Delusions of Desire

Author: ScribLL

ScribLL@houston.rr.com

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Set after CDM, Chiana's visit to a commerce planet leads to more than she bargained for. Minor spoilers for TtS and CDM.

The fine print: I snurched the Farscape characters from Henson Studios and the USA Network, but believe me, this crime doesn’t pay a dime.

Many thanks to my beta readers, Kat, Bryan and Meowzer, for saving me from my grammatical sins, healing my Farscape errors, and leading me back to the true path when I had gone astray.

---

John sat at the worktable in the maintenance bay peering and poking into the innards of a DRD. It had been following commands erratically and, while the mechanical bugs seemed to have no trouble repairing themselves, Pilot had asked him to look at it. John had been curious about how they worked and he had the feeling Pilot was just indulging him by asking him to fix it, but he accepted the gift and was examining the circuitry with a flowmeter. He was enthralled by the alien technology, but he still noticed when Chiana sauntered into the maintenance bay. He knew better than to ignore her—now.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She wandered around the bay from one area to another, but didn’t really seem to be looking for anything.

"Yo, Chi. What’s up?"

"You’re sure I’m not bothering you?"

He looked up from the open DRD and set down the flowmeter. "No. Have a seat," he said with a nod indicating the seat next to him. "Talk to me."

She smiled and walked over to him just a little too eagerly. Sitting down on the bench, she leaned over his arm to peer inside the DRD. "What’re you doing?"

"Pilot asked me take a look at this DRD." He picked up a screwdriver and began to pry open an internal casing. "I think I may have found the problem. Damn!" The screwdriver slipped leaving a wicked gouge on the metal sheathing. Oh well, he thought, it was inside; it’d never show. He glanced back up at her. "Why didn’t you go down to the planet with the others?" They had arrived at the latest commerce planet earlier that day and the rest of the crew had gone down for supplies.

"I didn’t feel like following them around all day. Why didn’t you go?"

"As long as we’re parked here, I thought I’d look at this in case I need parts." He looked around at the tools spread across the table trying to decide if he might have more success at prying off the stubborn casing with one of them.

"Oh."

Her plaintive ‘oh’ cut through John’s deliberation. Sensing her disappointment, he set down the screwdriver giving her his full attention. "There’s no rush. Somethin’ I can do for you?"

She smiled at him from beneath her lashes and he became acutely aware that she was sitting very close to him. "I never did thank you for coming after me on the Royal Cemetery planet."

"You didn’t seem very grateful at the time."

"I’ve had time to...reconsider," she said and he tried not to flinch as she drew her hand along his thigh ever higher until...

He took hold of her hand and placed it firmly in her lap holding it there. "Not…a good idea."

"Why not? I’ve seen you look at me," she said with a faint smile. As she talked she managed to turn her hand in John’s to hold it, and dragged the back of his hand along her own thigh. "You like me."

"Chiana, I’m a guy. I’d have to be brain dead not to notice you,"—brain dead, wrapped in a sheet, and buried, he thought, "but it’s not like that." He pulled his hand away from hers.

She was nothing if not persistent. She leaned against him, running her hand up to his shoulder and then a nail along his neck. "But it could be."

"You said it yourself, I’m too old for you." He took her hand away from his shoulder and put it back in her lap again, but this time he made sure he let go.

Her shoulders sagged and she frowned. "It’s Aeryn, isn’t it?"

He rubbed his forehead and sighed, "Chiana..."

"She leads you around by the mivonks. When are you going to realize that you’ll never get anywhere with the Ice Queen?"

His first impulse was, of course, to deny anything, but Chiana would know he was lying. He picked up his screwdriver again and stuck it back into the DRD. "She’s thawing."

"In your dreams." She stood abruptly and stomped off toward the transport bay, the sound of her boot heels clicking against the deck floor.

"Where are you going?" he called getting up to go after her. Just what he needed was to have Chiana fly off in a huff to God-knows-where again.

She spun around and back to answer him without missing a step. "I decided to go down to the planet after all. Don’t worry," she said reading his mind, "I’m not going to disappear. I’ll find Zhaan and the others."

Reluctantly, he backed down. Aeryn had said to give her a little more space and he had to stop treating her like a wayward child, but she didn’t make it easy. "Alright, I’ll let them know you’re coming." Then he added only half in jest, "Just—try not to be late for supper, OK?"

~~*~~

Chiana set her transport pod down next to its twin and wandered out to the market place. She had meant what she’d told Crichton about finding Zhaan and the others, but the sounds and the smells and the activity of the market were intoxicating in their newness, replacing the restlessness she’d been feeling with a kind of heady freedom. She would eventually find her shipmates, but she wasn’t in any hurry, either.

Besides, she was still a little angry with Crichton. She had known, too, that it wasn’t a very good idea, and she wondered why she’d tried it. He had already made it clear how he felt about her. Still, she wasn’t used to being turned down.

She took her time wandering from stall to stall examining the various merchandise for sale, most of which was only mildly interesting. One stall sold chiba microcells containing enhancements to popular games of skill and she palmed one in front of the trader’s nose without him suspecting a thing. She congratulated herself on still having ‘the touch’, but she’d only stolen it for the challenge it presented. She gave the microcell to a passing child in the next street.

She paused for a long time at a seller of ‘artistic’ holoscans. Cheap pornography really, but with some of the species it was hard to know exactly what they were supposed to be doing. Eventually, after much study, she tired of it.

She navigated purely on instinct, not really paying attention to where she was headed. She heard raucous animal noises and turned the corner to find a kiosk selling various small live creatures in cages. Some she recognized as pets, but most she knew were food for one species or another. She was about to pass it by, when she noticed a holo-display in front of the building behind the kiosk. Various pieces of clothing rotated in the display changing every few microts. She watched, vaguely interested for a while, and was just about to move on when the display changed to a long coat of rich deep blue and its beauty instantly captivated her. Maybe it was because her species lived in a colorless environment of whites and grays or because she knew her trusty traveling coat was showing its use, but the coat did capture her attention unlike anything else in the market. She found the door to the shop half-hidden behind a stack of cages and went inside.

Immediately Chiana tripped over an errant bolt of cloth. The room was a riot of color and pattern with stacks of folded fabric on nearly every surface and bolts of cloth leaning rather haphazardly against the walls. A faint musty odor that she associated with age permeated the shop. Still, it was fairly clean, if not neat. It also appeared to be unoccupied.

"Hello?" she said easing inside, careful where she stepped. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

From the back room an old man appeared. He was short, shorter than Chiana, and like most of the native inhabitants of the planet, he had the same bronze skin, but his was leathery and wrinkled. Oddly, he seemed to be expecting her. He looked her up and down. "You’re late."

 

She tilted her head. "Late for what?"

"The Kydon is expecting you in less than an arn, and we still have to get you dressed." He walked up to her and began to take her coat off.

She yanked her coat from his hands. "Are you frelling fahrbot?"

He stepped back, alarmed. "You’re not from Dremot?"

 

"I have no idea what you’re talking about. I came about a coat." His expression went blank. "In the holo."

"O-oh," he said, now embarrassed at his mistake. "I’m so sorry. I was expecting someone else and I just assumed…."

"Save it," she cut him off. "About the coat?"

"Which one? There are so many."

"The long one—blue."

"Ahh, I know just the one." It took him a few moments to clear the stacks of cloth from the holo-table at the center of the room. He touched the controls at the side and a three-dimensional display of a coat appeared, fluttered, and then went out with a crackle. He fiddled with the controls some more, and then rapped the side of the table and the image appeared again. Several coats came up in the display one after another until it stopped on the object of her desire. "Is this it?"

She approached the display and smiled, it was even more beautiful than she remembered a few short moments before. "Hmmm, yes."

"It will look magnificent on you, my dear. You have exquisite taste." He went to a cupboard in the corner and rummaged through it. "I have a sample of the material somewhere here. Ah, here it is." He pulled a sample from one of the stacks and unfolded it.

The intense blue drew her across the room and towards the tailor. She ran her hand over the cloth; it was as soft and warm as the puff of a lover’s breath.

"It drapes marvelously, too," he said. He gathered the cloth up and held it up to her letting the gathers drop in flowing waves against her. She was captivated all over again.

"It’s beau-ti-ful," she sang in admiration.

"Durable—it should last a Hynerian lifetime. Makes it well worth its price."

She licked her lips in anticipation; she could already feel the coat wrapped around her. "How much?"

"Two thousand kredi."

Her dreams came crashing to the ground. "Two thousand!" If she sold everything she had on Moya, she would be hard pressed to come up with two hundred. The only thing on Moya she could think to sell that might be worth that much were firearms, a suicidal move if there ever was one; Aeryn and D’Argo would surely kill her.

She looked at the holo-display again and then at the old man and bit her lip. Not quite as repellent as Rygel, but not far off. But just maybe she could string him along long enough to get the coat. She eased closer to the trader and took him by the arm, making sure her chest was positioned just under his nose. "Two thousand is an awful lot," she purred.

He smiled in appreciation of her assets but said, "I’m an old man, my dear. You won’t get far this way."

Chiana dropped his arm. Turned down twice in one day. She must be losing it.

Still he looked at her appreciatively. "We might be able to come to some sort of arrangement though."

Chiana eyed him narrowly. "What kind of arrangement?"

"The helper I was expecting has not shown up, and I’m in a bit of a bind."

"Helper? Exactly what kind of ‘help’ are you looking for?"

"Just some modeling. I have a customer who doesn’t like the holo-displays and he doesn’t care for public places. My driver will take you there and you just try on some clothes for him. That’s all."

"That’s all?" Frell, did he think she just fell off a Galetan transport? For two thousand kredi, there was more to it than trying on clothes. "Do I look ditzed?"

"No, my dear. You look quite…exotic. Ahh, but if you’re not interested…" He turned off the holo-image.

She rubbed the fabric between her fingers admiring the extraordinary tactile sensation.

"You could have the coat ready as soon as I get back?"

"Of course, we could take your measurements right now. The coat will be ready when you are." He turned the holo-image on again.

Just one more time. The others would never have to know. And who knows, maybe all she’d have to really do is try on the clothes, but she didn’t believe that for a moment.

"Alright. But I don’t have much time."

He smiled broadly. "Come into the back and by the time we finish taking your measurements the transport can be here." He pressed a control on the wall and the door panel slid opened. He gestured toward the open door. "Please."

She hesitated, peering into the other room. It looked just like a tailor’s workroom, nothing sinister or ominous about it. What the frell, if things got too kinkoid, she’d just get the draz out of there, no worse off than now. She returned the tailor’s smile and walked through the open door.

~~*~~

After she’d gone into the fitting room, the old tailor, Nestra, wasted no time and had made her strip to her undergarments to scan for measurements. Then he’d searched through a standing rack of colorful clothing, picking out an orange one-piece suit and instructed her to slip it on. As she dressed, he picked out several other pieces and dropped them into a case. By the time she was dressed in the form-fitting catsuit, the local transport had arrived. Nestra assured her the coat would be finished by the time she returned.

The transport took her to one of the newer sections of the city. She tried to engage the driver in conversation, but his monosyllabic answers made the conversation very one-sided and finally, after a few blue jokes that met with no response, she gave up. At last the transport slowed approaching a tall, rather amorphously shaped building. As they neared it, she recognized that the lack of form was an illusion; the tower’s faceted glass sheathing reflected the surrounding buildings and gray skies disguising its true shape and size. A hanger door opened in a section about halfway up and the transport set down inside.

The driver seemed familiar with the setting. He picked up the case with clothes and led her inside a large anteroom. The walls were made of the same glass panels as the exterior, the random angles distorting and multiplying her reflection. Without hesitating, he proceeded directly to a door on the right and set the case down just inside the doorway before backing out again and gesturing for her to enter.

She stepped into the chamber cautiously. There were more glass panels, even the low ceiling was completely tiled with them. As she wandered around the room, the glass surfaces changed in opacity as the viewing angles changed, from a high-gloss steel-gray to a pale green-gray translucence. The only furnishings were a screen near the door and an armchair on a dais near the back of the room. Before she had time to get used to her surroundings, the Kydon arrived; at least she assumed it was him. He entered through a hidden door and passed by her without acknowledgment, but she managed a close look at him. He was much taller than Nestra, but with the same bronze and leathery skin, just fewer wrinkles. He had dark hair that he wore quite long, pulled and bound to the side, revealing permanently implanted neural ports behind his left ear. But his eyes were his most distinctive feature—entirely black, giving the impression that there was nothing behind them.

He marched to the chair and sat before ever acknowledging her presence. He gestured to her to come closer. Whether he approved of her or not, she couldn’t tell; the empty eyes revealed nothing. He asked for her name, then, with brusque efficiency, gave her instructions to walk back and forth, turn around and so forth, and then to change into the next costume. With a wag of his finger he indicated the screen and told her that she could change behind it. He did this several times and she was beginning to think that his only real interest was the clothes. Until now.

"Turn around."

Chiana turned slowly, aware that the back of the dress was nearly non-existent—one thin vertical line of material along the middle of the back connected by other horizontal straps to the front.

"Very nice. You’re Nebari, aren’t you?"

"Yes," she answered over her shoulder.

"Not many Nebari go into this line of work."

"And what line of work is that?" she asked wide-eyed.

"I won’t pay Nestra extra for innocence so you might as well drop the pretence right now."

She shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"I’ve only ever met a handful of Nebari, but they never seemed very...interesting."

The best defense being a good offence, she put on her most enticing smile and approached him predatorily. "And just what are you interested in?"

He smiled in appreciation. "Very nice, but I’ve seen all too credible performances before. I’m only interested in the real thing. Let us find out if you have it."

He gave a tiny motion with his hand, a flick of his wrist, and she was stopped in her tracks. A violet light engulfed her, tiny invisible threads holding her in place. She strained against the unseen bonds, but they held her fast. "What the frell is this? Let me go!" She pulled harder to no avail. "Ugh! You miserable head fried sack of dren. Let me go!"

"Relax, Chiana," he said. "This shouldn’t take long. You might even like it."

Her initial indignity soon gave way to fear as she continued to struggle against the bonds that held her. "Let me go, please," she pleaded. "I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to hold me like this. Please."

Her entreaties had no effect. He made no move. Panic took hold and she screamed for him to let her go.

Yet gradually, despite her fear, her racing heart began to calm.

"That’s right, Chiana, relax. There’s nothing to fear. Open yourself to the sensations, let yourself feel them."

So gradual that she couldn’t even pinpoint when it began, a tingling warmth moved around and through her, relentlessly increasing in its intensity. She could feel it play along her neck and back, travel through her limbs, around her breasts and stomach, up along her inner thigh and at last becoming centered between her legs. It was arousing.

The violet light became a lover’s touch and against her will, her body responded to it. In no time at all the erotic sensations became all consuming. She could feel her nipples pucker and strain against the rough fabric of the dress, the growing wetness between her legs, the warmth and swell of her sex.

She had no idea how this was being done and at first she tried to resist, but the sensations were so powerful, so compelling, that she soon gave herself over to them. Adding fuel to the fire enveloping her, her mind conjured up former lovers and fantasies settling finally on her half-formed erotic daydreams of John Crichton.

Her breathing became ragged, the tension centered in her sex spread through her body. Like a spring coiled tighter and tighter, the tension built relentlessly within her, energy stored and stockpiled. The potential pledge demanded its own fulfillment—the coil un-sprung, releasing its kinetic shockwave of pure orgasmic pleasure. Wave after wave continued to bleed the tension, and her strength, away. It felt so incredibly...good.

As the last wave subsided, the violet light dissolved with an audible click. The invisible strings that held her disappeared also and without them to support her, she collapsed to the floor, drained of all energy, without the strength to even speak.

The Kydon approached and peered down at her. "Very well done, Chiana. The real thing indeed. You may leave as soon as you’re able. Tell Nestra that you were worth twice what I paid him." Then he left and she could only listen as the door shut behind him and his footsteps died away.

It took several tries before she could push herself up from the floor and several more before she rose unsteadily to her feet. She staggered to the door and it slid open. The transport driver was there waiting for her. She let him walk her to the vehicle and deposit her inside. She must have fallen asleep, because it seemed that no sooner had she sat down, they’d arrived back at the tailor’s shop.

The tailor was as good as his word; the coat was ready for her. She changed back into her own clothes and when she emerged from the tailor’s workroom, he held the coat for her as she put it on. The top fit like her own skin and then it flared as it fell, the folds flowing gracefully around her as she stepped towards the mirror. The color added a rich blue cast to her colorless skin. Yet somehow, the coat’s perfection seemed tarnished.

She made to leave the shop, but hesitated at the door. "What—what is that thing that he, the Kydon—what is that thing that he did to me?"

"The imprinter? It supplies selected stimuli and then imprints the subject’s physical responses to an emotive coil. When replayed through a neural interface, the user can experience the same physical reactions. Good ones fetch a very handsome price."

"He sells them?"

"For a demanding sum. His coils are known for their quality."

"Are there any...side effects to this imprinting thing?"

"There can be some residual heightened sensitivity to certain stimuli. Minor. And it should wear off quickly."

"How quickly?"

"A few arns...it depends on the subject."

She turned to leave again, but hesitated with one last puzzling question. "Then what are the clothes for?"

The tailor shrugged. "His wives."

~~*~~

It was late. She was too tired at this point to try and find Zhaan and the others and too tired to figure out a good excuse for where she’d been, so she made her way back to the transport pod. She found a blanket and curled up on a pallet in the back. Just a short nap and she’d figure out what to do next.

She had no sooner closed her eyes when she heard the transport door open. She pushed herself up, surprised to find John rushing through the door. He seemed very worried.

"Chiana?" He didn’t see her immediately on the floor. He called her name again, then turned and spotted her. He rushed to her, fell to her side, and pulled her into his embrace. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you."

"You have?"

He pulled back to look at her face and he stroked her hair from her eyes. "I couldn’t find you. I’ve been so worried."

He kept stroking her hair, the motion seemed to calm him and the worried expression melted away. He smiled at her and for a moment the beauty of the simple expression made her breath catch. "Chiana," he repeated softly gazing into her eyes. The hand that had been stroking her hair moved to the back of her neck sending shivers down her spine. He pulled her to him and kissed her.

His lips were warm and soft. He kissed her gently at first, but then with growing ardor. She parted her lips to accommodate his probing tongue, thrilled at the taste of him. Without breaking the kiss he lay down pulling her with him. One hand still held her neck, holding her to him; the other began to explore her body leaving warm, tingling trails as it traveled. He reached down between her legs and rubbed her through the fabric of her clothes, each stroke sending jolts of electricity through her. She gasped as he broke the kiss and repeated her name into her ear. "Chiana, pick up the phone." Phone?

"Chiana!"

She woke up clutching the blanket. Alone.

"Chiana, damn it, answer." It was Crichton, but it was coming through the transport’s comm system.

She got up shakily, somewhat disoriented by the dream. She made her way to the comm and hit the activator. Still, it took a moment to find her voice. "Chiana, here."

"Where the hell have you been?" This John didn’t sound as happy to find her.

"I’ve been wandering around the market." It was only half a lie.

"I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past four arns. Why haven’t you answered your comm?"

The spell broken, she became defensive. "What frelling comm—", then she remembered, she left her comm badge with her clothes in the tailor shop. "I—I lost it in the market place." OK, a whole lie.

"Aeryn, Zhaan, and the others are involved in some deal that’s going to take more time. They’re spending the night down there. I can give you directions to find them."

"No, that’s all right. I think I’ve had enough of this place. I’m—I’m coming back to Moya."

"Are you all right, Chi?" Now he sounded concerned.

"Nothin’ a bath and good night’s sleep can’t cure." Or a cold shower.

"OK, but if you’re not here in an arn, I’m coming after you."

"I said I’d be there." She turned off the comm.

She sat there for a moment trying to sort out the dream. She’d had occasional sex dreams before, and she’d always thought that it was perfectly normal. Still she’d never had one as vivid this; she could still feel the aftereffects of her physical arousal.

On her way back to Moya she would make a list of twenty-one ways that Crichton had treated her like an immature child. That should fix it.

She found her old coat lying crumpled in a pile where she had dropped it after coming back from the tailor and removed the comm badge pinned at the collar. She opened the transport door, threw the badge out, and then closed it again. "Now, it’s lost." She took her place in the pilot’s seat.

~~*~~

"Welcome home." John was picking up tools and putting them away in the maintenance bay when she arrived. "I’m just about done here. I waited dinner for you."

"You did?"

He walked over to her wiping his hands on a rag. "Yeah. Been shopping?"

He had such beautiful blue eyes. Had she ever really noticed them before? "What?"

"Shopping. The coat."

"Oh…yeah," she replied. Eyes so blue she just wanted to fall into them.

"It looks nice."

"You think so?" That he noticed brought a warm glow to the pit of her stomach and an involuntary smile to her lips.

"Just like it was made for you."

Her smile faded; she doubted he would approve of how she got it. "Yeah."

He threw the rag on the workbench. "I’m gonna get cleaned up. I’ll meet you in the center chamber in about a hundred microts, OK?"

"Yeah, sure."

Drawn to the movement of John’s backside in black leather, she watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner. She leaned against the workbench, weak at the knees.

Why was he affecting her like this? She was mooning after him like a lovesick skygan. She had to snap out of it. Trouble was, she didn’t know if she really wanted to.

~~*~~

She went to her quarters, ditched her coat, and splashed some cold water on her face to try to pull herself together. When she arrived in the center chamber, John was already there, dishing out food.

"There you are. Have a seat."

She sat down at the table trying to avoid looking at him although she knew she couldn’t go through the whole meal like that—or even the next ten microts.

"Here you go. Not Julia Child, but not bad." He set the bowl down in front of her. "Bon apetit."

She picked up her fork and moved the brown mess around. "What is it?"

"Stew," he said sitting down across from her. "Don’t ask me what kind. You don’t want to know what’s in it. Hell, I don’t want to know what’s in it."

She took a tentative bite. It tasted much better than it looked.

"You made it?"

"Yeah," he said between mouthfuls.

She made the mistake of looking up at him. He had changed to a black T-shirt that molded to the muscles of his chest and shoulders. "Ver..ry nice." John looked up at her oddly. "The stew…is very nice."

He seemed to accept the compliment. "Thanks, I try. I just can’t live on a steady diet of food cubes like Aeryn."

Chiana frowned at the mention of Aeryn’s name. "There are a lot of things she seems to be able to live without."

If he caught her snide remark, he ignored it. "Well, Pip, what did you do down on the planet all day, besides shop."

"Nothin’ much, really. Just wandered around...stretched my legs."

"I can understand that. I do wish you’d check in every once in a while though."

"I told you, I lost my comm."

"Oh, yeah. We better get you a replacement right away. Can’t have anyone walkin’ around without a leash." He winked at her. "I think there are a few spares in one of the cargo bays. I’ll check after dinner."

He continued to make small talk—other dishes he made on Earth, what was wrong with the DRD, plans for the next day—she wasn’t really listening. She toyed with her food taking small bites now and then. The only thing she was really aware of was ‘him’—the way his jaw moved as he chewed his food, the twinkle in his eye when he made a joke, the way the timbre of his voice seemed to reverberate down her spine.

He finished his stew and turned sideways to her leaning against the table. He picked out a piece of cava fruit from the bowl on the table and rolled it between his hands to release its juices. She found herself waiting in anticipation and she held her breath as he raised it to his mouth then exhaled slowly as he bit into it. Juice trickled down the corner of his mouth. She watched, fascinated, as his tongue followed the sticky trail.

"Would you like a bite?" He held the fruit out to her. His eyes never left hers as she leaned forward and bit from the fruit in his hand. It was sweet and ripe and she felt juice run down her chin. He tossed the fruit aside and leaned towards her. His hungry tongue lapped at the juice on her chin and then her lips and then as she parted them, the inside of her mouth and she met him with a hunger of her own.

Her body protested when he pulled himself away, but only long enough to sweep the dishes from the table and raise her up to join him. He lowered her back to the table and reclaimed her lips, ravishing them, then sought new flesh to conquer. She closed her eyes and savored the feel of his tongue and teeth and lips on her neck and shoulders and then across the swell of her breasts. With unerring accuracy his mouth found a nipple through the cloth of her bodice and began to suck.

"These things are messy," she heard him say as if from far away.

She opened her eyes to see John sitting across the table taking the last bite of fruit. He rubbed his fingers together, making a face. "Sticky." He went over to the basin, and washed his hands, then splashed some water on his face. As he dried himself off he asked, "Do you think you can clean up? I’ll go see if I can find a comm for you."

She swallowed hard, her mouth and throat dry. "Sure. OK."

He stopped drying his hands and looked at her. "Are you feelin’ all right, Pip?"

"Yeah. Fine."

He continued to look at her, his brow furrowed, then slowly nodded. "OK. Later." He walked out, glancing at her once more over his shoulder before he disappeared down the corridor.

Chiana pushed the half-eaten plate of stew away, propped her elbows on the table, and held her head. She stared straight ahead, afraid to close her eyes. Nestra had said there might be side effects, but this was more than the heightened sensitivity he had claimed. She was becoming completely lost in her fantasies. And how long did he say it would last? A few arns? It had been at least four already and it didn’t seem to be wearing off—if anything, it was worse. Depending on the species, he’d said, and the Kydon told her he had never used a Nebari before. What if it never wore off?

Frell, what was she going to do? Lock herself in her quarters? How could she explain it? How could she tell John he was driving her absolutely, stinking fahrbot?

~~*~~

Chiana retreated to her quarters telling herself she was jumping to conclusions. She would just stay there until this wore off. Maybe John triggered the delusions and if she just stayed away from him, they would stay away, too.

She went into her shower alcove, stripped off her clothes, and stepped into the water. Wet warmth flowed down around the contours of her body, soothing her fears away. She let her head fall back to her shoulders and closed her eyes.

 

"I’ll wash your back." She raised her head as John stepped into the shower behind her. He reached around to pick up the soap and a sponge; the hair on his chest tickled as he brushed against her back. She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder, to see him lathering soap into the sponge. His eyes rose up to meet hers, claiming them. Her breath caught as a shudder of desire flowed through her and he smiled at her knowingly.

She followed his lead and he turned her to the side. He held her with one arm while the other made languid, studied movements with the sponge across her neck and shoulders. She relaxed against him, savoring the sensation as he inched downward. He paused for just a moment at the small of her back and then pressed the sponge down farther over her buttocks and then up gently through the crevasse between them.

He stopped, eliciting her momentary displeasure, until she realized that he was holding the sponge out to her. "Will you do me?"

As she lathered the sponge, he turned his back to her revealing a new set of possibilities. She outlined his broad shoulders and from there worked—if it could be called that—her way down. His back became slick with soap and she let her other hand trail the first, tracing the smooth contours of lean muscle, savoring the journey, yet edging ever nearer to the prize. When at last she slid her palms over that gloriously hard ass she had admired for so long, she hummed with contentment.

He gave her her moment—maybe several—before he turned around to face her. "How about the front?"

She lathered the sponge once more. She felt his eyes watching her as she repeated the movements across and down his chest, the effect of her ministrations becoming very evident before her. Her breath caught again when, without warning, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. As he pressed her body to his, her breasts slid against his slick chest; his erection hard against her stomach.

"I can’t wait any longer," he breathed into her ear. He leaned down, gliding his hands down her rear, then lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips. She slid her hand down between them and guided him into her. He leaned her back against the wall and pushed himself in farther, filling all the empty places in her body and mind. They remained like that, joined, for a while, and she couldn’t remember anything that felt as good, that is, until he began to move inside her.

He began slowly at first, controlled, but as the need in her grew, he instinctively moved faster. Each thrust pressed her back into the ribbed wall of Moya, but she was beyond pain as the slip and slide became the center of all sensation, pushing her relentlessly to that peak of sexual delight.

"Now, Chiana," he said and at his command she came in an explosion that, for one blinding moment, blocked all perception and feeling, only to have it all rush back tenfold taking her with it.

Gradually her senses began to recover from their erotic overload. She was lying down, the hard floor beneath her, the water falling on and around her, and she knew without opening her eyes that John Crichton was not there.

~~*~~

John hadn’t always been a light sleeper, but it was a characteristic he’d acquired of late. The sound of a single soft step woke him to the awareness of someone in his quarters, someone trying very hard not to make a sound. His back to the intruder, he waited, still, listening in the dark. He figured his best chance was to surprise whoever it was and so he waited for a sign that the sneak was close enough for him get his hands on. He ran through a too-long list of enemies, considering which one this might be. If someone had boarded Moya, Pilot should have given him warning—at least, he would if he could, and that thought readied his reflexes.

The stifled breathing drew closer and he sensed the hand that reached out towards him. With the first slight touch, his reflexes snapped and in a single movement, he grabbed the intruder and rolled, sweeping his adversary off his feet, then pinning him to the floor. His assailant was surprisingly light, but it wasn’t until he looked down, the dim light from the corridor reflecting on her white skin, that he realized it was Chiana.

"Chiana, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I thought Moya’d been invaded."

"I—I wanted to see you." Her breathing was labored.

Good, at least he’d frightened her. He released her arms and sat back, still straddling her, and noticed she was wearing only a thin nightshirt. "Couldn’t it have waited until morning?"

She placed a hand on each of his knees and pressed them up his thighs to the bottom edge of his boxer shorts. Irritated, he grabbed her wrists and rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. "That’s not funny, Chiana."

But as soon as he released her hands, they moved to his chest tracing random patterns on his bare skin. "It wasn’t meant to be funny, just fun."

To say he was unaffected by her touching him would be lying, but he reminded himself, this was Chiana. He found her wrists and held them away from him again. The light coming in from over his shoulder illuminated her face; she smiled at him, drawing her tongue along her upper lip. "I don’t know what kind of game this is but I’m not playing."

"Well, why not?" she purred. "We’re all alone on this great big ship. We could keep each other company."

She eased closer to him, so that she had to stretch her neck back to look up at him. He never remembered her looking quite so alluring. Still he wasn’t biting. He pushed her back, still holding her wrists. "Give it up, Chiana"

The seductive expression oddly flickered and then returned. "Ah, c’mon. It’ll feel so good."

Unusual behavior, even for Chiana. "Are you all right?"

Her expression flickered again with a jerk of her head. "Of course, I’m all right." She tugged her wrists against his grasp, but he held her securely. "And if you let me go, I’ll show you," she pulled again, "but you have to let me go." Traces of panic flashed in her eyes. She struggled against his hold, but she was no match for him. "Please?" she whimpered.

John watched the inner struggle play out across her face and his heart went out to her. "Chiana?"

He still held her wrists, but he didn’t fight her as she raised her palms to his face. Fear resonated through her trembling fingers and leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Help me," she begged. "I can’t control…ahh...." Her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed. He caught her before she fell to the floor and laid her on his bed.

She moved as if struggling against some unseen bond, murmuring incoherently, although he thought he heard his name once. He stroked her forehead and called her name, but she gave no indication that she even knew he was there. She seemed warm, but not unreasonably so, although he had no idea what might be normal for her race. Helpless as to what to do next, he wished that Zhaan were there, and was about to reach for his comm, when he was drawn back to Chiana. She stopped moving—stiffened was more like it—for several long moments, then unmistakably screamed his name and seemed to go into convulsions. Afraid she might hurt herself, he leaned over her and held her arms down, pinning her to the bed.

Slowly the convulsions eased and her breathing became regular again. Her eyes fluttered for a moment and then went wide, darting around the room. "It’s OK, it’s OK," he repeated and shushed her. "It’s me, John." Her disorientation dissipated, but the wounded animal look in her eyes did not. He released her hands and she slowly sat up. He hovered, watching her, afraid she might collapse again. "How do you feel?"

She jerked her head toward him, and then away again, but remained silent. She began to rise.

"Are you sure that’s a good idea? Let me call Zhaan—"

"No!" She swallowed hard. "Just let me get back to my quarters."

John reached out to help her up, but she cringed away from him and he stopped. "Chiana?"

"I’ll be all right. I can make it myself."

John watched her stagger out of his quarters and down the corridor, debating whether to call Zhaan or not. In the end he decided to watch her and unless anything else happened before then, he would contact Zhaan first thing in the morning.

He found his comm. "Pilot?"

:::Yes, Commander.:::

Tonight John was especially grateful that Pilot never slept. "Could you station a couple of DRD’s outside Chiana’s quarters and keep an eye on her? She’s—I don’t think she’s feeling well."

:::Sending them now.:::

"And let me know if she…well, just let me know if anything happens."

~~*~~

Frell.

Chiana leaned against the doors to her quarters and shut her eyes. She opened them again at the sound of DRD’s approaching. They stopped in front of her door.

Crichton. Frell him.

 

In a way, you already have. A guttural laugh rose from her chest, but her amusement was short-lived. What a mess she’d made this time. She dragged herself the short distance to her bed and sank into the covers.

Maybe Zhaan’s photogasmic fun wasn’t quite so drad after all. Chiana liked sex as much as anyone, maybe more, but she’d rather pick the time and place herself. This was completely out of control. And frightening.

And how stupid was it to think that she could keep it from everyone? Now Crichton knew something was up and he’d talk to Zhaan and they’d want to talk about it until they picked it to death. That’s the problem with this ship—you’d think everyone would have enough problems of their own. Why wouldn’t they mind their own frelling business?

She might as well prepare herself. It was all going to come out—that she played trelk and walked right into the Kydon’s mind-frell. Well, she never said she played by their rules and she didn’t care what any of them thought.

But that wasn’t really true. No matter what she might try to tell herself, the thought of disappointing John pained her.

She rolled over, turning her back to the DRD’s and punched her pillow a few times. It was best not to think of John at all.

~~*~~

"Hey, darlin’," he cooed into her ear. Feather kisses on her shoulder followed as warm fingers traced the contour of her arm. She turned towards him and he smiled at her, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "Did I ever tell you how sexy you look when you sleep?"

John, but not John.

"What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost." His hand moved down, massaging circles on her hip and he rubbed his face lightly against her shoulder, his breath itself a warm caress. "Hmmm…maybe I remind you of someone."

"No—"

"You don’t have to lie to me, sugar. I know there’ve been lots of others, but that’s fine with me. It kinda turns me on."

The hand on her hip worked its way across her belly, and inched lower. She tried to ignore the burning need his touch inflamed, telling herself this wasn’t real. And for a moment it seemed to work.

He laughed softly and she felt the soft vibration of it through his lips against her shoulder. "Don’t tell me you won’t spread your legs for me, darlin’. I promise I’ll make it worth your time."

His hand pressed warm against her thigh then moved up, pushing her nightshirt up over her hips and then to her waist. As he eased himself down her body, she waited, dread mixed with yearning, until that moment that his lips touched the exposed tender flesh of her belly and she knew she was lost. Without much effort he pushed one knee aside opening her to him. And as his tongue touched the core of her being, she melted.

~~*~~

Zhaan perched on the edge of the bed doing her best to examine a writhing Chiana. She seemed in pain, moaning unintelligibly, except for the occasional discernable ‘John’.

"How long has she been like this?"

"It started again just before I called you," John answered running a hand through his hair. God, he hated being unable to help her.

 

"Again?"

"Yeah, this is the second…attack, if that’s what you can call it. At least that I know of."

"When was the first?"

"A couple of arns earlier, when she…ahh…came to see me."

"About what?" asked Aeryn.

Something in her tone of voice made him cringe inwardly. "Well…" he scratched his head, stalling, wondering just how much he should say. There was also something about the way that D’Argo had been looking at him since he arrived that made him uneasy, too.

"It could be important, John," Zhaan added.

He shrugged. "She’s obviously not herself. She was coming on to me, kept...touching me. I finally held her hands to make her stop. Then she collapsed and became like...that." He tipped his head towards Chiana.

"Why didn’t you call us then?" asked Aeryn.

"I was about to, but she snapped out of it. She didn’t want me to call you. I had Pilot put a couple of DRD’s on her. That’s how I knew it had started again. While I was waiting for you, I watched the instant replay. As far as I can tell, one microt she’s sleeping and the next, she’s having these convulsions…or something." He sensed hostility coming from certain members of the crowd. "You can check them yourself."

"I believe you, John," assured Zhaan. "However, these are not convulsions per se. She appears to be in a extreme state of sexual arousal."

That stopped him cold. "She’s what?"

"I could smell her scent as soon as we arrived on this tier," confirmed D’Argo, which, when John thought about it, explained the strange vibes he’d been getting from him.

Zhaan stroked Chiana’s hair. "Poor thing, she’s exhausted. I’m going to see if I can find something to sedate her. Watch her, John, I’ll be back in a moment."

John self-consciously took Zhaan’s place unsure whether to even touch Chiana or not. His internal debate halted abruptly when Chiana let out a blood-curdling scream, punctuated with his name. John’s eyes opened wide and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Aeryn eyed him with daggers, but walked over to Chiana and relieved him of his duty. D’Argo said nothing, just continued to glare at him.

~~*~~

John retreated to the center chamber and put on water for tea, although, he thought, it seemed he was in enough hot water already. No, that was selfish—Chiana was the one in trouble. What was just an embarrassing moment for him was much more serious for her and he was very grateful to have Zhaan there. Whatever was happening to Chiana was not fun and games. He had seen genuine fear in her eyes and he hated not being able to help her.

While he waited for the water to boil, Aeryn showed up. He sensed the awkwardness in this meeting, but he was confident they would work through it. After all, he was simply the messenger.

"Would you like some tea?"

She took her own sweet time answering. "Yes." She sat down.

Best to start with something neutral. "Rygel stayed down on the planet?"

"Yes. Hopefully he won’t have any problems concluding our supply negotiations," she answered, then added, "Not that we had much choice."

He chose to ignore the dig and got out another cup. "How is Chiana?"

She hesitated again, but finally answered, "Better. The sedative calmed her down. She’s sleeping."

"Good." It could be hard to tell with Aeryn, but he had become practiced at recognizing her more subtle variations of irritation. He measured out more tea leaves.

"Zhaan took some blood and tissue samples to see if she can find out what the problem is, that is, if there is a problem." She eyed him reproachfully.

Well, no mistaking the implication there. They might as well get this out now. He carefully set down the tea canister. "You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?"

"I really don’t know." So cold, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

"You don’t know?"

"Well, yours was the only name I heard her say..."

"That’s unfair."

"...The rest of us were gone for a long time. I’m sure the little trelk was quite willing."

He glared at her, clenching and unclenching the spoon in his hand. "Is that really what you think of me? That I’ve been waiting to get everyone off the ship so I could get Chiana in the sack?"

"It’s really none of my business."

Cold, all right, but not butter—ice. He dropped the spoon to the counter. "Make your own damn tea." He walked out.

~~*~~

"Finding anything?"

Zhaan looked up at John from her microscope and shook her head. "No, I haven’t been able to determine a single pathogenic cause for her condition, nor can I find traces of any toxin in her system."

He dropped into the seat beside her. "If it’s not a bug or a drug, could it be natural? Some kind of Nebari pong farr?"

"I’m not sure what you mean," Zhaan answered, "but no, I don’t think this is usual sexual behavior for Nebari. Chiana and I had a long discussion on the subject some time ago. She didn’t mention anything like this." John would have liked to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

Zhaan frowned, thinking. "Did she say what she did down on the planet?"

"She said she wandered around the market, shopped. She bought a coat. She told me she lost her comm—that’s why I couldn’t contact her."

"For how long?"

"Five, maybe six arns."

Zhaan sighed. "Plenty of time, I’m afraid, for Chiana to find some kind of trouble to get herself into."

"You don’t think she did this to herself?"

She shrugged. "There’s very little I would put past Chiana."

As much as he hated to admit it, he had to agree, but that wasn’t the only option. "What if someone did this to her?"

"Also a possibility."

John bit nervously at the fleshy end of his thumb. He was unsure how to ask this question; less sure he wanted to know the answer. "She’s been saying my name. You don’t think she’s, umm—"

"Dreaming about you?" She smiled at him briefly then turned thoughtful. "Hmmm, interesting. There is a strong link between the mind and sexual response. Her body could simply be responding to some sexual fantasy playing out in her mind."

The thought of him and Chiana, sweaty and naked, flashed through his mind. Definitely not where he wanted to go. At least, not right now. He forced his attention back to what Zhaan was saying.

"Eliminating pathogenic causes, it would be the simplest explanation for her state of sexual arousal. She could be delusional and, in the acute state, suffer a complete loss of contact with reality."

"What could cause that?"

"By now, John, you should know there are endless methods of inducing psychoses."

Regrettably, it was something he had been learning all too well.

~~*~~

John set the transport down at the spaceport nearest the city center. It was a long shot, but he thought that maybe if he could trace where Chiana had gone, he might be able to find out what, if anything, happened to her. His only clue was the blue coat that she had brought back with her. As luck would have it, there was a name attached to it. One call down to the planet confirmed that it was the name of a tailor. Within half an arn of touchdown, he was at Nestra’s door. He stuffed the bag he carried under one arm and checked to make sure that his long coat concealed the pulse gun at his hip. No need to scare anyone—at least not unless it was necessary.

A wizened old man standing behind a holographic display case greeted him as soon as he entered. "Hello, sir, may I help you?"

John took a careful look around the shop as he approached the tailor. They appeared to be alone, although it was difficult to tell in the cluttered shop. "I hope so." A single door on his left opened to what looked like a workroom. He walked closer and peered inside. It, too, appeared empty.

He turned back to the old man. "A friend of mine was here yesterday." He reached into the bag to pull out the coat.

The friendly face the tailor put on for customers faded. "I’m sorry, but every garment is custom made. No refunds—" The old man started at the sight of the coat.

"You recognize it?"

"The white girl."

"Give the man a cigar." John held the coat up, pretending to admire it. "It’s a very nice coat."

"She seemed happy with it," he said cautiously.

"How much does a coat like this run?"

He shrugged. "A bit."

"How much?" John repeated more forcefully.

The tailor hesitated before answering. "Two thousand kredi."

John whistled. "Two thousand? That’s an expensive coat. Chiana doesn’t have that kind of money."

"It’s not my business to find out where clients get their resources."

"Well," John smiled, nodding, "Chiana can be very...resourceful."

The old man relaxed some at this. "Indeed."

John’s smile disappeared. "What did she give you for the coat?"

"Why don’t you ask her?"

"She’s in no condition to be asked." John pulled his coat back exposing the gun on his hip, a gesture not lost on the old man. "What did she give you?"

"She…she provided some small services."

Shit. He could just imagine. "What kind of services?"

"She modeled some clothes for a client of mine."

"Modeling? Then who’s this ‘client’? I want to talk to him."

"The Kydon doesn’t talk to anyone."

"He’s a mute or something?"

"He’s very private."

John was getting tired of this. "Just tell me where I can find him."

"If I told you that, he’d have my mivonks for dinner."

John’s arm flew around the old man’s shoulders and he squeezed. "Tell you what, don’t tell me and I’ll have them for lunch. Better yet, why don’t you take me. You can introduce us."

~~*~~

John didn’t like holding his gun on the tailor, but he had tried to escape twice on their way here. Whoever this Kydon was, he had to be one bad hombre to scare the old man like this. Leave it to Chiana to find the local color. Of course, he had to admit, he didn’t have the best track record himself.

Stereotypes—something dark, disreputable, smutty. That’s what he had expected, but the local version of a taxi deposited them in front of a brilliant, fractured palace. OK, maybe not a palace, probably just a really cool office building, but the effect was not lost on him. Large, irregular-shaped glass surfaces reflected light at odd angles like a prism and gave it a fun house mirror effect. As they walked toward it, John observed the glass panes with curiosity. Opaque, they grew translucent, then changed back again depending on the angle that they were viewed from. The entrance was staid by comparison, clear, unchanging.

John had returned his gun to its concealed position on his right hip, but held the old man tightly with his left arm as they entered the building. As they slipped inside, John felt a slight tingling that began at his feet and traveled upward, but it passed quickly and was gone. The ‘lobby’ was lightly populated with a myriad of species. He and the tailor seemed to draw no untoward attention.

A slight pressure to the old man’s back, and he led them forward. The walls inside were no different than outside; the glass surfaces changed in opacity revealing and concealing equipment and people as they passed. The tailor led them into an open elevator. "Eight," he said, twitching nervously. The elevator began to rise.

On that floor a young man met them, a native with the same bronze skin and black hair. He ignored the tailor and nodded to a door on the right that slid open. It seems they were expected.

The stately figure stood in the center of the room reflected in the walls’ many facets. Black, empty eyes greeted him—disturbing, so John chose to ignore them. He released the tailor.

"Kydon, forgive me," the old man groveled. "He forced me."

"I can see that. It’s all right, Nestra. You can go."

Relieved, the tailor scurried out the door leaving them alone.

The Kydon was the first to break their mutual silent evaluation. "You’re new here."

"I’m new everywhere," John replied.

"Indeed." He circled John, looking him over. "You appear to be Sebacean, but you have several significant deficiencies. What species are you?"

John sure got tired of being called deficient. "Human. How can you tell?"

"You were scanned as soon as you entered the building; it’s a standard precaution. I know you’re armed, also." He stopped squarely in front of John. "I’ve never met anyone of your species before."

So much for intimidation. "I’m the only one in the neighborhood."

"Interesting. What do you call yourself?"

"John Crichton."

"I’m very pleased to meet you, John Crichton. What can I do for you?"

The Kydon’s solicitousness surprised him. "The old man sent a friend of mine here yesterday."

"The Nebari girl."

"You remember her."

"Of course, she was magnificent. Some of the most acute sexual responses I’ve ever experienced."

"You son-of-a-bitch." John swung, his weight behind his fist, and fell—through the Kydon. What the hell was he? A reflection? A hologram? "Where are you?" he yelled to the walls.

"Somewhere quite secure. I fail to see what the problem is. She came willingly and was paid for her services."

John struggled to control his anger. The Kydon had him—force wasn’t going to get him anywhere—but he seemed willing to talk. Disconcertingly, the Kydon’s voice projected from the image. John wasn’t sure whether to talk to it or the walls, so did both. "I want to know what you did to Chiana."

"I recorded an imprint of her sexual responses."

Not exactly what he expected. "You took dirty pictures?"

"The imprinter applies an array of psychosexual stimuli until it finds one or a combination that induces the desired physical responses. It then records those responses to an emotive coil. The coil can then be replayed through a neural interface for anyone to experience."

He gave new meaning to the term ‘mental masturbation’. "So you make these coils—what do you do with them?"

"I sell them; it’s my business."

"If this imprinter supplies the necessary stimuli, why do your clients need the middle man? Why would they need the coils at all?"

"The coils allow for interspecies and cross-gender erotic experiences."

"Like Baskin-Robbins—thirty-one flavors."

"There is always a market for new experiences. The imprinting process is a harmless procedure."

"Harmless? Chiana’s whacked out, oblivious, and still somehow gettin’ to the prom without a date."

"I’m not sure I understand."

John took a deep breath to calm himself. "She slips in and out of a semi-conscious state; she doesn’t seem to be aware of her surroundings. But she’s...aroused, sexually...really aroused." He hoped that was specific enough.

"Ummm, unfortunate. Perhaps you’d be willing to sell her?"

Surely John hadn’t heard him right. "Sell her?"

"I would pay a very good price for her. She’s one of the best subjects that I’ve every employed. She would be very profitable for me, even in this condition you describe."

John’s back stiffened in righteous anger. "She’s not for sale."

"Well, I can see why you would wish to keep her for yourself."

He forced himself to relax. Just let it go, John, he told himself. "I want to know if there is something we can do for her."

"The condition you describe is an extremely severe reaction—one of the risks, but rare. The victim usually possesses some sort of sexual proclivity or fetish that the imprinter accentuates until it becomes an obsession. If you knew what that was, it might be possible, through the appropriate neural feedback, to insert blocks to break the obsession and return to normal."

"What sort of ‘proclivity’?"

"It could be anything—an object, a place, but more commonly a specific sexual practice or a person."

Who knew what went through Chiana’s mind? But he had a clue, didn’t he? What were the last recognizable words out of her? ‘John.’

He’d been brushing off her flirtations for months. OK, she’d propositioned him a few times, too, and to be honest, he might have taken her up on it if he wasn’t so hung up on Aeryn. Chiana was sexy and wild and ‘experienced’, a walking wet dream—and to think that she was fantasizing about him—don’t even go there, John-boy. You’re no Captain Kirk.

But it wasn’t just Aeryn that stopped him. He cared about Chiana too much to use her that way. She might not see it like that, but he did. Life had pushed Chiana hard and she had learned to push back. Trust didn’t come easy for her. It had taken a long time to earn her trust, but it was fragile. However frustrating his sex life had come to be, he wasn’t about to violate that trust just to get laid.

He turned back to the waiting Kydon. "I might have some idea of what the obsession could be."

"Then you’ll need to talk to my neural tech. He can design a program to install the necessary blocks. You’ll have to bring her here for treatment."

John wanted to talk to Zhaan about this, but all things considered, he didn’t see much of a choice. "All right, set us up."

"Certainly. There’s just a small matter of payment."

John felt his back stiffen again; this guy had balls. "You did this to her."

"I operate a business, not a charity."

John wondered if they had a Better Business Bureau on this planet, as if it would make a difference. He began to run through their standard trading inventory. "We have medicines, weapons..."

"Not interested."

"What would you be interested in?"

"I deal in emotive coils. You say you are a Human, unique in this part of the universe. You would be surprised how much people will pay for something different. Subject yourself to the imprinter and I will agree to the transaction."

"But that’s what got Chiana into this in the first place."

"That is my offer. Take it or leave it."

 

~~*~~

"I’ve tried to talk to her, John. She refuses to go back down there again."

Zhaan had met John in the transport bay. Over the comm he had the neural tech explain the procedure to Zhaan, and she had agreed that it was most likely the best form of treatment. As Zhaan had prepared to bring Chiana back down to the planet, she had come to. She actually seemed back to normal for a while until another short-lived episode began. When she came around again, she admitted she couldn’t hold the delusions at bay, but she adamantly refused to go down to the planet.

"Did you explain to her that it’s not going to be anything like the imprinter?"

"She won’t listen to me, John. You might be able to talk her into it. On the other hand, your presence might just initiate another delusion. When the sedative wore off, she was fine until she went past your quarters and saw your orange flight suit. I think it reminded her of you."

Oh, god. He was never going to be able to look at that flight suit the same way again.

"I’ve gotta try, Zhaan. Moya’s big, but not big enough for us to avoid each other for very long. The alternative is that one us is going to have to leave the boat. She has to understand that."

They had been walking together towards Chiana’s quarters and halted at the intersection leading in that direction. Zhaan bowed her head to him. "Good luck, John. May the goddess be with you."

~~*~~

Chiana had been expecting him, preparing herself. I can beat this, she repeated to herself as she heard John’s footsteps coming down the corridor, but she held her breath all the same.

 

As John came into view, she watched raptly as he approached her. She wondered, now that he knew everything, what he thought of her, but despite the nagging thought that he did not approve, she couldn’t help but notice the way he moved—fluid, vigorous, sensual. He was so beautiful. He halted at the entrance to her quarters and leaned against the doorway fixing his eyes on her. She felt her heat rise unbidden, and thought again, what a waste.

"Chiana—"

With considerable effort she turned her back to him. "Go away, Crichton."

She could hear him come closer. "Have I unintentionally done something to give you the impression that I have...certain…’expectations’ towards you?"

A throaty chuckle escaped her as she turned back to him. He could be such a prude sometimes. "No, you’ve always been a perfect gentleman. Your conscience is clear." His stifled sigh of relief was irritating.

He moved closer to her, but stopped just outside her reach. She found his caution even more irritating.

"There’s a treatment, but you have to go back down there."

"Back to the Kydon? If I wanted my mind frelled with, I’d go back to my own people. I’m not going back there."

"But if there’s a chance—"

"I’m not…going...back."

"You’d rather stay like this?"

"Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it."

She could see the pulse of his jaw clench and then relax. "I’m just trying to find a way to help you."

She loved the way he eyes softened when he pleaded with her. He smelled good, too. He always smelled good—a thick male-scent. He didn’t seem to have a very well developed sense of smell or he would know what he did to her—what he was ‘doing’ to her...

"You wanna help?" She smiled edging closer. He flinched only slightly when she raised her arm and stroked his eyebrow. "There’s only one way you can ‘help’ me, John," she said feeling the warmth beneath her fingertips in the pit of her stomach. "Wouldn’t you like to have sex with someone besides yourself? I can even pretend to be Aeryn and slap you around a bit first."

"Don’t," he said, catching her wrist, but he might as well have slapped her and for the moment her mind cleared.

"Well, well," she said, her smile becoming a smirk, "I guess you didn’t really mean it."

He shook his head. "Don’t be—" he started, but then bit back his words. He squeezed her wrist sharply, then threw it away.

"Don’t be what? Don’t be such a…slut?" She watched as the echo of his own words struck in recognition. "Oh, yeah...I didn’t forget."

"If it hadn’t been for T’raltixx, I never—"

"You never would have said it, but somewhere along the way you must have thought it." He lowered his eyes and she knew at once she’d hit upon the truth, but the satisfaction was sullied by the sour taste it left. "Sorry, I can’t play ‘good little girl,’ for you, Crichton, but you know nothing about me."

 

She stepped around him, intending to leave, but he caught her by the wrist again and jerked her around to face him. His eyes had hardened; his face flushed red. She didn’t like this John. She moved to back away, but he held her, his fingers biting into her arms.

"OK, then enlighten me. Tell me why you went to see this Kydon in the first place. You knew damned well what was expected of you, so why’d you do it? Why? For a god-damned, fucking coat?"

How dare he judge her. "Yes," she hissed. "I did it for the coat. Why not? I’ve done it before for far less."

She wasn’t sure what she expected—anger? Disgust? But instead his expression softened. He eased his grip on her and his sudden gentleness took her by surprise. "You’re not alone anymore, Chiana."

Pity. That was the last thing she wanted from John Crichton. She pulled herself from his grasp. "You just don’t get it, do you? In the end, I’m always alone." She turned again to leave him.

"Do you trust me, Chiana?"

She stopped in her tracks. It was an easy question.

More than anyone.

She turned back slowly. He stood there, looking back at her with such intensity. Blue eyes—when had it become her favorite color?

She drew towards him until they almost touched. She raised her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down towards her. He resisted, but only for a moment, then he let her guide him down to her. She closed her eyes, and kissed him.

The warm glow of desire spread from the center of her being, but truth shivered bare against cool lips—he would never be hers.

Such hard won clarity would not last. "Take me to down to the planet," she told him, then surrendered.

"I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, darlin’." He pulled her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck inhaling deeply. "Baby, you smell of sex." He wedged one leg between hers and ground into her pelvis. "Did I ever tell you how much I love wanton women?"

Her body hummed in delight, but she whispered in his ear, "You’re a liar."

He laughed and held her tighter. "You wouldn’t have it any other way."

~~*~~

"How do you feel?"

"For the twentieth time, Crichton, I’m frelling fine."

"Sorry, I’ll quit asking."

"Good."

She certainly seemed back to normal, at least normal for Chiana. When she blissed out again after he let her kiss him, he was afraid he’d made a mistake, but she clearly gave him permission to take her down to the planet. He probably would have taken her anyway—she might never have known in her condition—but the repercussions were easier this way.

The treatment had only taken about ten minutes. He had intended to make the neural tech wait another arn, just to make sure that it had worked as advertised, but that involved making Chiana wait, too, and she was not good at waiting. After half an arn, she threw this planet’s equivalent of an outdated Reader’s Digest at him. "Believe me, Crichton," she said through clenched teeth, "you are completely resistible."

He was hoping they would use the ride back up to Moya to clear the air, but so far she had rebuffed his attempts at dialogue. It was beginning to piss him off. Now he had two women upset with him and he was the innocent party, right? The entire ride Chiana had been restless and fidgety, squirming in her seat and drumming her fingers on the console, and that was beginning to irritate him, too.

Moya had just come into visual range when out of the blue she said, "You wanna talk about it? Okay. Let’s talk."

At last, progress. "Okay—"

"Don’t go gettin’ a big head. You’re cute and you’ve got a drad ass, but you’re not the sole scratch, ya know."

Not exactly the way he had pictured this going.

"Take D’Argo, for example. He’s big, really big. I like big."

John chuckled. "I think you’re pretty hot, too."

That seemed to take the wind out of her sails. She blinked at him from under her long bangs. "You do?"

He let his eyes trail down her body appreciatively and nodded. "Oh yeah. But, you know..." He shrugged. "Aeryn..."

She nodded back, then a sly smile stole upon her face. "Maybe I could help you with that?"

Now that was a scary thought. "It’s probably better if we just work it out ourselves."

"Yeah, " she bit her lip, making a sucking sound. "Like that’s workin’ for you."

Like he needed Chiana’s comments on his love life. Or lack thereof. "Let’s just drop it, OK?"

"Fine," she said in that way that made him know it was most certainly not fine. She turned back to the front, silent again, but not for long. "I only wanted to pay you back."

"You don’t owe me anything, Chiana."

"I know the Kydon, or people like him. They don’t give anything away."

John silently agreed, but hoped she would drop this subject, too. He would be all too happy to put the commerce planet behind him.

But Chiana was never easily deterred. "So what did you give him?"

He gazed out at Moya’s fast-growing image in the front view screen, but looked inside himself. What did it cost but a little piece of his pride, some of his dignity, his…virtue? He turned to her and smiled reassuringly. "Nothing I’ll miss."

:::Commander?:::

"Yes, Pilot?"

:::Engaging the docking web.:::

John felt a slight jar as the docking web took hold of the transport and he released the controls to Pilot. As the transport pod set down, he could just make out Aeryn waiting behind the opening doors leading to the maintenance bay.

Aeryn…

He stared at her dark silhouette, stark against the lit background. She had her hair down, flowing around her shoulders. He liked that; it softened her, although there was little about her that could be called ‘soft.’ Aeryn was all sharp edges, like a finely honed blade that, despite the danger, tempts careful touching. The fingers of his hand curled as he thought of them wrapped around the sharply defined curve of her neck, her waist, her hips...

"You coming?" Chiana squeezed his shoulder lightly, breaking his reverie.

He looked up at her, shaking off the disconcerting feeling. "Yeah," he said. "Right behind you." He powered off the engines and noticed his palms were sweating. Wiping his hands on his thighs, he looked back down to where Aeryn had stood, but she was gone. He stared at the vacant spot feeling vaguely disappointed.

John rose from the pilot’s chair and turned to follow Chiana only to find himself face to face with the ‘radiant Aeryn Sun.’

"I want to apologize," she said.

Her voice played smooth jazz on his spine.

"I know you were only trying to help Chiana." She edged closer to him and drew her fingers along the edge of his vest, brushing his chest with the back her of her hand. "I just get...jealous sometimes."

"Jealous?"

"It’s my own fault that you spend so much time with the little trelk." She let go of the vest and pressed the palms of her hands up his chest. "But that can change."

With a sudden ferocity her fingers gripped the front of his vest and pulled, forcing him to bend down to her. She kissed him hard—tongue-probing, teeth-scraping hard—claiming him, not that he put up any kind of resistance. He had surrendered himself to her, body and soul, some time ago; she had just refused to notice. He hesitated, but only a moment before sliding his arms around her and pulling her close. There was no resistance, her body molded to his. Emboldened, he slipped one hand under her leather top. He stroked the silky skin at the curve of her waist until her hand covered his and he stopped, uncertain, but she only guided him higher and pressed his hand against her breast, full and warm in his palm. Could it be possible, at long last, their minds were set on the same course?

And why did that seem significant?

But it was only a fleeting thought—she moaned into his mouth, or maybe he moaned into hers, it was hard to tell, but the hum reverberated down his spine settling at last in the vicinity of his groin. She rocked against him appreciatively which led to more moaning, more reverberation, more...appreciation. The system seemed to work perfectly, the improbability of which tugged at a distant corner of his mind, but any reservations fled before the feel of her hand against the growing hardness in his pants; and any other thoughts vanished for good when she cupped what she found there and squeezed, sending a shock of pleasure through him bordering on pain—the essence of Aeryn distilled into a single sensation. He was lost.

~~*~~

 

:::Are you having any problems?:::

"Nothing important, Pilot," Chiana answered. "Crichton just noticed that, um, that there’s a problem with…with one of the transport’s fuel cells and he’s down in the hold checking it out."

:::"I could send some DRD’s to help.:::

"No! Ahh, no. Everything’s under control. Just a few more microts, I’m sure."

:::All right, but should you need any assistance, please, do not hesitate to ask.:::

She looked over at Crichton sprawled out in the pilot’s chair. He was moving again.

"Of course, Pilot."

She turned off the comms just before Crichton murmured, "Aeryn…"

Chiana came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. His brow was moist and his complexion had taken on a pink glow, but other than that he seemed quite content. Instinctively she ran the fingers of her other hand across his brow. "Come on, Crichton. Snap out of it." He moaned again. "Please."

When he hadn’t followed her out of the transport, she had gone back, only to find him laid out, and seemingly unconscious, except for the moaning and squirming. She had nearly called for Zhaan, before realization dawned on her—she knew exactly what John had paid the Kydon.

She tried talking to him, shaking him. She tried to think what might break the delusion’s hold. With herself it had been something different each time…or after she’d climaxed. Well, he was a male. How long could that take? He moaned again.

Or maybe a little pain. She dug her fingernails into his neck.

"Uh—aah!" He sat up, pulling away from her, then looked around the transport pod as if trying to remember where he was. And then he remembered. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his neck, and sighed, then rather self-conciously adjusted his jacket to cover his lap. Those leather trousers just didn’t hide anything.

"Sorry," she said nervously. "You were probably just getting to the good part."

He looked at her with one eye. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough."

He turned away from her and was silent, but she could see his face reflected in the window. His gaze was fixed forward, but he looked very far away.

She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Why’d you do it?"

He shrugged under her hand. "He didn’t want anything else."

Chiana stared hard at his reflection and wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. In so many ways—the best ways—he reminded her of her brother.

"You did it for me." His eyes moved to her reflection. She smiled at him dimly and shook her head. "Not a very good plan, Crichton."

He put his hand over hers and held it. "No, but it was all I could come up with."

She stood up straight, raising her chin. "Well, we’ll just have to go down and see the Kydon again."

 

"I think I’ve had about enough of the Kydon, haven’t you?"

"Yeah, but—"

"He told me that with Sebaceans the effects wear off in a few arns. This wasn’t exactly covered in Coach Willis’s health class, but I’m gambling that my physiology is similar enough that it will work the same for me. I could use your help though."

"Anything," she said, and she meant it.

"Don’t tell anyone else about this."

She nodded. "Whatever you want."

"Help me get to my quarters without running into anyone, especially Aeryn, then get me a sedative from Zhaan’s apothecary. Tell the others I haven’t gotten much rest lately and I’m sleeping."

"Not a problem."

"One more thing, just in case, make-up some excuse as to why we need to stay in orbit here a few more arns. Can you do that?"

She grinned at him. "That’s my specialty. Don’t worry about a thing."

He rose unsteadily and she moved around beside him. She offered her shoulder for support and was gratified when he leaned against her. They shuffled towards the transport door, but halfway he halted and she looked up—into piercing blue eyes.

"I will though," he said, "—worry," and Chiana knew he wasn’t talking about hiding what happened from the others anymore. Surprised, she felt a warm—and decidedly non-sexual—glow flow through her.

"Yeah," she said, then pushed him forward again. "I know."

~~FIN~~