Chapter 4 should need no explanation. If you like it but are confused, PM me…I'll explain. If you hate it, I don't care. It's not FOR you. If you love it, then good…it's you that I'm writing for. You know who you are. Oh, btw, there's a time lapse, just so you know.

Disclaimer: Sue me and we'll see what happens. –Wields PK pulse rifle-

Chapter 4

Jezze studied Pilot's controls carefully, murmuring to herself in Pilot. Two cycles had passed since her parents and Pilot had had "The Talk" as it was referred to. Jezze was still no closer to speaking either of her parent's languages than she had been then, but at least she could understand basic questions in both languages. Pilot was her translator, and her family relied on him to relay messages back and forth.

"Can you see the problem?" D'Argo asked her. At eight, he was the most inclined to understand her and to be able to phrase questions so that she could understand them.

Jezze regarded him for a moment. D'Argo didn't mind…he understood that his sister wasn't snubbing him. He always gave her thirty microts to figure out the question and relay her answer to Pilot. And when all else failed, D'Argo asked Pilot to be the middleman.

At last, Jezze nodded and pointed to a pipe jutting out from under the console. Pilot swiveled around to inspect it, and then he turned to D'Argo.

"Would you like to fix it?"

D'Argo shook his head. He wasn't a Pilot…his sister had already forgotten more about Leviathans than he'd ever even know.

And that bothered him. Jezze got so much more attention than he did. He knew that it was because she was different, but he was jealous. He wished that he could do what she could…Jezze could do anything on a Leviathan without even thinking about it. D'Argo wanted to be able to do that. He was older, anyway. He didn't see why his little sister outshined him in the only area he had ever cared about.

"D'Argo, son, what are you doing?" D'Argo jumped as his father entered Pilot's den.

"Fixing Moya," D'Argo replied simply.

"Seems like Jez is doing all the work," John noted as he lifted his son onto his shoulders.

"I didn't wanna fix it this time. I wanted to watch."

John nodded and began to spin in quick circles, making his son laugh wildly with joy. D'Argo loved it when his father played this game with him. John would see how dizzy he could make his son, and D'Argo would try to walk in a straight line. It was a game that only he and his father played…it was theirs and no one else's. D'Argo loved that. So caught up in the pure joy of his father's attention was he that he didn't even notice the look of pure sadness that his sister shot his way.

Pilot, however, did. He reached out two of his claws and scooped Jezze close to him as John and D'Argo teetered out of the den to go seek lunch. Little one, it's going to be alright, he assured her in Pilot.

I wish that Mom and Dad would play that game with me. All they really care about is my talking. I know I can't do it right.

D'Argo needs attention, just like you do…and yes, they play games with him and sometimes overlook you in that respect, but that doesn't mean that they love you any less. They aren't, after all, part Pilot. They can't handle more than a few things at a time. Lesser beings usually can't.

This wry observation elicited a giggle from Jezze, and Pilot put her down. She climbed up to her customary spot on his shoulders, her legs hanging off either side of his neck, her hands gripping his head plate as she leaned over to see what he was doing.

Pilot smiled softly at his protégé as he puttered around his console. Jezze was all his. She understood him in a way that only Moya and Aeryn ever had, but with the added advantage of Jezze being around him all her life. He could help her better than anyone, and he knew it.

Jezze's stomach rumbled just as Aeryn strode into the den. Wordlessly, she lifted her daughter off of Pilot's shoulders. Then with a grin at Pilot, she blew a giant raspberry against Jezze's neck, which made her daughter squirm and giggle.

"C'mon, kiddo…let's go eat."

As the pair left the den, Pilot smiled. Communication between the two had improved hundredfold in two years, and it would only get better. Now if D'Argo could make progress like that, there would never be any complaints on the ship. But then, D'Argo was eight cycles old…he could never be expected to understand.

Pilot shook his head and turned back to his work, his claws dancing over the consoles as he communed with the ship that was his life.

A/N: I know, that chappie was a little different…but I had to establish D'Argo and Jez and a little bit of the relationship between them. Review….you know you wanna!