*Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.*

"The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on."

-Robert Bloch

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Luck

Chapter Summary: Day negative three - It seems our luck may finally be turning good. Moya is jubilant, the narl has come to an arrangement, and I've seen no blue today. On the other hand I've made concessions that will make my work harder, Aeryn has run out of patience, and Chiana is singularly the most unhelpful person I know.

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Solar Day -3

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

John poked the food cubes with the two pronged fork as he stared listlessly at the table. Even after years of eating the stuff, it still tasted unappetizing at the best of times. With his stomach twisting up in knots, the prospect of eating at all made him queasy.

It was still early, even by ship standards, but John was unable to convince himself to crawl back into bed with his wife and son. He had been unable to sleep all night, thoughts tumbling through his mind, laced with blue every time he opened his eyes. The probabilities were far too high on the list of ending disastrously, and knowing their general luck, Crichton did not hold much hope for the future of Moya's child. All the same, he prayed and wished, even as he planned for the worst.

There were just too many things that could go wrong. The baby could refuse to have restrictions programmed into his weapons. Just the thoughts of what the crew would be forced to do to insure the safety of Moya, themselves, and the baby made him nauseous. He would not like it, but John knew that he would do (had done) any sort of distasteful things in order to keep his family safe. Now was no different, even if it was just a narl.

Shaking his head from the thoughts, John sighed softly before he pushed his unfinished plate down the table. Rygel would be up soon anyways, he was always more than happy to eat whatever leftovers had been abandoned. Marching from the mess hall, he paused at the threshold. Glancing to the right he took several hesitant steps down the hall where Command lay.

Instead, he turned and strode the other way, gait eating up the distance as he turned down halls and climbed the hatches until he eventually found himself in the observatory. The dome glass that incased the ceiling and walls was near invisible, a slight reflection off of one curve where the blue sun shown was the only proof that separated him from the vacuum of space. The view was magnificent, the stars sliding across the black as Moya twisted lazily through space.

Blue eyes darted across the sky as he sought out Moya's son. It took a while, his hull blending in perfectly with the vast darkness of space, but the subtle disappearance of stars gave away his position. As he glided closer, his underbelly just a dozen metras away from where John stood, he realized just how beautiful the Leviathan looked. He was hit with a sense of nostalgia as he remembered how beautiful Talyn had looked as well.

"He is gorgeous, Moya," John commented softly as he lay on the warm floor and watched the narl lazily turned and slipped through the void. The hushed vibrations and soft hum that only a Leviathan could produce soothed him into a half dozing state. He had missed that when he had been on Earth.

Terra /ˈtɛrə/ Noun meaning not home.

When he had returned to Earth after four years of space he thought he had finally made it home. But as he sat in the house where he grew up, or fished in the lake where he was first taught how to cast a line, all he could think about was the hum…Moya's hum. It was so low and quiet, barely registering in the human's ears so it slid into the background like a white noise. And the vibrations of her hull, the floor, the walls. It all reminded him how alive she was, and how dead everything on Earth seemed.

John laid there for several arns before Pilot's voice pulled him back to the present. "Commander, Moya's son wishes to speak to you. He said he has come to a decision and requests for you to board at your earliest convenience."

"Thanks, Pilot," John replied softly, pushing off the floor and standing for a moment as the blood rushed back to his head leaving him slightly dizzy. "Tell him I will be over in a quarter arn."

Making his way out the door and down the hall, he stroked his hand along the wall and ribs, fingertips tingling from the gentle pulsations of Moya's systems. "Commander?" Pilot's voice broke him from his thoughts.

"Was there something else, Pilot?"

Pilot paused momentarily before answering. "Moya would like to thank you. She says that she appreciates that you had not forced her son into relinquishing control of his arsenal. She would also like to thank you for suggesting that her son should talk to her."

Smiling softly, John slid down a ladder, bypassing several tiers. "I'm taking that it went well then?"

"Yes," Pilot replied, voice even and calm as usual. "They discussed much late into the night. Your message has been relayed and the baby is awaiting your presence."

Feeling optimistic, John trotted into the docking bay, a skip in his step as rounded the corner. His jubilance left him quickly though, and a feeling of trepidation overtook him as Chiana and Aeryn both stood between him and the Prowler.

"Hey ladies," John began cautiously, sidling up to them as the blocked his path. "What can I do you for?"

Aeryn crossed her arms, shoulders back as she glared down her nose at him. His smile slid into a frown at her look. She had the ability to express displeasure with an ease that still seemed to startle him, and right now she was very displeased. "Where did you wander off to this morning?" She asked, voice clipped in Sebacean though her tone was neutral.

Danger, danger Will Robinson.

"Uh…Observatory…" John began hesitantly, mentally restraining himself as his feet sought to retreat. "Didn't Pilot tell you?" Chiana's dangerous smirk from her position on the Prowler's wing had him backpedaling quickly. "I mean, I'm sure if you had asked, that is…I didn't want to wake you?"

He had a great start, but that weak finish will leave him with four points out of ten. Let's see if he can stick the landing…

"Pilot would not help us locate you," Aeryn replied, her stance intentionally relaxed.

"Oh, that's uh…weird."

And he flops the landing, that is really gonna hurt his final score.

Aeryn was frowning at him now, the corners of her eyes scrunched in a way that showed she was concerned but did not want to telegraph it. "John," she sighed softly.

"Look," he interrupted before she could get started. Grabbing the duffle full of tools, he walked around his wife to toss it into the Prowler. "I'm fine, really."

Liar

Aeryn made a scoffing noise at the back of her throat as Crichton climbed the small ladder to power up the fighter. "No, you're not."

"Aeryn," he exhaled her name with one breath as he turned his back to her to grab the torch off of the work bench.

"No, John," she snapped, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face her. "You are not fine. Do you think I would not notice, that none of us would not notice?"

He grabbed the hand that gripped his forearm so tightly, relaxing her fingers. "Aeryn-"

"No!" She snatched her hand back, striding away from him until she deemed it a fair enough distance before she turned back. "I've been patient, Crichton. I've tried to help when I can but you are not well."

Running a hand through his short hair he watched as she ranted, hand slicing through the air as if to hit something. "What would you have me do, Aeryn?"

"We need to find somebody, someone who can take the information the Ancient fekkiks put in your head and yank it out…or bury it so deep that nothing can reach it."

Sighing softly, he took several steps towards her. "Aeryn, I know," he stopped his advance when she retreated.

"No you don't, John. You do not see what it is doing to you!" His wife shouted, turning to pace around the Prowler. Chiana watched quietly from her perch on the wing. "You don't sleep," she began huffing angrily as she tossed the blow torch and welding mask into the cockpit. "You hardly eat. You are never present and when you are you don't seem to be."

"Aeryn!" John shouted, startling Chiana as he grabbed his wife by the waist, pulling her into a hug. "I know, baby. I know. And when this is all done with the narl, we'll go find somebody."

"Promise," her voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his chest.

"I promise, as soon as we have the narl sorted, we'll go find someone to get this frelling stuff out of my head," he assured her. They remained in the embrace for several more moments before they both pulled away. Aeryn blinked the moisture from her eyes as John ran his hands up and down her arms. "First I gotta get the narl settled, okay."

Shaking her head, long black hair waving side to side as she left it down this morning, she mumbled a quiet denial. "No, Chiana and I will go over, you are not well."

"Aeryn…" he sighed, pulling her away from the Prowler.

"John, no," she argued as he gestured for the Nebari to climb down.

"It has to be me, Aeryn. You know this."

Chiana slid from the wing. Sidling up next to the Sebacean, she pressed in close until their arms were flushed. A silent show of support.

"John-"

"It has to be me," he cut her off as he climbed into the cockpit.

"Just," she started, taking a few steps towards him before Chiana's hand halted her. "Be careful, okay?"

"Always," he smiled, pulling his helmet on as the canopy came down and latched in place.

"He'll be fine," Chiana commented softly, tugging Aeryn out of the hanger as the Prowler took off. "You'll see. Crichton's strong."

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Docking on the narl was a much better experience the second time then it was the first. Thankfully the young ship remembered to engage the gravity so there were no repeats of the last mishap. The fit was still tight, so John found himself tossing the tools towards the doors and then sliding down the front of the Prowler so he would not have to crawl underneath it.

His colorful DRD met him at the hanger doors as they opened, sliding into the wall with a soft whooshing noise. 1812 beeped at him in excitement, eye-lights flashing as he led John towards Command. Laughing softly, Crichton was pleased to note that there was a lot more interior lighting activated so he hardly needed to use the torch at all. Trailing his hand along the walls, dipping around the ribs, he followed the excitable DRD.

Trilling musical notes met his ears as he crossed the threshold; a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as the little ship greeted him. Strolling into the room, he set his bag against the entry wall and lifted his arm until he fingers could trail across the gold central light, finger nail lightly tapping the purple epicenter that pulsated with every note the ship sang.

He noted that the guns were not present as the ship bid him good morning. Pleased, John let himself wander around the room, fingers trailing over the gold plaques above each station, but not dipping down into the buttons. "You two have fun?" He questioned softly as 1812 climbed up one side of the center console and making himself at home on the surface.

"Commander?" Pilot's voice seemed loud in the small room, washing out the soft hum that was quieter than Moya's. Humming softly to let Pilot know he was listening, Crichton returned to the middle of the room and waited patiently. "Moya's son would like you to know that he has agreed to your terms, but he has a few of his own."

John fought the frown that tugged at his lips and instead forced himself to remain calm, and his facial expression neutral. Pilot sounded slightly anxious but not worried so John let himself relax. "Alright, I'm listening."

"He would like you to make the…adjustments," he halted at the word, as if unsure if it was the proper one. "At the moment he has decided that he will tolerate no one else onboard. Moya and I believe it would be best if no one else were to board him at the moment as well." Pilot added hesitantly.

Silence rang through the comms as John thought of the options. Although he was ecstatic that the narl was letting him make the necessary changes, he wished that he could at least convince him to let Aeryn come over. It would be a difficult task for two people, let alone one. But John knew that in time he could do it, and it was a small concession for the price that was being asked of the narl.

"Alright Pilot," he acquiesced before turning his attention to the little ship. "Well, what do you say, little one, shall we get started?"

The narl twittered and chirped, bringing a smile to John's face as he retrieved the bag. It appeared that there luck was finally looking up.

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Solar Day -1

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

Moya watched her son carefully over the last few solar days as her Commander started to put his plan into effect. She noticed a difference in this son compared to her previous one. He seemed to be bonding rather closely with John Crichton, and because Crichton was close to her, so was her son. He was not distancing himself like Talyn had after he bonded with Craise.

She cared deeply for both of them, her son and the strange human she had become attached to as the cycles passed. Moya didn't know what to think about this new development, but she didn't dwell on it long. If her child wanted John as his Captain, then the far more experienced Leviathan could spare him. At least she didn't have to worry about Crichton flying off with her son to no-one knows where.

This past cycle, flying through the Uncharted Territories once again were the most peaceful she had had in a long while and it left her feeling rejuvenated and a little antsy to starburst, or at least fly without a care like before. But once the crew had found out that she was carrying an additional passenger they had forbid all forms of travel that could harm the baby.

She rumbled content and happy to her Pilot as she listened to her still unnamed child re-tell all the amazing and extremely exaggerated stories that her Commander had been telling him. Currently he was halfway through the story of raiding the Shadow Depository, where, in Crichton's version, he had rescued the big bad Luxan, D'Argo, and everyone from certain doom. 'Guns-a-blazing' was the term he had used. Neither she nor Pilot knew exactly what that meant, but they got the idea.

For once in a long while, Moya felt pure joy and peace as her crew went about their daily business. It was such a shame that in the peacefulness of space and the feeling of success they all felt about her child, nobody noticed three incoming ships on the long range scanner. Because for the first time in a long time, nobody was looking.