Archive of Our Own

Jason's house is high on a hill above the city. In the cool California twilight, from the deck that rings the swimming pool, Fred Kwan gazes out over the valley. From up here, it appears as an amorphous gray murk filled with little white, yellow and red lights that swim and sparkle. They look like stars. Like galaxies. The sky is a pale grayish-purple, shading the dark blue near the horizon; the color of Laliari when she's nervous.

Fred smiles to himself, sipping the drink that Gwen slid into his hand when he arrived. Has he suddenly become more sensitive to colors, or is it that are there more shades and tones in the world since Laliari came to earth? Only her eyes remain the same no matter her mood: the exact pale, artificial shade of blueberry Bubble Yum.

Laliari has double-pupilled eyes, likes pasta in white sauce and Bela Fleck and the Flecktones. Fred Kwan has lived within ten miles of L.A. for the last twenty years, and the tentacled Thermian tactical officer isn't even on the top ten list of weirdest chicks he's ever brought home.

But there's something different about Laliari, something Fred is just beginning to realize doesn't have anything to do with the fact that she's got more arms than usual, or that her pebbly skin goes mottled lavender and iron-gray when she's sad...

The smooth growl of a car engine on the hill makes itself heard. Moments later the sliding glass door opens with a whoosh. Gwen stands silhouetted in the doorway. "Fred? Alex is here."

Fred goes in and sits down on Jason's white couch. He sets his drink down carefully on the glass coffee table, listening as Gwen and Jason welcome Alexander in. Alexander apologizes for being late, managing to work in a few snide comments about traffic and the obvious insecurities of SUV owners. Fred smiles a little; there coincidentally happens to be one parked prominently in the driveway. Jason's laughing it off as they come into the living room, though. He's good at that. Had a lot of practice, there.

Alexander gets a drink pushed on him as well, situated on the couch next to Fred. Gwen and Jason sit down across from them on the loveseat. Their knees almost touch, and they look at each other nervously, heads tilted at complementary angles.

"Oh, Christ," Fred grins, startled, "if you're going to ask me to be in the wedding--"

"What? No!" Jason says. He and Gwen laugh nervously. "Don't be ridiculous!" Jason goes on-- a little too emphatically, perhaps.

Gwen's jaw drops just a bit at that, but then her expression firms up. "It's not about us. It's about Galaxy Quest."

Sprawled back against the couch cushions, Alex raises an eyebrow rather than sit forward. Always subtle, Alex is. "What exactly about Galaxy Quest?"

"Well, Guy has a script he's been working on since God knows when." Jason says, leaning forward. "You wouldn't believe it, but the kid can write-- really write! And Tommy's been talking to some Sci-Fi channel reps about producing."

Alex squints, his eyes flickering warily. "Wait. What are you talking about, a movie?"

"Better than that." Jason grins triumphantly. "A new series."

Alexander's subtle mien goes on holiday someplace very distant. "A what? What?" He laughs. "You're completely mad."

"The script is good, Alex." Gwen chimes in. "I've read it, and it really is good."

"I think so too," Jason announces. "And I think we can make this work. But you know our audience, guys. They're not gonna warm up to some half-assed spinoff that doesn't even have all of the original cast members, are they? No way!"

"Unless we're all a part of it, it just wouldn't be Galaxy Quest." Gwen looks pleadingly across the table at Fred and Alexander. But mostly Alexander. Fred's not the hard sell here and everybody knows it... he's been doing little more than going with the flow for way too long.

He watches as Gwen and Jason double-team Alex, answering each of his objections with either imploring looks or used-car-salesman verve and single-mindedness.

Fred leans back, and sips his drink. A new Galaxy Quest. Hell of an idea.

He can't do it, of course.

They'll understand. Fred was never one of the big stars. Not a member of the bridge crew, not in the holy trinity of Jason, Alex and Gwen. You don't see a lot of kids dressed up like Tech Sergeant Chen at the conventions. If they do bring back the show, anyone could do his job. Hell, Tommy's not nine any more. Shouldn't his character should be in line for a promotion by now?

"Fred?" Gwen's voice penetrates his musings. "I said, what do you think?"

Fred looks up at her, blinking. He never used to blow cues like that. "Oh. Sorry." He stands, still toying with his glass, then puts it down again. "It's an interesting idea."

Jason stands too. "It's a great idea, Fred."

"Yeah. And I'll think about it. I really will." He moves towards the entry hallway. "But I told Lali I'd be home soon, so I gotta go."

"Fred?" Gwen is looking at her knees. "About her. About Laliari."

"Yeah?"

She looks up. "Well, obviously there wasn't time to discuss this at the time, but do you really think... I just wonder how she's going to fit in. Here. She doesn't have her people--"

"She has people." Fred corrects.

"Yeah, but-- People need their people, Fred." Gwen says. "Can she really have a home here?"

"My parents were immigrants, Gwen." Refugees, actually. "They made it okay... I think I've mentioned that a few times." In fan magazines. At Galaxy Quest charity auctions.

"Oh, yes." Alexander says. "In quite a few of the early interviews, as I recall."

Fred remembers once a plastic Protector model went for enough to bring one sick kid all the way out to UCLA for a heart operation. Ma would have cried. Pops, he probably just would have laughed. Neither one of them lived to see his success. He always believed they would've been proud.

Alexander is smirking. "You weren't much of a reader back then, were you Gwen?"

"Blow it out your purple finny ear, Shakespeare." Gwen says, flushed.

"Now, Gwen." Jason puts his hand on her wrist, holds it gently.

"Oh, Alex, I didn't mean that." Gwen's hands flutter nervously. "I'm sorry."

Alexander waves the conflict away with a lordly, practiced gesture. "Of course."

"Now look, we're getting away from the point--" Jason begins, and Fred simply turns and leaves. It's no cooler outside now than it was at noon, but at least the sun's relentless glare is gone.

When Fred steps out onto the porch, the motion-sensors flip on bright lights around the garage and yard, dazzling him for a moment. He winces, then laughs.

Come to the city. See the bright lights. Fred's parents were never too crazy about his decision to pursue acting. But he made it work, after a while. He didn't give up. He did all right for himself. Was it really so awful to believe that they would have changed their minds? Their imaginary approval used to make Fred feel better about the sixteen-hour days, the press tours and interviews that kept him away from home so late some nights he'd just spend the night in his trailer. Because he had to be there early for makeup anyway. Because Karen didn't like being woken up at three in the morning. Because work was the important thing. Being professional. Hitting his marks.

He hopes the traffic isn't as bad as Alexander claimed. He told Laliari he'd be home at eight-thirty. She'll be expecting him.

Thanks to some benevolent deity, Fred actually pulls into his neighborhood five minutes early. He considers stopping at Blockbuster; there's nothing on TV tonight. He checked, and there's no way he's letting Lali watch Law & Order, or Desperado, even if it is edited for television. As for the news-- as Alexander would say, it's right out.

Turning into the parking lot of Blockbuster Video, Fred looks at the posters on display. American Beauty. Boogie Nights. Starship Troopers.

No, no. And no. Hell with it, anyway. He and Lali don't need movies. They'll just sit around and talk. Yeah, they'll talk.

They can do that.

"Lali?" he calls. A raw lunatic shriek echoes from the bathroom, and Fred grins. "Honey, I'm home."

Steam billows as he opens the bathroom door. Laliari likes the water hot. A few skinny tentacles hang over the side, steamed a deep purple, like eggplant. Contentment.

There's another gurgling cry, and then a bright blue-white flash. He squeezes his eyes shut against it, and pale purple spots swim before his eyes when he opens them. A slim, beautiful woman wearing a leather space uniform sits awkwardly in the tub, arms held stiffly out from her sides. Her eyes are still a pale crystal blue. "Hello... I have mmmissed you."

Her speech is getting better all the time. He'd begged some Disney flicks from Tommy last week-- hard to believe, but the kid actually has kids old enough to watch TV. Anyway, Laliari watched them over and over again, and her translator's programming improved every day.

"Missed you too." He kisses her smooth cheek, pulling back to kneel next to the tub. "You had dinner yet?"

"I dddo not require food at this time. Forrr you... I will prepare a meal." Water sloshes onto the bathroom floor as she sits up, and Fred jerks back. Laliari is startled, pulling back with a short cry.

"Hey, no biggie." He grabs a towel to drop on top of the puddle, and gives Laliari a hand up out of the tub. The water doesn't stick to her vinyl at all. He follows her into the kitchen, watching her walk. That's getting better, too. "Bet you'd like a jacuzzi."

"Jacuzzi?"

"Just a thought." He waves it away. If he takes Jason and Gwen up on their offer, he and Lali could afford to move into a less crappy apartment complex, maybe. "We should go to Jason's, sometime. You could use the pool. And he's got a hot tub too."

"Ah, yes." Laliari bangs a pot down into the sink, turns on the water, tests it with her hand. "The outdoor swimming pool? I noticed."

"Unless the chlorine would bother you." Maybe he'll take her to the beach. He hasn't asked yet, but it stands to reason, she's got to be able to program her appearance generator with more different outfits than the leather spacesuit.

"Chllllorine..." Laliari's smile goes stiff as she processes the word. Fred is beginning to recognize this-- the slurred speech and off facial expressions seem to happen when Laliari's translator core needs extra memory. "That should not be a prrrroblem, unless the mmmixture is of too high a concentration."

"I don't imagine it is." He could let her watch Baywatch, so she can sort out how a bathing suit should look. Baywatch is a pretty easygoing show, isn't it? Eye candy, mostly non-traumatic. Still, someone might die. Could be risky. Well, he could always tape the episodes and screen them.

"You are thoughtful." Laliari clanks the potful of water onto one of the stove burners, grinning ear to ear as she reaches for a package of spaghetti. The picture, taken out of context, is more than a little Stepford Wife. But Laliari has every right to be pleased with herself. She's adapting beautifully. She's made it. She's living her dream life.

Standing, Fred crosses behind Laliari and puts his hands on her shoulders, then slides them down to rest on her hips. It feels weird. When you hug a Thermian, you don't get the feel of cloth covering skin, skin covering muscle, muscles working joints. It feels like touching a moving mannequin, a construction of one solid, only vaguely malleable piece. My Gumby girlfriend, he thinks, and smiles.

Laliari smiles back, then returns her attention to the sauce simmering next to the spaghetti. Fred slides his arms around her waist, remembering their first kiss. Open-mouthed, eager inexperience-- surprisingly erotic. He'd been too surprised to think of objecting, too buzzed to do anything but enjoy it. He'd pressed his body against her hard, vinyl-smooth contours, and then, like magic, felt her melt and writhe, coming alive beneath him, behind him, all around him. He sank down to the floor with her, the real Laliari, smooth to the touch, cool and throbbing, her soft limbs twining with his, a suckered pseudopod cupping the curve of his skull...

The phone rings, and Lali twitches, although not as much as she used to. Fred slides a calming hand over her hair. "Be right back..." He crosses into the living room and grabs the cordless phone off its perch on the wall. "Yeah."

"It's me."

"Alex." Fred settles down on the couch, props his feet up and relaxes, leaning his head back on the arm of the couch. "What's up?"

"What do you think?" Alexander asks tartly. "So. Are you going to do it?"

"I don't know." He stares at the ceiling.

"God grant me your serenity, Fred-- you don't know. Well, how could you? You don't know what it's like." He groans. "I was at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in '85-- Richard the Third--" Fred mouths the name of the play along with Alex, "and as I come stage center, I swear to you the whole first row is an unbroken line of Doctor Lazarus T-shirts. You never saw anything so horrifying in your life... and they want to do it again!"

"Jason did sound pretty excited, didn't he." Fred smiles.

"Jason can live with it! Hell, he practically lives on it," Alexander growls, "but I don't know..."

"You're actually thinking about it?"

"Well. I've been looking at a copy of Guy's script."

"And?" Fred asks. There's a long pause, and he raises his eyebrows.

"It is good." Alexander finally admits. "It's very good. I mean, the concept was always sound, wasn't it? Just the execution was sadly lacking. And there's a certain resonance to the idea, isn't there? The crew, the ship, all of it twenty years later..."

"That's great." Fred mutters. "I just don't know what I'm gonna do about Lali."

"Ah. Well."

"Hang on a second, okay?" Fred gets up off the couch and waves at Laliari, then steps outside onto the small strip of concrete outside his glass patio door. It's twilight now, but even during the day he's got no view that compares to Jason's, just a claustrophobic ring of other apartment buildings huddled around a communal greenspace with a few sparse trees. He used to set a lawn chair out here and barbecue. But lately it just gets too damn hot.

"What am I supposed to do? I can't leave her alone here." He already misses the air conditioning inside. "I got one divorce under my belt like that, and now just when I find something I think might--" He puts a hand on the dingy glass and watches Lali's slim dark shape moving in the kitchen. "I think this is for real, Alex."

"Well..." Alexander says again.

"Sorry," Fred rubs a hand over his forehead. "You're not exactly Dear Abby. And this isn't exactly..."

"...the most wonderful topic to be discussing over a cellphone, if you understand my meaning."

He's right, and Fred feels a chill even in the sudden heat. He pushes it away, pacing up and down the tiny concrete rectangle. "That's not the problem."

"Isn't it?"

"You were there, Alex, you know how I used to be. The show was my life. I was so goddamn grateful to get any kind of gig, I would've signed over my soul. And I didn't have anything left over when I went home."

"But Karen, at least, could understand what you'd been doing." Alexander says. "Where you'd been."

Fred stares out into the dark. "Lali doesn't think I'm... She knows who I really am."

"Really." Alexander sounds thoughtful, and Fred sucks in air for a hot screw you, Dane, but loses his momentum as Alex continues. "Then why don't you ask her what you should do?"

Fred lets out a tense sigh. "Screw you, Dane." he mumbles, no heat in it but the ambient temperature that surrounds him. He scrubs the sweat off his face again. He could respond in kind, of course. Ask why Alex called him in the first place, ask why Alex doesn't just ask his girlfriend-- correction, 'significant other--' what he should do about the job offer. But he's not prepared to go there. If Alexander has been in love in the past five-- maybe eight? It could be ten years, even-- Fred has neither seen nor heard any evidence of it. "Where's this coming from, anyway?" he wonders aloud. "You're her big brother all of a sudden?"

"Perhaps I misspoke myself earlier," Alexander replies. "I have, perhaps even quite recently, seen sights more terrifying than an opening-night crowd full of fervent, spotty Questerians."

Fred squints; it's far too hot and muggy for this double-talk phone-code crap. "Look--" There's a sudden stattaco tap on the glass from the other side and he jumps despite himself. Laliari smiles and waves, and he forces a weak smile through the glass. "Alex, I gotta go."

"There's one more thing you should keep in mind," Alexander says quickly. "If the new show gets off the ground like Jason thinks it will-- the crew won't be doing any more gigs at conventions. Not for quite some time, anyway. Whatever you choose, things are going to change."

"Yeah. Right." Fred says distantly. "I'll see you around, Alex."

"Goodnight, Fred."

Night lowers itself over the coast like a thick, warm blanket, and just like every night since Fred brought her home, Laliari sits in the kitchen and stares through the little window over the sink. There's a parking lot outside, a dumpster and a fence. Beyond that, more apartments, a few tall blocky trees. You can't see the sunset from the kitchen window, and it's mostly over anyway, but it's the subtler colors of fading twilight seem to fascinate her. The changing sky is close to Laliari's basic colors, in her Thermian form: faint steel blue, lavender gray, luminescent purple. Just like every night, she watches till the sky is black as her Cleopatra hair.

And then, just like every night since he brought her home, they go to bed together. Laliari lies down stiffly, looking straight up at the ceiling, and Fred changes into briefs and a T-shirt and joins her. Her blue eyes open and close, open and close, slowly.

They lie facing each other. Fred brushes Laliari's hair back behind her ear. Laliari's nose wrinkles adorably as she smiles. He kisses it lightly, impulsively. She reaches up and tangles her fingers with his, and they just hold hands for a while, gazing at each other by the light of Fred's bedside lamp.

Fred smirks a little, remembering how edgy Jason and Gwen both looked when he mentioned getting home to Lali. Whatever they were imagining-- wild tentacle orgies! alien probing!-- wasn't within a lightyear or two of reality.

If he weren't so happy, he might wonder about it more. All they're doing is looking into each other's eyes like two lovesick puppies, and yet he feels more connected to Lali than he's ever felt with anyone. It's like they don't need a translator, it's like he knows everything about her, and she knows everything about him.

He could have told Gwen and Jason that so far, nothing has really happened. He could have said that besides making out aboard the Protector, this is all they've done: lying next to each other, cuddling and sometimes kissing.

But it's none of their business, really. And what they imagine may, eventually, happen-- who knows? So they might as well start getting used to the idea now. Lali is staying. And she's staying with him.

He wakes up alone.

"Lali...?" he mumbles, reaching across the bed, but isn't too surprised to find her gone. Thermians apparently don't sleep as much as humans. Sometimes Laliari lies with him all night, and sometimes she takes baths or putters around the house or yard while he sleeps.

But when Fred wanders out into the living room, rubbing his eyes, Laliari isn't taking apart his blender or watching the sky. She's watching a Galaxy Quest rerun on channel twelve.

Not one of the best they ever did, but not terrible, either. Even if Fred was the star of the day, and even if he does say so himself.

Episode 34, The Hollow God: The Protector comes across a space-faring biosphere, its technology failing. The computer that runs the world is breaking down. It believes the legends that its inhabitants have told for hundreds of years-- believes it is a god. And now the god is dying. It scans the Protector's databank and kidnaps Tech Sgt. Chen, hoping beyond hope for repair. But that's the beginning of the episode.

Laliari is past that now.

Fred's stomach feels empty. He stands there in the hallway. The living room is dark except for one lamp, turning Lali into a still, shaded silhouette. The TV flickers, gently strobing the room.

Laliari sits motionlessly on the couch, and watches. The Hollow God. The final act.

"You can't do this, Miranee. It's not right!" Tech Sgt. Chen grips the jeweled wrists of the alien princess.

Cut to a close-up of her teary, glowing face. A couple of guys behind the wall work the thunder machine, and the camera shakes. "Listen!" she cries. "Even now the destruction rains down upon my people! I must follow the dictates of the Holy One!"

Fred squints. Now what was her name? The guest star, Princess Miranee? He can't even remember now. Sara... Jennifer? No, Heather. Heather something. Maybe.

"The Holy One is not a god!" barks Tech Sgt. Chen. Fred mouths the words along with his younger self. This, he remembers. He's still got it down. That's what you call a work ethic. "It's a machine, a malfunctioning machine. I can repair it, but you have to let me contact my ship."

"The Outside is forbidden!" the computer voice booms, but it sounds warped and wobbly. The main core is failing. Miranee heads out of the control room, and the camera chases them both down the hall. The computer core is a great crystal ring-- really sheets of plexiglass hot-glued together, with strobe lights under colored gels flashing away inside.

"Miranee, the radiation levels are too intense! If you go into the core, you'll die!" Fred smiles a little, watching himself act. He was never in, say, Alexander's class. But he was workmanlike. Serviceable. He always hit his marks. Got the job done.

The princess touches his face, gently. God, what was her name? "My duty is to my people, beloved. I am sorry."

"No--" They kiss, and the camera goes vague and romantic again, tracking a single crystal tear as it slides down her perfect soft cheek.

The scene switches to the bridge of the Protector, with the crew frantically scrambling to save Fred and the malfunctioning ship. Fred manages to tear his eyes away, but he can't quite look at Laliari either. His mouth is dry. He knows how this episode ends.

He shuffles into the dark kitchen. Light from the TV glints off the edges of the sink, off the handles of the fridge. He stands there, feet bare on the cool linoleum, and stares around for a while. Suddenly it looks all too alien. He wishes he hadn't tossed his stash; a little grass right now would make him feel a hell of a lot better. He hasn't smoked up since they got back from-- go ahead, Fred, say it-- from space. It wasn't really a conscious decision, not at first; he just felt more alive all of a sudden. Colors seemed brighter without any artificial augmentation. And, conversely, all of a sudden life before the mission, before Laliari, seems bleak, and dusty, and dull. Was it really like that? How did he not notice? How did he get so lost?

He remembers being a twenty-six-year-old wannabe playwright from New York. The day he arrived in L.A., it was raining.

Some cities look nicer in the rain. San Francisco's not so bad, and you shouldn't see Seattle any other way. But rain brings the ceiling down on L.A., brings the sky down so low that people start to choke, start to feel like bugs scuttling on the ground. A sky as low as L.A.'s when it rains makes a man doubt God, even if he's always been a believer.

Fred didn't find work as a writer, but he met some actresses, went to a few auditions as moral support. And then one day a casting director noticed him. Do you act, she asked? And he needed the money. So he said yes.

And that's how it started, he realizes; the chain of events that pulled him along, led him to end up here. In a scuzzy apartment with an awful career and a perfect girlfriend who thinks he's his character on TV.

Fred looks around the kitchen for a while longer, stalling, but he's not really hungry. Just hollow. Finally he takes a glass from the cupboard, and fills it with bottled water from the fridge.

He drinks slowly, slowly. He feels it cool his throat all the way down, and hit his empty stomach, cold.

In the living room, on the tv screen, Tech Sgt. Chen stands on the new planet that the Protector found for Miranee's people-- some back lot in Beverly Hills-- and tells her that he loves her, and that he'll always love her-- "My heart always with your heart, my only beloved," he whispers along with the quiet dialogue from the living room.

God, why did it have to be this episode? Why this scene? And why did it have to be so goddamned melodramatic, anyway? He makes a mental note to kick the crap out of the writer, should they ever meet again.

He hears a strange noise from the living room, and steps forward to look.

Oh, God. Laliari is crying. Fingers pressed over her mouth, she hunches forward, sobbing. Fred is in the living room, his arms around her shoulders, before he even thinks. "Lali, Lali, no. Shhh. No."

"Always-- with your heart--" Laliari chokes.

"That isn't real. It's not true." His hands tighten on her shoulders. Oh, God, he said it. He pushes her back to look into her eyes. "I love you."

"But yyyou ssssaid..."

"Lali, no." He shakes his head, kneeling in front of her. "The show, it's not... It's like..." Please God give me the words. "It's like math-- suppose you're teaching a kid math." She nods, bewildered, teary-eyed. "All right. Now, to teach a human kid, you ask him-- say, there's three other kids and they all get five apples. How many apples is that?"

"Fifteennn..."

"Yeah. But there aren't really any apples. Or other kids." says Fred slowly. He knows he's on thin ice; Laliari's eyes are wide. "Humans-- humans learn easier if they have a picture in their heads. It's not a lie, do you see? It's a story. The story helps teach the truth, it helps-- it helps reinforce the truth." His hands are shaking. He presses them into the couch on either side of Lali's legs. "Do you understand?"

Laliari's mouth works for a moment without sound, and when she speaks her voice is weak. "The historical documents..."

"They were meant to entertain," Fred admits. "But they helped teach, too." He grits his teeth, and suddenly wishes that Alex were there to give Lali a lecture about theater with a capital T, about how it's the greatest, finest art, the truest mirror of reality. A lecture he must have heard a hundred times sitting in makeup, followed by biting sarcasm directed at the script of the day.

"We studied." Laliari says distantly. "We learned..."

"Yes," he says intensely. "You learned about us. And you learned so well, Lali." He folds her cold hand between his. "The details might not have been a hundred percent fact. But we were trying to-- to portray a deeper truth." Deep breath.

"There was no ship called the Protector," he says, even more softly. "The ship was part of the story. It was meant to show a truth about humans. The truth is that we were born to explore, to challenge our boundaries. The people you watched, the crew-- they weren't really real. But the things they felt, the stories they lived-- that was the truth about us." He grips her hands more tightly, trying to calm the trembling. "Our passions, our fears. The things we dream. The things we want to be. All true."

Laliari is blinking, blinking faster as he speaks, and then she pulls her hand away and stands up stiffly from the couch. Fred leans back on his heels, watching as Lali turns and turns, staring around at the apartment. Finally she stops, and drops awkwardly to her knees next to the couch. "Tech Sergeant Chen--"

He swallows hard, and doesn't answer. He wants to, but he can't. He can't.

Laliari shakes her head slightly. No. Fred is momentarily mesmerized by her ink-black hair, swinging like a curtain. The light glimmers on each perfect, individual strand.

"Fred," she says. "Fred Kwan..."

His mouth is dry. "Yes."

"You sssaved us. You were kind to me." she sings, and is suddenly all smiles. "Fred Kwan."

"Oh, God. Laliari." Fred lunges forward and holds her. She is trembling. He's shaking all over now. She turns, seeking his mouth blindly, and the world melts away.

Twined together, they stumble back into the hall, and Lali's smooth hands are stripping him, and a bright flash blinds him and her cool tentacles are curling around his body and he can barely walk and can hardly see but she leads him, pushing him eagerly through a door-- the bathroom, he realizes as his feet hit linoleum instead of carpet. Another tentacle snakes out, and the shower comes on with a crash and rush. They tumble into the tub together. And Laliari helps Fred keep his head above water. Which is all he could ever ask.

Fred wakes up in bed, though he doesn't quite remember getting there. The pillow beneath his head is damp, and Laliari is a lumpy weight distributed over his chest and legs. Is it morning already? He hasn't slept this well in years.

He brings up a hand and strokes the natural curve of her body, dipping his fingers into the light impressions in her skin. Lali must have turned the air conditioning on just for him; it's too cold everywhere she's not. She says something in Thermian against his chest, and the musical howl of it makes his bones vibrate. "What's that, hon?"

One of her jaw tentacles curls up to cover his eyes, and he feels her arm-tentacle slide to the key of her holographic emitter. The white flash blurs at the edges of his closed eyes.

"You werrrre waiting forrrr mmmmeee to underrrrstand..." Laliari murmurs, propping herself up.

Fred looks up into her eyes, puzzled by her slurred tone.

Laliari's lips part in a half-smile. "The trrrranslator is powered... by the ennnnergy of my neurrralll networks... when I am upset or, as now, tired..." She yawns, and her head slowly lowers to rest on his chest again.

"Hmm." Another piece of the puzzle. Fred rubs the heel of his hand against her shoulderblade gently. "Waiting, yeah... I was scared, too." he adds.

"I want to help." Laliari replies, nuzzling his chest.

"With what?" Fred asks idly.

"The stories..."

And she's asleep.

Two weeks later, Jason throws a party to celebrate the beginning of production on Galaxy Quest: The Journey Continues. At first it's amazing-- everything that's apparently been accomplished in such a short time-- until you listen a little more closely to the exact words coming out of Jason's mouth and realize that he just went ahead with all the planning before everyone actually technically said yes.

Tommy, Guy and the new production crew are mostly inside. Having systematically pillaged Jason's wet bar, they're now watching his Galaxy Quest tapes. Alex beat a hasty retreat at the first few notes of the theme song, and even Gwen and Jason abandoned their young, tan, pretty dates to flee outside. It's not so much the show as the kids' attitude that's scary. Inside the house, they're all young, hip, and in show biz themselves, but they still watch the show with their mouths half open and an air of almost creepy reverence, forcibly transported back to their individual childhoods, their first innocent loves and dreams.

"I've been thinking." Alex murmurs, staring over the city. He runs a hand through his hair, smooths it away from his forehead with the heel of his hand. The twilight sharpens his classic features, and he leans into the light like he's being courted by the sun god. "None of us really hated the show, did we?"

"Uh, I did." Gwen raises her hand, laughing.

"It was a job." Fred sips his Coke, keeping a watchful eye on Jason and Laliari, who are down a few steps on the lower section of the deck. They're playing in Jason's hot tub, adjusting the heat and the bubbles. Jason's in swim trunks and Laliari's appearance generator is projecting a black wetsuit-like swimsuit with short sleeves. And they're both wearing sunglasses for some reason. It's all very California.

"Well, I never hated it." Alex protests, and they both laugh at him. "I didn't! I hated a lot of things about it... the budget, the props, the ah, more slavishly devoted fans..."

"Jason," Gwen adds, teasing.

"Oh, yes, always Jason," Alex agrees with comic loathing.

For some reason Fred doesn't buy that for a second. Admittedly, it was always hard to be around Jason when he was on. He'd always seemed to own the deeds and words of the bigger-than-life Commander Taggart. He made it real. And it always made Fred feel a bit inadequate. He supposes Alex could have felt the same way. Everyone else could do their jobs well enough, but they couldn't love it like Jason did.

"No, no. We don't hate each other." Gwen says peacefully, brushing her hair out of her face. "And besides. He was perfect for the part."

"True." Alex agrees, squinting into the sun.

Startled by a jet of bubbles, Lali laughs out loud. Her joy rings out over the deck, sounding perfectly real, and they all turn to look.

"She seems to be doing well," Alex observes, but Gwen's look wipes the contentment off Fred's face.

She notices him looking and pastes on a smile, but he's not buying it. "What, Gwen?"

"Well." She furrows her brow. "Obviously I'm happy for you, Fred. It's just hard not to take it a little personally."

Fred raises his eyebrows. "Personally?"

Gwen sticks out her bottom lip. Some director must've told her once that she looked stern that way. "As a repudiation of women in general, yes!"

Fred really has to smile. "You don't get mad when Alex does it."

Alexander chokes on his drink, and then laughs, pressing a hand over his mouth.

"Well-- but-- That's different." Gwen glances back and forth, blushing. "Laliari's nice and everything, but she's not real, is she? She doesn't sweat, or, or bleed, or have to get her legs waxed." Damn; she really does look stern now. "And yeah, Fred-- yeah, maybe I am a little insulted that this doll is your perfect woman."

"You know, maybe I will have a drink. Just to catch up." Fred says it because he knows it will hurt. "I just thought you stopped getting wasted at Jason's parties."

Gwen slaps him in the face. Hard. Even Alexander flinches. Face cold and emotionless, she turns and stalks away.

Alexander watches her go, then turns back. "You all right?"

Fred lifts his Coke, pressing the cool aluminum can against the side of his face. "See, this is why I stopped dating actresses in '78."

"It's not you, Fred. Not all you, anyway. She's just a bit... well." Alexander lowers his voice, leaning in a little, even though they're alone on the deck. "On Wednesday the two of us and Jason had our first new screen tests done. And while they were adjusting the lighting, someone made a very helpful suggestion about this plastic surgeon in the Hills--"

"Oh no," Fred groans, and Alex nods.

"--who's got this new laser treatment that does wonderful things with wrinkles, you see. And then she gets here, and sees Jason cavorting with your princess..."

Fred winces. "That poor bastard at the studio. What do you think Gwen did to him?"

Alex shrugs, and then, attention drawn by sudden motion, he glances back at the hot tub. Fred follows his gaze as Laliari stands, wet and glistening. Sunlight flashes smoothly off the lean, shallow curves of her body, and Jason pushes himself to his feet to give her a hand up onto the deck. And Alexander turns his head into the sunlight, and he's looking at them over the rim of his glass, lips slightly parted.

And Fred's eyes narrow, even though he knows it's ridiculous, Alexander couldn't be thinking of Laliari that way. But old, animal instincts never listen to logic, and Alex was being awfully protective on the phone two weeks ago, and why is he looking at her like that, anyway--

Then Laliari walks off to get a towel, and Jason slides back down into the hot tub. Locking his hands behind the back of his neck, he tips his head back and sighs. The hot water laps at his furry chest, and he visibly relaxes, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses-- and Alexander is still looking.

At Jason. Looking at Jason like that.

"Jeez," Fred says, despite himself, and Alexander looks at him blankly, clutching his drink in his hand. Ice cubes rattle against the sides of the glass. "Jesus, Alex. Jason?"

Alexander presses his lips together. He looks at Fred, and Fred can see the tension drain from his shoulders as he decides not to pretend. "We never--" he begins, then laughs at the obviousness of his own statement. "Well, that's obvious, isn't it? You know Jason."

"So?" Fred inquires.

"So, it's just me." Alexander says lightly. "Or, rather, was just me. It's been a hell of a long time since I've seen Jason in this light." he says, nostalgia softening his voice. "But you never really forget."

Fred sips his Coke. He can't really think of anything to say.

"Oh, Fred," Alexander sighs, laying a hand on his shoulder, "don't look like that, please. I am not a tragic soul. I simply have a very... very dysfunctional family." The grin that spreads across his face is sincere, as far as Fred can tell.

"Hey. Sure." Fred says, and then draws Alex into a hug. Family? Well, they've worked together, eaten together, travelled together. Suffered together. Stuck with each other through Fred's divorce, Gwen's trips through AA, Tommy's marriage and kids. Maybe that is the best way to describe them, now. After all, you don't choose your family. "So," Fred says, pulling back, "how come you're the only one who never brings a date to Jason's parties, huh?"

Alexander shrugs. "And have you lot scare them off? No thank you."

"Seriously, Alex. We don't care, and the fans don't care. They, you know." Fred glances away, watching Laliari towel off, then looks up quickly, and just says it. "They love you. I mean, family is family. All right?" He pushes at Alex's shoulder till Alexander smiles in what looks like agreement.

"Well-- that reminds me, don't mention it, will you? To the others." Alexander catches Fred's arm. "I think those two may have a chance at each other, finally." he explains, jerking his head towards the lone figure in the hot tub. "And I don't want Gwen backing off out of regard for, well, you know. My hurt feelings," he says archly, rolling his eyes.

"Are you kidding? You ought to tell her yourself," Fred kids, nudging Alexander with an elbow. "She'd marry him just to see your face."

Alex looks at him for a moment, then laughs so hard he has to set his drink down on the railing. Fred grins, hearing the slap of Laliari's wet feet coming towards them. "Look, talk to Lali for a bit, will you? I have to go find Gwen."

He's composing an apology in his head as he goes.

At home that night, Lali stands in the bedroom and stares into the mirror above Fred's dresser. For some reason, it's easier when she can see her own reflection. Fred glances away as the appearance generator flares. When it comes back, the sundress she wore to most of Jason's party is gone, and she's modelling an exact copy of the pajamas Ally McBeal was wearing last Monday night: a loose button-up shirt and pants. The soft cloth is blue, printed with fluffy white clouds.

It takes Fred a moment longer to strip down to his boxers, and then they curl up under the covers together. She strokes his chest, and bites at his bottom lip playfully.

He pulls back a little, smiling. "I saw you talking to Alex for quite a while, before we left," he murmurs. "You looked serious. What were you talking about?"

"The Screen Actors Guild." she murmurs, moving in and giving him one of those open-mouthed, awkward, obscene, innocent kisses.

It's forty-five minutes before he can breathe right again. And it's almost an hour later before he wakes up slowly. Blinks at the ceiling twice. And mumbles "The Screen Actors Guild?"

One week later Fred and Lali are standing in the hallway of Nesmith Productions, Inc., just outside Gwen's office. When she gets done being an executive producer for the day, they're all going to lunch; Lali hasn't been to Planet Hollywood yet.

"Hello, Fred, Laliari." Alexander comes around a corner and hails them, a manila envelope in his upraised hand. "Would you believe," he asks Fred in an aside, "that there's already a Laliari Kwan in the SAG database?"

"You're kidding." Fred laughs.

"Anyway, it's the best I could do on short notice." Alex tells Lali as she opens up the envelope, pulling out a few forms and an ID card. "Sorry, but I didn't want to start filming without our newest ingenue..."

Fred squints, looking over Lali's shoulder at the documents. "Jane Doe."

A smile tugs at the corners of Alex's mouth. "I'll expect you to take some classes," he tells Laliari sternly. "Acting is a craft, you know. Perhaps lessons could be arranged."

"Thank you, Alexander." Laliari's voice is soft and awed.

Fred grins. It's a great moment, perfect. Marred only by Gwen slamming out of her office squeaking "Oh crap no--"

She dashes past them, then turns back casually, flashing a brilliant, desperate smile. "Hey, guys. Hey, uh, Laliari."

Fred looks her over. "You do something with your hair?"

She ignores him. "Oh, you guys, help me." She clutches at Alex's arm. "You don't remember the name of that effects guy I used to date, do you?"

"Er." Alex thinks on that one. "Ron?"

"Uh... Ty." Fred says at the same time as Alex, then frowns. "I don't remember a Ron... do you mean Don? Donald Rawley?"

"I don't even recall a Ty." Alex mulls on that for a moment.

"No, you're right, not Ty-- Todd." Fred turns to Gwen. "Todd, wasn't it?"

"God, no! I never dated Todd!" Gwen says horrified.

"Ty Resnick," Fred tells Alex. "Tall. Drove a Rabbit..."

"Wait. No." Gwen cuts in. "Go back to Ron. Ron who? Give me a description!"

Alex clears his throat. "Gwen?"

"Yes?" Gwen tilts her head, remembering to grin again.

"Is something... wrong?"

"No, no, no." Gwen says brightly.

"Two guest shots on China Beach aside, Gwen, you're not that great of an actress." Alex says, but very softly, and Gwen gives it up, running both hands through her hair.

"We don't have..." Gwen takes a deep breath. "We don't have, uh, Lord Ksari."

"We don't have Lord Ksari," Fred repeats. Commander of the Jen'tka Brigade, Lord Ksari is the slimy, reptilian villian of the two-part pilot that is yet to be filmed. He was going to be a masterpiece of effects and puppetry; an effect so astounding it would wipe the original series' cheesy sets and twenty-year-old effects right out of everyone's minds. Or so Jason promised, anyway. "How did that happen?"

"Apparently Jason's contacts aren't as great as he thinks they are." Gwen admits grudgingly, and then her bottom lip starts to tremble. "The last anyone heard of his 'poor man's Skywalker Ranch,' the bastards were headed for Vegas with our money and there's no damn puppet at all. God!" She shakes a little, and her hair falls forward to hide her eyes. She must have just heard this; it looks like it's just sinking in. Poor Gwen.

"Damn." Fred turns away as Alex takes Gwen into his arms and strokes her hair gently. Ksari was going to be a recurring character. Nesmith Productions shelled out a hell of a lot of other people's money for the first episode's effects, so of course they'd planned to re-use them. And Guy had wanted to spotlight the spectacular effect, so he'd written Ksari whole monologues aboard the bridge of his ship, and then there was the extended capture sequence, the hand-to-hand between Jason and the towering beast...

Fred closes his eyes, briefly. He should have known this was never going to work out. He should have known...

There is a touch on his shoulder, and he looks up at Laliari's tentative smile. Oh. No. She doesn't understand what's going on. He feels a deep emptiness in his gut. This is the only thing that could make it worse. He doesn't have the strength for this. She doesn't get it, and he's going to have to explain--

"I can do it." she says softly. "Tell them..."

Fred shakes his head. "You can do what?"

"Both parts. I am both. Tell Guy... Change the story." She moves back a little, patting down her dress. "Ksari looks like this, now."

Laliari switches off her appearance generator, and a marvelously alien squid-creature is lolling on its slick, shiny pseudopods there in the hallway.

Gwen stares for a long moment. "Oh... Hey."

"No. Oh, no." Alexander stares, then looks at Gwen. "You don't think-- Could we really pull it off?"

Fred grins helplessly, leaning against the wall. "Might be risky," he says, reaching out. A smooth tentacle curls into his palm, and he gives it a squeeze. "But I think we can do it."

Laliari's skin brightens with joy. Her sweet candy-blue eyes look into Fred's with alien wisdom, and all-too-human love. He can see his future in those eyes. And maybe it is a long shot, but... Fred has a feeling that they're going to be just fine.