::TWELVE::
“I feel ridiculous, Jane.”
I smirk up at him, watching him grin back down at me, biting the inside of my lip. “Understandable, sweetheart. You look a little ridiculous.”
Fuck. It would almost be better to walk off this damned ship naked. At least nobody would laugh. Jane has the sheet gathered at my waist, tied in a knot. Her cool hand resting on my hip, while she tries to fight back her grin. Goggles, a dirty tank, this ridiculous “skirt”, and boots. Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict. Murderer. Cross dresser.
“Do you have any pins in that case, Franks?” Franks makes a point of not looking over at Riddick.
“I don’t think pins are going to make it any better, Jane.” His voice is breaking as he says it. Making a determined effort to just pay attention to guiding the Virago into the bay of the Decatur.
“Fuck…..”
I was about to mention how unladylike that was. Even I’m not that cruel. That, and I was laughing too hard at this point. Try to get myself under control.
“I’m sorry, Riddick, it’s just…..”
“I know…fuck….”
“Yea. You could wait here, and I could find you something else to wear…”
She’s still biting her lip, trying pretty damned hard not to laugh. Keeping her head down. Makes her look shy, and cute. Not a way I ever expected to see her. A deep breath. Her hand still on my hip. Trying to get a grip of herself.
“Really, Riddick, I don’t mean to laugh….” She’s turning to the front, to Franks. “Franks, make sure no one else is going to be on the bay. We’re going to be getting him to the med lab first, aren’t we? That’s right off the landing bay, anyways….”
“I’d like to run a more thorough scan of the leg, but it can wait a bit. Let you get settled in, fed. It’s just Dufresne and Small on the bay, Jane. I doubt either one of them is going to leave, even if I asked.”
We’re touching down at that, Franks handling my baby well. Just the lightest of taps against the bay, as we come down, the hatch lowering before she’s even settled herself. A hissed intake of breath, as Riddick takes a step on the injured leg. Both Franks and I turn to him, to catch him if it looks like he’s going down. Don’t think I’d be much help, but the reaction is automatic.
“It’s all right, just stiff.”
“The leg?” He breaks out in an arrogant grin at that. Now we’re even. Franks is smirking at the both of us, the smug bastard.
“Yea, Jane, the leg.”
Try not to wince when I put my weight on it again. Jane seems to have a nose for pain, though, and, goggles or not, she’s looking me square in the eyes when I take another step on it. She’s not smiling anymore. Deadly serious. Gauging just how badly I’m injured. By the time I’ve taken another step, the pain’s still there, just diffused, as the muscles relax a little. Her eyes flick to Franks, who is at my shoulder, a shadow. Not helping me, yet, but if it looks like I’m going down, he’s not going to let me. She gave that order without a word, and he followed it, automatically. She might not be in the military anymore, but the military sure as hell is in her.
“You bringing home strays, Jane?”
Small Johnson. We have a huge hulk of a mechanic here, also named Johnson. So, he got to be Big Johnson, with this scrawny nineteen year old kid, all arms and legs, pinned with the unfortunate name of Small Johnson. He’s a good kid, and I literally trust him with my life, every time I get on the Virago, he’s the only one I’ll let touch her. But the mouth on the kid. Just keeps flapping. I cuff him lightly on the jaw, when I set foot on the bay, finally. “Don’t bust my chops, kid.”
I dismiss the kid, he’s already moved on to the Virago. Almost talking to himself, commenting on the blood still on the floor. She did a pretty good job getting it cleaned up, but he notices it anyways. She just grins at him, and moves out of his way, to let him go over her.
Dufresne and Riddick stop a couple of steps away from each other. Two alpha males squaring off, a swirl of tension. Dufresne is the same height as Riddick, but not quite the same build. Still imposing enough though. Like me, you can’t shake the military from D. I don’t quite step between the two, just off to the side, the tension being big enough to make me feel like I’ve stepped into a war zone. I turn to Riddick, before anyone else gets a chance to say anything. “The name. It’s up to you.”
She whispers it so quietly, a mutter, under her breath, to me alone, her face almost against my skin when she says it. A last chance for me to use an alias, if I wanted to. That she would cover me, no matter what I chose to do. Saved my leg, saved my life, and still would protect me. Even if it was as simple as not saying my real name out loud.
He’s hard to read with the goggles on. It distances him, from everybody else, that one simple thing. Not being able to see a man’s eyes. It builds a wall between himself, and everybody else. His hand reaches out, a gentle stroke, before resting, on the back of my arm. Franks, on the other side, the both of us ready to spring between the two, if it should come to that. Franks and I share a look, in the tension between the two men. I don’t know where that reaction is coming from, but I know I need to get these two separated, before they kill each other.
“Dufresne. Riddick. Needless to say, his name doesn’t go anywhere past this ship. Small…” Small sticks his head out from under the belly of the Virago. “I need you to run a filter on the comm system. Keyword Riddick.” Riddick is giving me a hard look at that, his arm tensing slightly. Making Dufresne step forward. Franks moving in between them. Fuck. Rest my hand back on Riddick’s hip, feeling him settle, slightly, into the touch. “Anyone mentions your name, and the comm system will shut them down, Riddick.” His face remains unreadable, cold. The only change, one that only I can feel, is his hand relaxing on the back of my arm, his fingers sliding imperceptibly over the inside, as though to soothe where his hand had tightened before.
“Franks, can you give Riddick the quick tour? His quarters. Shower. Mess hall. Anything else you think is important.” Share a look with Franks on that one. We keep a whorehouse here. Damned if I’m going to be the one showing any guy where it is though. I may not exactly be a lady, but even I have my limits.
“Dufresne, we need to talk about just what sort of fucking runs you’re sending me on.” The tension slowly eases, Riddick’s hand lingering on my arm a little longer, as he turns to leave, walking beside Franks.
“You sent me on a merc run, D.”
“And Ridd….”
I cut him off, my voice rising, already pissed off, and now able to really show it, that no one else is around to see me do it. “That was that fucking two hundred and thirty of ‘cargo’ that you bargained for. I don’t do those runs, D. I don’t do mercs, and I don’t do slavers. Don’t see much fucking difference between the two. I might have fallen pretty fucking far, D, but not that far.”
“Is Riddick staying?”
“If he chooses, as long as he chooses. Yea.” He’s about to say something else, looking after Riddick, the two men still eying each other, even at that distance. “Don’t, D. Just leave it alone. Leave HIM alone.”
I turn to walk away from Dufresne, catching Riddick out of the corner of my eye. Walking down the hallway with Franks. A small tilt of the head. Enough to let you know he’s listening to you, without actually looking right at you.
Watch as Dufresne walks away from Jane, still not feeling comfortable around him, not where she’s concerned.
Always nice to meet someone who still has a code of honour. That still knows what it means. That it’s a woman….Just makes Jane all the more interesting.
Franks is giving me the quick tour. The Decatur isn’t exactly a luxury liner. It’s a heavy armed freighter. Dark, gritty, smelling of sweat and machine oil. My kind of place. It’s clean enough, but that has more to do with keeping things tidy when there isn’t much space, than it is about keeping it clean. There’s nothing rusted, and you can’t hear the engines at all. The energy expended here is expended on the practical.
My quarters are small, and I’d be willing to bet that they’re the same size everywhere. I don’t know if Jane runs the show here or not, but I don’t see her as the type to claim any sort of privilege that couldn’t be shared with anyone else. Her quarters are probably a mirror of mine. Bed. Footlocker. Nightstand. Lamp. Not really going to need that. Small shelf. Franks stopped at a supply room before we got here, and pulled out a stack of clothes, toiletries, a cred chip. Said it came with the room, everyone got one, not to argue. I wouldn’t.
Quickly change out of this sheet, bringing the rest with me. Standing in the crossroads of two corridors. He’s pointing out the showers, and the mess hall. Matter of factly points out the whorehouse. Must have been that “Anything else you think is important” that Jane mentioned. I don’t really see Jane as being shy. Discreet I guess would be a better word for it.
At that he leaves me, says he expects to see me in a few hours, to poke at my leg again. The shower is a large communal room. This was a military freighter, afterall. A private shower is too much of a luxury. A wide open room, tiled, with a four foot wall divider down the middle. Shower heads down either side of the short wall. At least it’s familiar. Cleaner than prison, but familiar.
Strip down. The water’s hot, almost painfully hot. It’s been close to a week since I’ve had a shower. I’ve gone longer, when I’ve had to. Doesn’t mean I like to. Being a convict doesn’t make me an animal, no matter what some people think. An exception to water restrictions, in my case, she said. I can’t help but find that funny. Probably a good thing, watching all the dirt that’s coming off me.
The door to the shower room opens and closes, making me look up out of the steam. Old habits die hard for a reason. Jane. A quick look at her, before we both turn around again. I’d rather not. I’d rather watch her. Can’t do that, as much as I want to. In prison, you don’t have privacy, so you try to respect it, when you can, when it’s safe to do so. It’s hard not to look, though.
She keeps her back turned to me, on the other side of the wall, under the hot spray. She likes her showers hot too. A quick glance, as I run the razor over my stubble. Her body is a tracery of scars. A ragged gunshot wound across her hip. Knife wounds. A peppering of white dots, so faint you almost can’t see it, some sort of burn. A scar shaped like an upside down question mark hooks across the back of her left arm. When she drops her arm again, it lines up with a slash across her side, a long slash.
She washes quickly, only relaxing when a leggy redhead walks in. Well maintained, and confident, despite being naked in front of other people. A whore. Sure, she’s attractive. Not a mark on her. Not nearly as interesting as Jane. I’m used to watching people, without them noticing I’m watching them. Jane relaxes, believing that a man would probably watch the redhead over her anyday. Maybe someone else would.
Finish shaving, before glimpsing up at her again, just as she turns, catching her eyes for a moment, sweeping her wet hair back off her face, the lather rinsing away down her small, powerful figure. I turn away again, as the two women finish up, exchanging greetings. I wait until Jane leaves before shutting the water off. Resting on the side of the tiles for a moment.
We were quiet over dinner, almost everyone else having left already.The cook made sure there was enough decent stuff left for us, although, to be honest, anything hot, after so many days on protein bars, is heaven. Another pilot brought in a load of fresh fruit, just yesterday. I just sit back and watch Riddick eat for a while. I’ve been in the military all my life, lived on this freighter for close to five years. I’m used to watching men eat. Usually it’s a matter of filling a hole, and then moving on to something else. Like so much else about men, I suppose.
Riddick isn’t fussy, not in any way. But he does take a lot of pleasure in things a lot of people probably take for granted. I suppose that’s only to be expected. He takes the most time with the fruit. Not a lot of fresh fruit to be found on Outpost 17, the climate and terrain being what it is, to say nothing of the population. Ate two whole apples, core and all, small bites, sitting back in his chair. His goggles were on, but I’d be willing to bet his eyes were closed, enjoying them.
His head tilts to the side, as I get up. “I’ll be back in a minute.” As I go back and badger the cook, to break into his stash. I come back to the table, putting a small metal cup down, watching his nostrils flare slightly as I do so. Putting down the rest of what I’ve haggled for. Cost me a small fortune. Worth their weight in gold out here. Hell, probably a lot more than that. I don’t care. A small cupful of ancient Jack Daniels, and a couple of pieces of homemade chocolate fudge. I’m rewarded with an almost boyish grin. Definitely worth every penny.
“Will Franks be pissed?”
He’s holding the metal cup up. Usually not a good idea to mix painkillers and booze. “A guy your size, it’s not going to have that much of an effect. Just let him know, so he can compensate. Don’t need to come this far only to do yourself in now.” He laughs at that. Gallows humour. Also to be expected.
“Here.” The last bite of fudge. It’s good, but I want her to have it. I have to push it towards her, to get her to take it. Eyes closed. Smiling. Not chewing, just letting it melt in her mouth. Perfectly content.
“Are you still good to walk?”
“It’s a little stiff, but it’s all right.”
“Come with me, there’s something I want you to see.”
We walk down the corridor slowly, I’d guess back to the landing bay, from the direction. The lights are low enough here that I can take off the goggles. She’s moving over to a cabinet, opening the door. Rows and rows of keys inside.
“You can stay as long as you want, Riddick. If you need to jump, take a ship, the keys are kept here. You don’t need to hurt anyone to leave. Just leave me the Virago, she’s my girl.”
Everything shifts for a moment. Not often that I’m left with nothing to say. A home was one thing. She’s offering me my freedom on top of it. Just asking that I don’t hurt anyone to do it. She looks at me quickly, before looking down again, making her way back out of the bay, to the corridor. I follow her back, silent, still at a loss for what to say, walking quietly down to the med bay. Franks looks up when he sees us, doesn’t get up, makes like he hasn’t noticed us.
She’s getting ready to turn and leave, and I still haven’t said anything. Don’t really know what to say. Catch her hand before she goes, reach out, pull her close, kiss her quickly, just a brush of lips over hers, and pull back again, in case she gets mad.
“Thank you, Jane.” That same radiant smile, quickly, before she turns back down the corridor, to her quarters, leaving me to Franks.
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