See Part One for Author's Notes and Disclaimer.

~ parte the fifth ~

Grace was almost purring contentedly.  She had her arms wrapped around a personable, attentive (very attentive), hunk.  John Crichton smiled at her in a somewhat besotted manner.  He tried to focus on the very, very small beaker of wine that packed a remarkable wallop in the inebriation department.  He wanted to ask the lady where she came from, who she was and why him.  Very greatly, why him.

"Why me?"

Grace grinned.  "'Cause you're cute and 'cause I could," she murmured in his ear, nuzzling his neck and preparing to become excessively un-PG13.

Again.

"So -- who are you?"

"Amazing Grace."

"John Crichton."

Grace laughed.  This was sooo -- silly!  And sooo wonderfully cool -- the only real problem was that she couldn't take him home.  Sigh.  But that would screw up the series and heaven knew what it would do to the two levels of reality that would be seriously skewed if she did.  Sigh.  Grope.  Grapple.  Grace stopped mentally bemoaning the shortness of the encounter and got on with the encounter.

dragon came looking for Grace.  Grace had her Bacchus Wine and she  was not gonna get away with -- dragon frowned as she heard muffled giggles.

She edged forward.  Peeping around the frame of the door she discovered Grace.  And Crichton.  Drat that girl.  The first rule of lurking is:  (flourish of trumpets) Don't Get Caught.  Of course, it was a little difficult to tell who caught who.  dragon sighed.  She spied the beaker of Bacchus sitting beside the bed.  Half gone.  Good grief.  It was a wonder the man was functional.  Talk about a constitution!  However, more than that could be detrimental to his health, not to mention her co-lurker's fun.  dragon folded over to the bedside table, carefully not disturbing the bed's occupants who seemed to be under the covers somewhere; snagged the beaker and folded out.  Whew!

She frowned at the beaker.  Damn.  One ounce was not gonna do a lot for the Leviathan.  A heavy hand fell on her shoulder.  dragon jumped, dropped the beaker (which bounced and sprayed Bacchus Wine all over the floor) and eeped.  She cautiously looked at the hand.  Gold fur.  dragon relaxed.  She turned to meet RevSam's bemused gaze.  They both gazed down at the fallen wine.

"Er -- sorry?"

dragon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.  "S'OK.  Just means I have to go back to Oberon.  Bacchus will understand.  I think."

"So -- what  did you pay for it last time?"

dragon mumbled the answer.

"What?"

"mddfjla;sdjoguadnfkjagha."

"I -- beg your pardon?"

"I hadda give him and his entourage a ride in dragon form," dragon enunciated quite clearly with a darkling look at her friend.  The praahr was grinning.  dragon hrmmmphed huffily and frowned down at the -- rapidly disappearing liquid on the floor.  A small swarm of DRDs had appeared and were cleaning up.

Oh, dear.  Were they really supposed to spin like that?

~ parte the sixth ~

Aeryn Sun blinked as she realized that there was something different about Pilot.  She grabbed up the nearest weapon (the pop gun) and went looking for the rest of the crew.  She nearly walked into D'Argo who was striding down the corridor toward her.  (I know, he doesn't seem to have another mode of movement.  It's not like he generates a stealth field or anything.)

"D'Argo!"

"Aeryn."  He looked her up and down measuringly.  Was it the ex-Peacekeeper who had given him the gift?  "Uhm -- Aeryn,"  he repeated her name somewhat less decisively.

Aeryn regarded him curiously.  "What?  Did you see it?"

"See what?"

"The  thing.  The beast."

D'Argo regarded her in some confusion.  Was she referring to Crichton?  For having kissed her?  Possibly.  "Which -- beast?"

"A big golden thing.  Must be 7 feet long at least.  Claws.  Teeth.  Well, it wasn't particularly ferocious when I saw it, but it could be dangerous."

Seven feet of golden beast.  What an amazing coincidence.  Here he was with a new weapon and there was something that needed trouncing on board.  He shelved his curiosity about how it had come aboard and why Aeryn was hunting it with a pop gun.  Not to mention the question of why she hadn't sounded an alert.  He thought about that.  Maybe she had.  He vaguely recalled an alert sounding.  And where were Zhaan and Crichton?  He knew the gray runt was out of the picture for some time to come.

Zhaan answered the question of her whereabouts by joining them from a third direction.  She looked at the two of them curiously.  They seemed -- tense.  Yes.  That was a good word.

"Zhaan."

"Zhaan,"  D'Argo greeted her less urgently than Aeryn and with a courteous nod.  He was feeling quite mellow just now.

Zhaan focussed on the hilt rising above his shoulder.  "Is that new?"

D'Argo smiled.  "Yes."  Then he frowned.  "But if neither you nor Aeryn ---"

"Perhaps whoever left me  my gift."  Zhaan led the way back to her quarters.

Aeryn gaped at the room.  "It's -- uh -- it's -- "  Words failed the pilot-warrior.  She'd never seen anything like the fabric and ribbon draped room.

"Yes, it is rather,"  Zhaan agreed, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Aeryn frowned, then realized that Zhaan, though taking it in stride, was somewhat bemused by the redecoration.  Another look chased the frown across her face.  "Pilot."

That got their attention.

"What about Pilot?"  Zhaan vocalized the question.

"There was something -- different --"  Without another word, they headed for Pilot's quarters/work area.

Pilot was bemused.  This was not an uncommon occurrence these days.  He remembered the days when he worked for the Peacekeepers.  Now, he worked for -- who?  Himself?  Moya?  No, well, not entirely.  Perhaps that was it, he didn't work  for anyone.  He worked with them.  He looked up as Aeryn and company came in.

Zhaan got the impression that Pilot smiled at them.  She looked at him.  She smiled also as she moved around the entity who guided them and Moya through space.  Her draperies whispered softly as she circled entity and console.  She looked a bit like he felt.  "It's -- quite lovely."

Pilot beamed.  If his kind could be said to do so, he preened at her words.  "Thank you.  I like it."

"It's not -- dangerous to you?"

"No.  Not at all."

Moya chose that moment to shift.  Everyone roll left.  Aeryn, in the doorway still, managed not to move.  D'Argo fetched up against a wall.   Zhaan steadied herself against the console.  Pilot tried to figure out what had occurred.  It didn't help that he was getting gibberish from the DRDs.  Well, some of them, anyway.  The ones under the blanket thing were fine, just finding it difficult to extricate themselves from the folds of fabric.

"Pilot,"  Zhaan addressed him gently.  "What is going on?"

Pilot checked several things and gave her a minimally distressed look.  "I'm not quite sure."

"Tell us what you do know?"

Pilot did.  There was the vanishing weight anomaly.  There was the bizarre behavior of the DRDs.  There was the quite lovely, by Sebacean and, apparently, human standards, young female who was -- entertaining -- Crichton.  There was -- well, there were quite a number of things, none of which were of particular danger in and of themselves, but might be considered such if added together.  And there were the rather odd readings in Moya's fourth tier fluid intake area.

dragon and RevSam were having a problem trying to be discreet.  They were being followed by a horde of DRDs.  Some were spinning.  Some were weaving.  Some were trying to run up the walls to the ceiling.  They were definitely making the two of them obvious.  Very, very obvious.

"Maybe --"  RevSam started quietly.

"Yeah."  dragon agreed.  But they did have to retrieve Grace.  Ah.  Crichton's room!  dragon dashed in, unceremoniously grabbed Grace, her catsuit and the sheet, in which she wrapped Grace, and tugged the recalcitrant lurker out of the room before Crichton could react.

"Hey!"

"We're outta here."

"But -- but --"

Fold.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Zhaan and company found Crichton peacefully napping under his comforter with a grin on his face.  There was something about the peaceful demeanor that caused Zhaan to decide not to awaken him.

Rygel woke up without the requisite hangover.  Unfortunately, the glop which had given him that glorious drunk, was now hardened to the consistence of some of the better ceramics in this end of the universe.  The spoon was apparently stuck in it forever.  He took it philosophically.

The DRDs eventually recovered from their encounter with Bacchus Wine.  And the crew of the Leviathan Moya carefully draped the comforter/baby blanket where the DRDs and Moya could see it.  The rest of them thought it was an odd gesture, but Crichton seemed to think it was touching.  They bowed to his comprehension.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grace grumbled, fussed and then glared and growled at dragon.  dragon was trying to ignore both Grace and RevSam as she tried to figure out how the tesserect had dumped them in Toronto, of all places.

~ epilogue ~

Grace frowned.  It was -- cold.  OK.  This was not her home, New Orleans; nor was it New Mexico, nor was it New York.  She hid under the sheet and hastily donned her catsuit.  Now she understood why the thing had built in soles and heels.  High heels.  It was still far cooler than she liked.  She neatly folded the sheet into something manageable and pulled it around her like a bulky wrap.

RevSam was doing her best to fade into the shadows.  After all, the last War was over, the Shrine was not in need of their services.  She smothered her giggles as she recalled the adventures of the irreverent Groucho cleric.  However, she had not visited the Shrine, or Toronto in praahr form.  She briefly wondered if she had left a change of clothes at the Shrine.

dragon muttered imprecations in a couple of foreign languages as she tried to make sense of how she'd ended up in Toronto instead of New York. "Let's see -- cosign irreverent three divided by sign 8 less tangent -- oh.  Well, of course, tangent 773niner6 is not gonna put me in New York."

"dragon."

"Yes?"  dragon was a little wary, Grace had not been happy about being yanked out of bed.

"Why, of all the times I wanted to get out of there, did you have to pick that one?"  Grace was trying not to look like she'd been auditioning for one of the critters in Critters <tm>.  RevSam wondered when Grace had picked up the waaaayyyy too many teeth ability.

dragon shrugged her shoulders and pointed out that they were about to be given away by the DRDs who had apparently gotten something approaching inebriated on the Bacchus Wine.

"So was he."

"Well, yeah.  Oh, by the way, usually, you want to drink the wine form, not the distilled liquor form.  The latter is -- uh --"

"It can be deadly,"  RevSam pointed out helpfully.

Grace's eyes widened at the thought of what she could have done.  "Gee, thanks!"  It sounded sarcastic.  It was.  Well, at least she had the memory of -- several things -- to keep her company.  She loosened up and grinned.  "Where are we?"

"Toronto.  That's CERK.  The Shrine's over that way,"  dragon waved an inaccurate hand to indicate directions.  "There."  She looked up from the tesserect, her eyes widened in horror and she folded them -- right into the middle of Mardi Gras circa 1968.  She sagged.  Well, at least Nick hadn't gotten a chance to arrest her again.  She could just imagine the charges for having an unlicensed, no shot record, no green card illegal alien and a catsuited college student wandering around minimally in her charge.

"Don't go -- anywhere --" she ended with a sigh as the praahr retreated from the crowd and Grace dove into it after beads and doubloons.  "Shit."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Midnight in the Crescent City.  RevSam was curled up asleep in the grass in the side yard of dragon's childhood abode.  Grace was decked out in beads that dangled from neck, wrists, waist and ankles.  She even had some in her hair.  She was leaning on the praahr as she was tired, but boy had she ever had fun.  She had also threatened dragon with drastic fan fic if she dared to indicate that the booty wasn't going home with her.

dragon, now that she wasn't rounding up recalcitrant lurkers, was finally getting the coordinates reset.  Fold.  Shift.  She unloaded the very tired, very happy Grace at her New Orleans apartment, promised they'd do it again soon and folded out.  The praahr was another matter.  First she had to talk it into waking up and shifting back to human form, which it didn't want to do.  Then she had to remember where the Rev had parked her car.

RevSam looked at her bewilderedly.  "You came and got me."

"Oh.  Right.  There."  She neatly returned the Rev to her kitchen, three days late, but better late than never.  After all, there was always a good explanation for time discrepancies: dragon.

dragon folded into her own lair with a tired sigh.

Wha-Boom!

Thunder????  She looked around.  "Oh.  Hi."  She sank onto a conveniently decapitated stalagmite and looked put upon.  About a dozen feet away stood one unsympathetic thunder-god.

"Bog."

"Yeah.  I know.  I'm getting to it.  Honest," dragon soothed and yawned.

Rayden glowered at the dragon as she slid down the side of the gilded stalagmite and into dream land.  What did he do to deserve this????

The End

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