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Zhaan is watching him.
While not a problem, it is kind of weird, because she doesn’t, usually. Very few of the crew pay him any attention when he’s tinkering with electronics. They’ve become more tolerant of it lately—now they’ve realised that eventually they’ll all need to know how Moya works, and how to use the tools the DRDs can’t—but they still find his preoccupation with it boring at best and annoying at worst.
And he now knows he likes it that way, because being watched is incredibly distracting.
“Something I can help you with, Zhaan?”
“No,” she says thoughtfully. “I feel you would only complicate matters.”
He looks up from under his eyebrows and tries not to be offended. He fails. “Excuse me?”
“I am trying to understand something. And so often when you try to explain yourself, you only cause more confusion,” she explains. “And so I am meditating on the subject.”
Yup. Definitely offended. He sighs and puts down his tools, gesturing with his head for the DRD that’s been helping him out to go do whatever it normally does. Then he turns to meet her contemplative gaze. “What subject would that be, Zhaan?”
She pauses, obviously debating whether she should allow him into her thoughts, before coming to a decision with a short nod. “Sex.”
“Sex,” he repeats, because sex always warrants repetition, and because he needs to remind himself with their deadpan use of the word that she’s obviously thinking of it in an abstract sense, rather than the hot and heavy way he’s suddenly imagining her. He blinks to clear his head of the image, then again when he realises the best he can do is file it away for later. Then he clears his throat to ask, “What about it in particular?”
She breathes in, gazing at him like he’s a puzzle, and he hopes against hope that Pa’uu don’t have telepathy for her to see the dirty, dirty thoughts he’s having about her right now.
The topic isn’t as out of left field as it should be. Sex has been a topic of conversation recently. Chiana’s arrival on board, and her preoccupation with it, has reminded them all how much they miss sex, and what a bad idea it would be to have it with each other. So they’ve been commiserating by sharing stories, comparing species-methodologies, and trading descriptions of their ideal partners.
John kind of lied about that one. He was a little surprised to realise he’s not as keen on blondes as he used to be.
“Humans dislike public nudity, do they not?” Zhaan asks, dragging him back to the present, and he frowns.
“Uhm, some of us… The French are all over that. I mean, some of them, and that’s just a stereotype. And I mean, it’s not like we don’t all like seeing a bit of skin at the best of times. You see a lot of women that might as well be –” He catches her expression and clicks his jaw shut. She’s not in the mood for rambling. “Generally, we avoid it.”
“And sex is… a private thing?”
He nods, to stop himself from starting in on a discussion of voyeurism and some of the stuff he’d done in college. Gina Phelps and that weird thing she’d had for getting it on where they could get caught… “Generally, yeah.”
“You were uncomfortable talking about it in front of Aeryn and myself,” she notes, and he flushes. He and D’Argo had been describing their best one night stands when the girls came in, and flustered both of them. Aeryn had continued the conversation with her usual military briskness, and when Zhaan had made a few comments, D’Argo had relaxed, but John had struggled to do the same.
“Where I come from, you don’t talk about stuff like that in front of a lady,” he says, and since he knows that Zhaan will find it hilarious if he mentions anything about innocent women, he adds, “It’s a sign of respect.”
“You respect your women by not talking about pleasure in front of them?” she asks bluntly. “Are you sure it’s not because you see them as objects of your own pleasure, and to invite them to partake in the conversation gives them rights to control their own?”
He balks, flashbacks from college and a parade of girlfriends telling him his gender automatically made him a pig assaulting his brain. He knows there is no good answer to that. “Uh…”
“Your species would not be alone in such thoughts,” she says, almost consolingly. “It is something I have often found strange, that so many species hold the male gender in higher regard. As if having a double chromosome made you more skilled.”
He’s had this conversation before. He knows his only option is apologetic smiles and silence.
But Zhaan stares at him as if expecting an answer, and when he doesn’t give one, she asks, “Crichton? Is that not the case?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, draws a deep breath, and mentally kisses his ass goodbye. “I don’t hold with that. Sure, there are guys who do think that, but for me, it’s just… polite. You don’t talk about that stuff in polite company.”
“But you did talk about it in front of Chiana,” she points out, and he winces, laughing a little despite himself.
“Yeah, well, Chiana’s different,” he says, and turns back to his work. It’s easier than looking at Zhaan right now.
“How so?”
“It just –” He stops himself, shaking his head a little. “Think you might’ve been right on the first go there, Zhaan. I’m not gonna help this conversation any.”
She nods, and allows him a few seconds of silence. But soon, she gets up and waltzes over to stand on the other side of the table, hands folded in front of her as she gazes down at the board he’s wiring. He knows this means she’s going to ask another question soon, so he avoids looking at her as if that might fend it off.
“It is your response to Chiana that confuses me, Crichton. Most species with your particular outlook on sex would find her…” She looks up, exasperated, as she tries to find the word. “Less.”
He huffs out a laugh, focussed on his work. “And I bet she rolls them for everything they’re worth.”
Zhaan blinks down at him, and he sees something from the corner of his eye. When he glances toward the door, he sees Chiana bobbing around the hatchway, watching and listening.
She’s so young. Small, and young, and scared. She makes him want to protect her. She’s using that against him, he knows, but he doesn’t mind. He wants to believe there’s something sweet in this strange new world he’s found.
He sighs and goes back to what he was doing. “Different people use sex in different ways. Me, I’m an old romantic. Gimme roses and candlelight and treating the girl like she’s a princess. I mean, I’ll take the old rough and tumble any day of the week, but… that’s a lie,” he says with a shameful grin. Zhaan slowly sits down in the chair opposite, gazing at him with wide eyes, and he doesn’t meet her gaze. “With me, sex isn’t ever really just hormones. I’ve never been good at one night stands. You know?”
“No, I don’t,” she says, but he doesn’t really care to explain.
He has done one night stands. Come to think of it, the first girl he ever slept with was a one night stand – hell, he’d only actually met her that day. But… but he’s never really been good at them. He lingers over them, watches the girl get dressed and dreams of asking her to stay. But the only ones who will are the ones he shouldn’t have – the ones he slept with to spite another girl. God, he sucks, sometimes.
“For me, sex is about more than that. It’s about… about wanting that person to feel as good as they make you,” he explains. “The other part of it, the hot, and dirty, and hormones, and sweat, and sex, that’s… that’s something else.”
He feels more than sees Zhaan’s eyes flicker in understanding. She reaches out to grip his forearm. “When we joined… and you talked about it as if it were sex,” she says softly, her voice awed. “John. I am sorry I accused you of not understanding the depth of the action.”
He looks up from under his eyebrows, his smile a little shameful. “You aren’t the first.”
She nods, and then pulls her hand away. “So if I may extrapolate… the… action, as you put it, can be discussed like any other plaything. The other is a private moment between two people, which should not be shared in public.”
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat like it could get rid of the tension. “And I dunno, I just don’t think you should talk about women like toys when you’re around people you’d wanna…” He trails off, not comfortable with the metaphor even though it’s probably the most apt.
Luckily, Zhaan spares him with a licentious smile. “Why John, are you implying that you would enjoy taking pleasure with me?”
He chokes on his air, and she leans toward him, eyes wicked and knowing. “It would indeed be pleasurable. I cannot deny I’ve had thoughts of such nature about you.”
“I – it – I –” He pokes one of his tools at her savagely. “Don’t you toy with me!” Then he realises he’s pointing a very long, straight, hard object in her direction and drops it.
She laughs daintily and pushes herself up and away. When she leans forward and down again, it is to press a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth. “I think I understand. You are a good man, John Crichton.”
He takes the compliment and lets her go, but watches her stride out so he can easily turn his attention to Chiana once she’s gone.
For a moment, they just stare at each other, John still, Chiana moving constantly, swaying back and forth. Like a snake. Always ready to strike. Because her only defence is her offence.
She stammers a little as she says, “I – I don’t get it.”
He nods slightly, then beckons her over. “C’mere.”
She hesitates, but does so, slowly. She comes to a stop out of reach. He lets her stay there, thumbing his lip as he thinks about how best to phrase it.
“If it makes you feel good, then it shouldn’t matter why it’s done, or who it’s with, right?” he asks. “But if it can be with someone you care about, then so much the better. That’s what you’re thinking.”
She edges closer, her ever tilting head asking all the questions she won’t.
“I have a question for you, Pip. And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he clarifies quickly, before continuing, “Have you ever loved somebody? Been loved? Without sex?”
And just for a second, she’s completely still. Then she nods, just once.
“Did it mean any less? Was he any less to you?”
She shakes her head.
“Did he still make you feel good?”
She lowers her gaze to the floor, then pulls her head back up again, lips slightly parted as she twists her head. He thinks she maybe understands, so he offers a very small smile. “Are we good?”
She has to give the smile a couple of tries before she manages it, but it’s genuine. She’s stopped swaying, though she still ducks her head a little as she says, “I still don’t get you, Crichton.”
“Yeah, that’s okay,” he says, going back to work. “Most people on this boat don’t.”
She laughs then, and bounds up to crouch on the table. “So whatchya workin’ on? Can I help?”
He’s never going to get anything done.