"Ok, here's the deal," John said, addressing everyone on command. They all sat on the strategy table, feet propped on chairs, or on an impromptu seat made out of a console. Anything to keep out of the clear slime that oozed and pooled on the floor. It dripped off boots and landed with a succession of sickening splats. Jool wiped disgustedly at her fingers with a cloth, her face drawn back in a rictus of horror and nausea.

"I swear, that boolite is less revolting than this." She said, not bothering to look up from her task.

"Here's the deal," John reiterated, "Pilot thinks he may know the cause of our current situation, but doesn't want to make any sort of press announcement until he's certain. Until then, he says the DRDs can keep up with maintaining a small amount of space fairly slime free."

"How small of a space," D'Argo asked. He eyed Crais warily, still not adjusting well to the idea of sharing his home with not only an ex-Peacekeeper, but the same man who had been responsible for his previous imprisonment.

"Two or three chambers." John wrinkled his brow in anticipation of the range of protests.

"What about Talyn?" Chiana asked.

D'Argo nodded. "Yes, what about Talyn? Why don't we all go over there until Pilot sorts this dren out?"

Crais raised a hand and shook his head. "That is not…advisable…at this juncture. Talyn is in a particularly defensive mood and would not welcome visitors. You would all do better to take your risks here, aboard Moya, at the present moment."

"Ok, then," John continued, "that leaves sleeping arrangements. If Pilot can only keep two or three rooms clear, I suggest we keep two sleeping chambers and the central chamber. The command is too big, so we're just frelled up here anyway. So, that leaves guys in one bunk, girls in the other."

"You expect ME, to actually have to SHARE quarters? With THEM?" Jool stabbed a finger in Chiana's direction, though she wisely kept any physical punctuation from Aeryn.

"What," Chiana asked, mischief lightening her face, "You don't snore do you?"

"I don't think so John," D'Argo said, "It's bad enough I have to share ships space with HIM, but I'm not sharing quarters." D'Argo drew his qualta blade and rested it pointedly across his lap.

"A Dominar does not 'share' quarters." Rygel sniffed disdainfully.

"Sparky, I seen you sleep in that throne sled…you can sleep wherever the hell you want and not worry about breaking your neck on the way to the john in the morning."

"Why would I seek you out in the morning? You're not that popular, and now that there's one of you, you aren't nearly as interesting, either."

"It's a saying, Buckwheat. The head, the latrine, the bathroom…never mind. Look guys, it's a pain in the ass, but it should only be for a few days til we figure this out and get it cleaned up."

John looked at Aeryn, the only one who had been remarkably silent during the whole exchange. Sure, sharing quarters should be no big thing to a woman raised in a barracks, though he did find it odd she didn't even bother to pass a scathing remark to her new roomies.

"There are, I dunno, enlisted quarters? Down on the bottom tier. Three bunks to a room, no waiting."

"Tech quarters," Aeryn said quietly. He could almost get excited she was talking to him if it had been more than two words and she weren't just clarifying a point. "I'll stay in my own quarters, if you don't mind."

"Aeryn," John started to say, but she narrowed her eyes and stared at him. The message was obvious. You do not have permission to speak to me.

The first night was a disaster. John lay awake staring at the ceiling, listening to Crais snore underneath his bunk, listening to D'Argo make horrible guttural growling sounds that could only pass for Luxan snoring across the room on the single bunk. The room stank of the solvent the DRDs had used to clean and the back of his throat itched. Next door, he could hear the girls snipe at each other until they both finally fell into an exhausted sleep. He was tempted to get up and go make sure they hadn't suffocated each other with their pillows, but found he didn't have the energy.

His mind wandered in and out of dark places it didn't belong. What would he had done if it had been the other John who had returned and not Aeryn. Ok, not going there. What if they had both returned and were up in her room frelling like rabbits right now. Check the belt and shoe laces at the door on that thought. Crais snorted and chuffled underneath him and John, tired and well beyond irritable stripped off his shirt, leaned over the bunk and slapped Crais in the face with it.

"Hey! Stuff a sock in it, Bialar." Black eyes snapped open and glared at John. "Y'know," John said, unperturbed by the look and glad for the small amount of silence coming from his corner of the room, "they must have promoted you to captain just to get you the frell out of the barracks."

"I don't see you assaulting the Luxan." Crais groused. John felt him shift in the bed.

"Yeah, well, I LIKE the Luxan." John shrugged back into his shirt. "Y'know, Crais, if you don't like how you're being treated here you are welcome to go back to Talyn."

"I am afraid, right now, I too would be an unwelcome visitor aboard Talyn."

That caught John's attention and he shifted himself to dip his head over the side of the bunk. "Ok, what'd you do to piss off Junior?"

"It is late, Crichton, and we need our rest. I will discuss it with you in the morning." Crais pointedly turned his back on John and pulled his blanket up over a shoulder. John considered Crais' back a moment before pulling himself up into his own bunk. Frustrated he threw a boot in D'Argo's direction. The Luxan snorted and rolled over, but in that brief, blissful moment of silence John managed to fall into a fitful doze.

It was Aeryn's voice that woke John, finally, out of his sleep. Crais and D'Argo were gone, wisely leaving him to whatever fitful dreams kept him warm in the early morning hours. He heard her, far away and tinny.

"John, I need you."

"I need you too, Baby," he replied, coming to licking his lips as though she had been there to kiss him.

He heard her voice again over his com, "Jool, I need you." Jool. She needed Jool, not John. His head fell back into his pillow, disappointment just one more demon let out of Pandora's box.

A sleepy voice finally answered. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. What do you want?" Jool rarely rose before the mid-day meal, a throw back to her debutante lifestyle that she just couldn't shake.

"Meet me in medical."

"What's wrong?" More aware, more alert. "Is it the Scarran, or the Boolite?"

Silence. John figured Pilot had finally gotten on the ball about person to person communications. He was usually pretty good about that, reserving open coms for their 'conference' calls.

"Neither. It's me."