appreciation. "Love what you've done with her, John."

"I had to fix her up with biomechanoid technology after I ran out of fuel," he explained, unable to resist feeling a touch of pride for his upgraded module. His friend's enthusiasm was contagious.

DK inspected one of the biomechanoid appendages and squatted underneath the module to see how it was connected. "Is this part of the same drive that was on the other craft. What did you call it? Hetch drive?"

"Yeah. Careful, DK. There might be a live wire still active under there," he warned. "I had a minor snafu with incompatible alien technology before I was laid up and I haven't had a chance to fix it yet."

"But it works? I mean, usually?"

"Yeah. She's now faster than anything we have back home, and she can even escape planetary gravity in most places. I use her on supply runs sometimes, but Moya's transports are more practical and a lot less conspicuous."

"It's unbelievable what you've done with her, man. She's still the Farscape module we designed, but now she can do all these things we never even dreamed about. She's the best of both worlds."

"The others think she's an odd antique," Crichton groused. "Top of the line Earth tech, but out here she's nothing but a primitive."

"Maybe so, but she's adapting," DK noted, looking at his friend pointedly.

Crichton realized suddenly that they weren't talking about his module anymore. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Promise me one thing, John."

"Sure, DK. What?"

"Bring her back in one piece. I can't wait to see how she's changed."

"I'll do my best, Bro," he replied, a strange sense of peace washing over him.

"And bring that other one with you while you're at it. I'd love to see her in action," he added.

Crichton started to answer, but his friend was no longer there.

Another voice echoed in his mind. "Crichton?" He looked around but couldn't locate its source. "John?"

He opened his eyes to find Aeryn's worried face hovering above his. She smiled. "Good morning."

Crichton scanned the room, recognizing his few belongings. His room. He looked back at Aeryn, still disoriented.

"I promised to wake you so we could exercise," she reminded him. She leaned back to allow him clearance but remained squatting at his bedside.

Crichton sat up in bed, pushing the gold blanket aside. "I'm home."

"As I said you would be when you woke up," she replied, her expression softening for a moment as she touched his face lightly. "Come on," she urged, standing up. "Get dressed so we have time to complete our workout before the morning meal." She eyed him critically. "Unless you'd prefer to languish in bed all day," she added, her harsh tone belied by a flash of a smile.

"I think I've had enough of laying in bed," he answered truthfully.

"Good," she shot back and headed towards the door. "I'm glad you're back," she said tentatively over her shoulder as she activated the door control.

Crichton smiled. "It's good to be back where I belong."