HHYFN Chapter 7

What big eyes you have The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad Just to see that you don't get chased I think I oughta walk with you for a ways " L'il Red Riding Hood" Amanda Seyfried He found her in the infirmary, sitting cross legged on the single bed, hands palm down on her knees. The air was full of apples and rain and charcoal, but thankfully none of that unidentified scent that seemed to signal her willingness to kill anything that looked at her sideways. There was a tray on the counter to her left, full of bandages, tape, tubes of some sort of ointment, and a bottle of what he guessed was disinfectant. She&rsquo;d bandaged up most of her superficial wounds, leaving only a couple of deeper bites and a gash over her shoulder seeping blood. There was a luminescence to her skin that made him think she was paler than usual, but her breathing was steady and her heartbeat regular, so she couldn&rsquo;t have been too bad off. He took a moment just to look, letting the fact that they&rsquo;d made it off the Necromonger ship and away from the Reavers sink in. &ldquo;Others will come,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;They look already. They never stop coming.&rdquo; Her voice wavered, but her scent didn&rsquo;t change and neither did her breathing. Her heart rate had picked up a bit though. &ldquo;Already they look for the Hound. Been notified that the captain had caught someone of interest.&rdquo; She lifted her hands and turned them over. &ldquo;Which of the Tams? Or one of her crew? How useful would the captive have been if the ship hadn&rsquo;t been lost?&rdquo; Now she opened her eyes and he caught a hitch in her breathing. &ldquo;No avoiding them completely. Will have to be dealt with like the last pair. Except it is unlikely she can get them behind the engine and fry them again. They will be both more cautious and more confident.&rdquo; She shut her eyes again and hummed. &ldquo;You should leave her first chance you get. They will take you too. And if they don&rsquo;t vivisect you, they will attack your ears till they bleed. All blood. Every place a body can bleed.&rdquo; Riddick snorted and moved over to the assortment of first aid gear. &ldquo;Mind telling me what makes you think any of that is true?&rdquo; She shrugged and he could feel the movement against his back, the infirmary was that small. &ldquo;Limited precogniscience. She hears the river. It flows through her. Brings her voices. Mind calculates based on known quantities and variables. Probabilities figured, discarded. Clarity brought to bear. Likeliest course known.&rdquo; That made him stop for a moment, hands wrapped up in bandages as he tried to untangle the words. &ldquo;You see the future? Or you calculate the probability of future occurrences?&rdquo; She sighed and turned behind him. He felt her lift her leg, heard it as it brushed against his shoulder, fabric to skin; and looked to the side to see it come down next to his arm. The other leg bracketed him on the other side, and then a small hand was reaching over his shoulder to take the bandage he&rsquo;d been trying to get around his upper arm and finish the job. Pinning it in place, she held out the other hand, braced on his shoulder, and pointed. &ldquo;Tape please.&rdquo; He handed it to her, and held still as she finished taping the bandage in place. She&rsquo;d braided her hair back, but still brought her scent with her when she leaned over his shoulder. Apples and rain. He&rsquo;d never thought they&rsquo;d smelt so good, separately or together. A tiny bit of charcoal, which he figured was par for the course when she was talking riddles. And vanilla. Warm, spiced. Like standing in front of a fire and knowing the cold was outside. Her heart rate was picking up, slowly but steadily. She finished what she was doing and leaned over just a little further. He could feel her breasts against his back, small but firm. Her fingers were tracing the bite mark on his shoulder and he twitched involuntarily as they grazed across his skin. Her heart rate spiked, then dropped again, and vanilla bloomed in the air, drowning out the charcoal and making inroads on the apples. Something clicked in his head. &ldquo;Fuck,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;She will not,&rdquo; the girl replied, yanking back. He spun and pinned her legs to his sides before she could pull those away too. &ldquo;But you want to. All over your scent and you know it.&rdquo; She didn&rsquo;t try to reclaim her legs, but the look she was giving him made him suddenly glad she didn&rsquo;t have a shiv. She snorted. &ldquo;Can hear you. Doesn&rsquo;t need a blade.&rdquo; And she curled a fist and examined it as if seeing it for the first time. &ldquo;Cannot stop the fist without releasing the legs. Release the legs and she will leave. Will no longer feel her around you.&rdquo; She glared at him. &ldquo;Which he has wanted longer than she has smelt of vanilla.&rdquo; He chuckled, and was pleased to hear the thump of her heart tick upward again. She shivered, just a bit, and he ran his palms up her legs to her hips and wrapped his fingers around them. &ldquo;Beautiful,&rdquo; he murmured, leaning forward. &ldquo;Never met a girl who could keep up like you do. Kill like I&rsquo;ve never seen.&rdquo; She was trying to inch back, but there wasn&rsquo;t really any space left on the bed for her to go. &ldquo;Nice words. But she sees in your head. Still planning to leave. Don&rsquo;t like cages. Don&rsquo;t want ties.&rdquo; That brought him up short, and he stared at her through the goggles as his mind chewed through the implications of her statement. She was right. He didn&rsquo;t want to be chained down. Being connected to him got people killed, and he was tired of looking out for them. All the way back to that first girl and the General, he&rsquo;d been trouble for those around him. Better to go it alone, stay alive, stay free. Sure money said that it wouldn&rsquo;t be any different in this set of solar systems than it had been in the last. She&rsquo;d been right earlier when she&rsquo;d said that the authorities would take one look at him and throw him in the slam. He wasn&rsquo;t cuddly, he wasn&rsquo;t gentle, and he didn&rsquo;t make people comfortable. He tilted his head, watching her eyes move. They tracked rapidly from side to side, as if she were reading at high speeds. Her face had gone still, and her heart rate settled, although her scent was still strong in the air. &ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t have to be ties,&rdquo; he said, more to see what her reaction would be than anything. His animal was snarling at him, and he knew he was lying even as he said it. But he&rsquo;d cut ties before. He could do it again. &ldquo;Lies,&rdquo; she hissed. &ldquo;There are already ties. That would cement them.&rdquo; He opened his mouth and she clapped a hand over it. &ldquo;No. She knows. She knows of sex and sex. Knows of fucking and making love&rdquo; She paused and flinched as she caught the mental images that had brought up in his head. &ldquo; Ge ge and the Kaylee girl like the engine room. Companion has many ties, built by money paid her for services rendered. Now she warms the Captain&rsquo;s bed for free, for love. But ties are there and she calls on them in need. Stone woman with a heart sits in the bridge and stares at the pilot&rsquo;s seat and remembers loving there.&rdquo; She leaned in close, eyes hot with fury. &ldquo;The river brought it all to her. She can&rsquo;t not hear. Even the man alone in his bunk with skin mags and a case of baby oil. Her education has been forced and she swore she would never gain experience unless the other was willing to tie himself to her.&rdquo; Her fingers were claws in his cheek as her hand clenched, and she shook his head slightly. &ldquo;The hwoon dahn does not want ties. She wishes him to be free if that is what he chooses. Will not cage the jaguar against its will.&rdquo; His animal was roaring, saying that it most defiantly was its will. The man aimed a kick at it. And just like that she was laughing again. &ldquo;Nor will she chain the man, as stupid as he is being.&rdquo; Her head tilted to the side, opposite the direction he&rsquo;d tipped his, and she grinned suddenly. &ldquo;Besides, he has never taken a woman unwilling, and isn&rsquo;t about to start now.&rdquo; Riddick growled, a low rumble that worked its way up and out of his chest so slowly he could feel it vibrating his bones. She was right, fuck her. He&rsquo;d never forced himself on anyone. And for all of what her scent was saying to the contrary, he knew that her words were what she&rsquo;d hold herself to. Crazy woman. She snorted and let go of his face. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a popular theory. She is indeed broken. And it is true. Words are what matter when thought and scent can change so quickly. Betray so easily.&rdquo; He laughed. He couldn&rsquo;t help it. The frustration in her voice matched his own, and the look on her face was that of a cat that had just been dropped in a pond. Pissed as fuck, and mainly at herself and her body for giving her away. She glared at him and let him laugh for a moment before poking him in the shoulder, right next to the bite mark he&rsquo;d forgotten about. &ldquo;Needs stitches. Give her the bottle of disinfectant and the tray please.&rdquo; And just like that, he&rsquo;d sobered up. &ldquo;No.&rdquo; She glared at him. &ldquo;She knows what she&rsquo;s doing. Ge ge is surgeon. She learned from him. Has been helping stitch up the crew for years now. &ldquo; He eyed her skeptically, but nothing in her scent smelled of lies, and the vanilla was receding. Apples and rain took over, and even as she crossed her arms and huffed in irritation, he had to admit that it would be nice to have things taken care of properly for once. Provided she could do the job at all. She snarled and poked him in the shoulder again. &ldquo;The tray, please and thank you. And keep your insults to yourself.&rdquo; Still chuckling, he reached around and grabbed the tray. Things looked to be getting even more entertaining. &gt;&gt;&gt;&lt;&lt;&lt; River sat at the table in the galley, feet propped up on a chair opposite her and crossed at the ankles. One hand near her stomach, the other elbow resting on the table. Her head lolled along the back of the chair she was in, hair falling in a curtain behind her, as she closed her eyes and listened for the river. It was softer here, this far away from people. Some of the voices were just indistinct murmurs. Others were loud enough she could make out words, here and there at least. The clearest were those she&rsquo;d met in person, or those with strong intentions. At the moment she was listening for a set of voices that matched both criteria. She knew they were out there. She hadn&rsquo;t been able to hear them before over the screaming of the Painwalkers, but she knew they were out there. And not here. The better part of a week had passed since she and the Riddick had escaped. The Hound was holding up well, and the greatest worry at the moment was actually food. Not for lack, but for taste. She never had been able to get packets of powdered protein to resemble anything edible. Her one failing. She took comfort in the fact that her ge ge was worse than she was. She&rsquo;d refused to show the jaguar anything in the kitchen beyond what the shiny packets were and the basic theory of using them. He&rsquo;d laughed, but she noticed that he&rsquo;d shied away from them as well. Luckily enough there were plenty of canned goods, and even some prefab meals in the order of add-hot-water-and-let-sit-then-stir. They would come to the end of those in a few days though, and then it would be time to truly embarrass herself. River sighed and shut her mind to thoughts of the man. He was dreaming in his bunk, of jungles and a stern faced woman with feathers braided into her hair. It was loud, and she dove back into the river again to avoid having to think on him. But half her attention stayed on the ship, instead of out in the stars where it should have been. She cursed to herself, but let it be. Better she have some warning of when he came stalking her. He always came stalking her. It wasn&rsquo;t quite a hunt, because she refused to run. It wasn&rsquo;t quite a game, because there was no way to keep score. She wasn&rsquo;t sure what to call it. But it was happening. It had started a day or so after the talk in the infirmary. She&rsquo;d been waiting, meditating in her bunk. Avoiding him. She knew the truth in his words, just as he knew the truth in his. What he didn&rsquo;t know how she questioned herself. Was what she felt, the strength of it, just the result of the fact that she&rsquo;d never before met a man she was attracted to? Or was it real? The girl was crying, wanting what he offered. The weapon was looking at the fact that from day one, he&rsquo;d never treated her like a child. Treated her like a lunatic yes, but she had acted like a lunatic. She&rsquo;d felt what he thought as he watched her fight, and as he fought alongside her. He&rsquo;d seen a girl, a woman, whatever she was, who didn&rsquo;t fear him. True, sometimes he thought she was too crazy to fear him, but he&rsquo;d appreciated that she didn&rsquo;t stink of lemons and oranges around him. Tickled his nose. Made him want to sneeze, at least in combination with her other scents. The weapon also pointed out that he had trusted her, to a degree. Listened when she told him what needed to be done to save them. The girl was remembering how he&rsquo;d scented her that in the Painwalker infirmary. How he&rsquo;d come looking for her in the air ducts and then left her alone when she didn&rsquo;t prove a threat. So many actions and reactions. But over it all she remembered feeling his driving need to be free. All his past ties had ended in pain. How could she repay the trust he&rsquo;d given by expecting him to chain himself to her? So she&rsquo;d waited till the dead of night, gathering her mind and making herself as sane as she could before stretching out and heading for the cargo bay. Kyra&rsquo;s coffin had been moved to the edge of the room, the pit in front of the infirmary covered over. He must have done that sometime while she was in her bunk that day. All the better then. She&rsquo;d taken a couple running steps and leapt, straight into The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. She had the music memorized, it played in her head as she turned, stepped, twisted. It was harder, not having the proper shoes, and the open grating of the cargo bay deck threatened to take her toes off a time or two, but it felt good. It felt right, to be moving like this. She knew she was graceful, knew she danced as much as fought. But this, this was her past. Before the Academy and their needles and knives. This was who she had been meant to be, a free spirit with the worlds at her beck and call. Theoretical physicist by day, prima ballerina by night. Why shouldn&rsquo;t she have had it? She&rsquo;d been a genius after all. Still was in fact, with a few added bonuses and a great many more pieces missing out of the puzzle. She comforted herself with the fact that even though she didn&rsquo;t have an audience or a place to publish papers she could still, for a few moments, be the old River. Except she did have an audience. He&rsquo;d come on cat feet, breathing quiet, to see what had happened to the presence of the girl who&rsquo;d spent most of two days in her bunk. It had been the lack of heartbeat that had woken him. Quiet as it had been, his animal had noticed when it was gone. So he&rsquo;d tracked her out here, smelling apples and rain, a bit of cool water, a little mint for flavor. Now, silk was what she smelled, fed to her brain by his animal as starlit eyes watched her from the corridor. The animal was pleased, and nuzzled her behind the metaphorical ear before settling back on its haunches to watch and pass along its impressions. She&rsquo;d faltered, just slightly, at that, and the man had tensed. What he had planned to do if she fell she didn&rsquo;t know, and she didn&rsquo;t want to know where it could lead. So she&rsquo;d pretended not to notice him, finished the piece, and launched straight into another. This had no name. Bits from this and bits from that. A whirling dervish of movement as her weapon-self sought to drive out the girl and the girl clung to sanity. The river had flowed then and she&rsquo;d taken it, pulled it into herself, and used it to merge the two halves of her broken soul. The man had been forgotten, the jaguar a warm fuzzy presence in the back of her mind, his rumbling purr giving the time to her steps. She danced till her legs shook and the rest of her muscles burned. She had stubbed her toes, twisted her ankle slightly at one point, and scraped her feet on the grating until the red shoes were no longer metaphors in her mind, but a bloody reality. And still she danced. She couldn&rsquo;t not. There was no one to criticize her, only four voices in her head; and the joy of having complete freedom of movement without having to worry about judgment for the first time in years had made her drunk on the feeling. She didn&rsquo;t want to stop. To stop meant she&rsquo;d go back to being broken; being cracked down the middle with both halves pulling for a goal she that knew would break her heart if she let it. He would leave, and she would do everything in her power to make it possible. She was experiencing freedom now. What right had she to take his? And then he&rsquo;d been there, one arm wrapping around her middle, the other blocking the strike she made for his head. Had she been dancing? Or fighting shadows? Even in the present tense, the girl wasn&rsquo;t sure. The weapon said that it didn&rsquo;t matter what it was called, it was all battle. But at that moment silver eyes had met hers and she&rsquo;d felt her legs go out from under her as the pain in her feet caught up with her nervous system. He&rsquo;d caught her as she fell, one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, and carried her back to her bunk. He only stopped long enough to set her on the counter in the infirmary and gather up some supplies. She&rsquo;d sat, glassy eyed with exhaustion and her muscles quivering even as they burned with slow fire. Stupid. Stupid girl. What had possessed her? She hadn&rsquo;t worked out an answer before he&rsquo;d scooped her up again with one arm, piled the bandages and other assorted gear onto her belly, and hooked the other arm under her legs. She had managed to get a hand up to steady the pile, but she didn&rsquo;t anything left in her beyond that. The jaguar had wrapped itself around her mind, still purring, and laid its tail over her thighs. The man&rsquo;s mind had wandered through many different thoughts, and she knew instinctively that he was choosing them carefully, the better to keep her from knowing what was going on beneath the surface. She wanted to tell him he didn&rsquo;t need to bother. She&rsquo;d caught it all from the river and the jaguar. His animal was betraying his better interests, but she wasn&rsquo;t about to tell him so. It was a fight he&rsquo;d have to have with himself. He didn&rsquo;t speak the entire time he cleaned and bandaged her feet, and she didn&rsquo;t try to make him. She knew her scent was mixed, the silk gone now; apples and rain buried under blood and sweat and the malt of exhaustion. She&rsquo;d held what needed held, lifted her feet and legs when his hands and mind told her to, and generally let herself be taken care of. She had known that she&rsquo;d be going barefoot for the rest of the trip. Shoes weren&rsquo;t worth the trouble anyways. This was just a good excuse, to her mind at least. He thought she had a death wish, and he wasn&rsquo;t far wrong sometimes. But she hadn&rsquo;t wanted to break the comfortable silence. For once they weren&rsquo;t fighting, mocking each other, or wanting things not mentioned in polite company. She snorted at the memory. Her ge ge was the only polite company she knew these days anyways, and the river told her she had a niece or nephew coming as the result of his goings on with the Kaylee girl. Polite company indeed. Even after he was done she&rsquo;d sat there, still swaying slightly, feeling the purr of the jaguar; and the chanting of the weapon was telling her that now that her feet were bound, she could probably manage a few more measures of dance. As if he&rsquo;d caught the thought somehow, though she knew nothing had changed in her scent, he&rsquo;d placed his hands on her knees and pressed down. She could read the threats he&rsquo;d carry out if she tried a stunt like the one she&rsquo;d been half planning, and all unbidden, she&rsquo;d giggled. He&rsquo;d frowned, and opened his mouth to growl something at her, and as much as she loved to hear his voice wash over her, she&rsquo;d placed a finger on his lips. &ldquo;She promises. She will attempt to let her feet heal.&rdquo; He&rsquo;d growled and subsided then, and the jaguar had flicked an ear and huffed in amusement. A gentle shove to her shoulder had sent her flopping over backwards onto the bed, and she hadn&rsquo;t found it in her to fight. There was no want in his mind, no need. Just the intent that she rest, let her feet and legs heal so that she could pull more crazy shit like that at a later date. He&rsquo;d enjoyed the show. She&rsquo;d snorted and squirmed back into the bed, ignoring the rush of blood that set off in his nether regions and the images the jaguar sent her, and wrapped herself up in a blanket. He&rsquo;d waited a moment, then left, pausing a moment in the door to let his ungoggled eyes run over her body one last time before returning to his bunk. She&rsquo;d waited a beat, another, and then slipped out of bed and stretched again. Limping she&rsquo;d be the next day, but not crippled. She&rsquo;d fallen asleep with her feet spread wide; her torso stretched flat in front of her, arms reaching for her heels. Luckily, he hadn&rsquo;t caught her like that the next morning. They didn&rsquo;t need many words. He responded to the changes in her scent and heartbeat, she skimmed the surface of his thoughts and sometimes passed things on to the jaguar. Occasionally it seemed as if the jaguar passed them on to the man, as he handed her a part she hadn&rsquo;t said she needed, or understanding of a symbol or character came just a little quicker. She was cramming as much knowledge of the bridge into him as she could, trying to prepare them both for the day she dropped him somewhere populated. Every once in a while he thought of trying to take the Hound from her and going off on his own, but the words she&rsquo;d said to him before about needing two to fly tended to cut that line of thought off while still in bud form. She&rsquo;d told the truth, but strictly speaking, he could have managed it alone. So long as he wasn&rsquo;t being chased, or having issues with reentry of an atmosphere, or any of a hundred problems that would require hands in the engine room and hands in the bridge. As a consequence, she&rsquo;d taught him and he&rsquo;d learned. They ate prepackaged meals and canned food mostly cold. And his mind was exceptional. Weeks of the aforementioned time awake in cryo meant that he&rsquo;d had the option of going crazy or keeping it in order. The animal had helped, for sure, but the man had had an equal part in it, and the wonder wrought between them was a balm to be near. He&rsquo;d a great deal of time in space, but it was usually stationary, not able to move around and keep the body as busy as the mind. When he had dragged the weight bench out to the center of the hold on the third day, she&rsquo;d laughed, patted him on the shoulder, and gone to fetch some athletic tape she&rsquo;d found in one of the empty bunks. He&rsquo;d taken it with a raised eyebrow and she had shrugged, telling him there was a punching bag in that bunk as well and he would probably need the tape. He&rsquo;d shrugged and started wrapping his knuckles and she&rsquo;d left him to it. They kept it dark in the public areas of the ship, just light enough that she wouldn&rsquo;t trip over something with her stiff feet, and she had wanted to draw. So she sat in her bunk with the light on while he worked out his excess energy on the weights and then pulled the punching bag out and hung it from a beam. She didn&rsquo;t want her scent to give her away, watching the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders, and she hoped the longer she stayed out of sight the better he would forget that she wasn&rsquo;t nearby. It wasn&rsquo;t comfortable, living like this with the said and unsaid between them, but they&rsquo;d manage somehow. She was just surprised he hadn&rsquo;t resorted to Jayne measures to keep his libido down, but then again, that would have meant she&rsquo;d get the brunt of whatever went through his head in the process, so she chose to just be grateful instead. Eventually though she&rsquo;d wandered down to the bay and sat on a bench near the weapons locker. If she was going to let this man go, even if what she was feeling wasn&rsquo;t forever, she was going to get an eyeful while she could. Something in the rhythm of his punches had spoken to her, and without thinking about it, she&rsquo;d started calling time, using flight deck terms instead of numbers. He&rsquo;d stopped, surprised, and she&rsquo;d shoved a mental image of what she wanted at the jaguar. It had snorted, amused at the idea of the animal helping teach human things, but agreed. After a moment, the man seemed to catch on and after a brief nod had returned to the bag. She had drilled him in terminology, and he&rsquo;d replied back with English translations, or the appropriate response to the situation, or whatever button needed to be hit next, and between the physical exertion and the mental, they&rsquo;d both managed to ignore the smell of vanilla in the air. The pattern of their days had been set after that. She did slow katas instead of dancing at night; he watched her, checked her feet and rebandaged them with clinical impersonality. She would meditate in her room or draw, and then drill him in flight protocols while he beat the go se out of the punching bag during the day. Sometimes she&rsquo;d find him seated next to the coffin, a portable cortex screen in his hand and lips moving silently. She never stayed in the bay then. It felt like intruding. He never commented on it. Nonetheless, she wouldn&rsquo;t let him actively fly the ship, however much he learned. They were on a set course with a limited fuel supply and no leeway for experimentation. &gt;&gt;&gt;&lt;&lt;&lt; But this night, she&rsquo;d been frustrated. He was dreaming. A memory of another dream or a current one she wasn&rsquo;t sure. But it had woken her, and she had come down to the galley to try and put it out of her mind. Stupid to be jealous of the hold the woman in the dream had on him. Just plain stupid. She gave the unopened whiskey bottle on the table a little shove with a finger and sighed before dropping back into the river again. Wandering thoughts did not help her find the voices she sought. How long she&rsquo;d sat there she did not know. But she found the voices and nearly wept at the pain in them. How she longed to reach out with physical arms and touch them, tell them she still lived. She sat instead, and listened as they dreamed in images of death and sorrow. Even the little one knew something was terribly wrong on her home, and dreamed of great darknesses that reached up to swallow her. Her cries brought the mother, a smooth voice of velvet and steel that whispered and comforted as she wrapped a blanket around the little body and brought her to the galley. The man with a girl&rsquo;s name was there, guitar in his lap, a mute clipped around the neck, and a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. River&rsquo;s lips twitched and she knew suddenly why she sat as she did. The guitar was a fine thing, tiger maple and ebony. Mother of pearl inlay and pegs. The strings were new, and tuned just so. His fingers ran over the frets and plucked at the strings, quiet as could be, until he noticed that he had company. Kicking out a free chair, he shifted so his legs weren&rsquo;t in the way of them sitting down, then stood to go dig in the pantry. A few moments later he came back with a cup of some pureed fruit and a bitty spoon and the woman gave him a wry smile. Big tough merc, he groused, and picked his guitar back up. A shift in the air around her nearly jolted the girl out of the river. She held still and clung to the current, bringing her hands up in mimicry of the man&rsquo;s in an effort to help keep her mind in that far distant room, not the dark empty galley her body was stuck in. She reached, and wrapped a tendril of thought around the minds of those in the room before opening her eyes to meet glinting silver orbs not ten inches from her own. The Riddick tilted his head and his nostrils flared as he tried to figure out her scent. She wasn&rsquo;t in the mood to enlighten him and say that when charcoal and fire mixed she was really only present in body and that her mind was, quite literally, wandering. Instead she moved her hands, one over her stomach, plucking and strumming at invisible strings; while the other splayed over frets and changed the notes as needed. It wasn&rsquo;t a song with a name. He was playing something vaguely like a lullaby he&rsquo;d heard as a child, as the woman fed the little girl and rocked in time to the music. When the Riddick reached for her hands she gave a little lunge and snapped her teeth at him. &ldquo;Leave be,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;The girl flows with the river and finds her crew. Man with a girl&rsquo;s name has received proof of forgiveness and plays now for the child to sleep and dream of stars instead of all consuming darkness.&rdquo; She jerked her head at the whiskey bottle. &ldquo;Drink if you must. Forget about jungles full of headstones, gwon nee ju jee du shu, but leave the girl.&rdquo; He curled a lip and growled at her, but didn&rsquo;t try to touch her again. Neither did he reach for the whiskey. Instead he sat in the chair at the head of the table and folded those long fingered hands beneath his chin. She closed her eyes and ignored him. The child was quieting and so too was the music. Finally his fingers moved, but only to have something to do. The strings were silent, and his thoughts turned from the child asleep in her mother&rsquo;s lap to another girl child. Woman. Crazy. They still hadn&rsquo;t found hide or hair of her, and every contact Inara or any of the rest had been able to scare up said she&rsquo;d dropped out of the &lsquo;Verse. He was a tracker with nothing to track, and it was ticking him off something fierce. The Captain had turned all sorts of violent lately; the Doc had started wanting to learn to shoot. Nigh on five years in the black and the pretty boy finally wanted to learn to handle a gun. Better late than never the man supposed, but what the Doc would do with the knowledge was a thing that didn&rsquo;t sit well on the brain. The woman across from him was still a solid rock, the one you tied off to when you started drifting and lucky for them all the Captain still listened when she put her foot down. Between her and Inara they had him fairly well managed, and had kept him from getting them all shot or blown up countless times since they&rsquo;d started their hunt. He wished for a moment for Wash, or Book, or even better, both. As much as the pilot had annoyed him he&rsquo;d made Zoe smile, and even now, years later, she didn&rsquo;t crack the fa&ccedil;ade for anyone but Sierra. Losing the Moonbrain had just made it worse. As for Book? Well the man knew things. Things no Shepherd should know. Had a way of telling it to a man straight too, and a good spotter for the weights. Damn shame he weren&rsquo;t around. River didn&rsquo;t realize she&rsquo;d been speaking until she caught the jerk of the Riddick&rsquo;s head and the narrowing of his eyes as transmitted to her by the jaguar. The intrusion shook her out of the river and she sighed as she let her hands drop into stillness again. The man across from her had his hands flat on the table and was rising slowly, carefully, as if she were an animal about to bolt. She snorted at the mental image and laid her head back on the headrest. &ldquo;Apologies. She swims the river. Found her crew.&rdquo; And now something was tightening in her chest and she clenched her hands together in memory. &ldquo;They scour the stars and court death to find her. No trail to track. No scent, nor footprints. No snags of cloth on conveniently broken branches.&rdquo; The thing in her chest was tightening further and she swallowed hard. &ldquo;They will kill themselves looking.&rdquo; The Riddick rumbled without words and sat back down. &ldquo;That so,&rdquo; he said finally. His voice was flat, but his mind was saying it was too soon, too soon. The man hadn&rsquo;t resigned himself to giving her up just yet, and the animal didn&rsquo;t want to give her up at all. He was keeping himself in the chair by strength of will alone, and one wrong move from her would see the animal winning, table flying and those arms carrying her to his bunk, never to be let go again. River allowed herself a moment to dream of it, to pretend it would be the thing she could allow, and she was gifted with a draft of warm vanilla crawling like lava down her spine. Cursing to herself, she placed the image she&rsquo;d found of her ge ge and Kaylee in the forefront of her mind and the disgust effectively wiped out the vanilla. She never needed to see her brother like that. It reminded her that he was human. The Riddick stiffened when her scent changed, and she wanted to explain that it wasn&rsquo;t him, but it was in an oblique way, and it was better this way anyhow. So instead she raised her head and looked him in the eye. &ldquo;Will have to contact them sooner than previously thought, if only to keep them from doing something monumentally stupid.&rdquo; He snorted and reached for the whiskey bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a long pull. &ldquo;That so?&rdquo; He was trying not to let his anger at her sudden change in scent show in his body or voice, but his mind was shoving it at her. His resolve to leave had just strengthened, and while part of her was grateful, the other part wanted to throw herself at him in apology. Sternly, she sat on both parts. He was his own; she could not ask him to change for her. He had not asked it of her after all. That forced her mind down another path, a difference current, and suddenly she wanted to run. Run to her bunk, run to the bridge and turn the ship around, anything to get away. The fear bloomed in her, and the air took on lemons and limes and all manner of citrus fruit as she sat glassy eyed and panting. It had been a trickle of thought, triggered in memory by the mental image of Simon. Cotton and wool, mind tied up with the body. What had happened to her, he wondered. Was she ok? Was she still stable? Would she be even the River of the last few years if they ever found her again? They would find her. They had to find her. And once she was found, he&rsquo;d do everything in his power to keep her from getting taken again. Everything. Her skull bounced when it hit the deck. She didn&rsquo;t even have it in her to squawk, so surprised was she. The man was up and around the table before she&rsquo;d even landed, and one of her flailing arms caught him behind the knee. He let the accidental motion carry him to the floor as he knelt and reached for her shoulders. No! Not what she needed. Not more protection and worry! With a hoarse cry she curled in on herself and toppled sideways, away from him and under the table. She could feel tears rising and wanted to stop them, but she&rsquo;d been holding back for so long, couldn&rsquo;t she have this one thing? This moment? And then he was there again, dragging the chair away and crouching to reach under the table. He wouldn&rsquo;t fit; she could see it in his mind, so he pulled her out as gently as he could. His mind was saying the words he refused to speak and she couldn&rsquo;t answer. Couldn&rsquo;t do anything but shake and sob and chant &ldquo; Wuoshang mayer, maysheen, byen shr to, &rdquo; through a broken soul. Muscled arms rearranged her across his legs, and she could feel his jaguar in her mind. It had dropped out of the tree where it had been watching the proceedings and paced over to her like she was prey and not a girl. She did her best to ignore it, hands over her ears so she couldn&rsquo;t hear the angry rumble of the man&rsquo;s voice. She could feel it though, down to her bones, and she wondered at the fact that they weren&rsquo;t melting. The jaguar stopped just out of arm&rsquo;s reach, crouching more than sitting, and she knew she should be bracing herself for whatever was coming; but her mind wouldn&rsquo;t stay put long enough to process any more than that. She was in Serenity&rsquo;s infirmary, crazy and drugged. She was in the Academy, needles in her brain and in her eyes. She was in a cryo box, listening to the screams of strangers as they were eaten alive. She was everywhere but the present and in every place she was she was not free to do as she wished. She was prisoner, no matter where she went and what she did. Her head bounced again, this time from a metaphysical swat instead of a physical landing, and her vision cleared just enough to show her the jaguar standing over her, breath hot in her face and teeth bared, demanding that she get up. Pull her mind together and get the fuck up before the man did something truly drastic. She scrambled backwards, but ran into the tree. The one jungle tree in an open empty place, rich in scents but spare in everything else. The big cat followed her, one huge paw in front of the other, and when she ran out of room to try and get away it reared back and raised another forepaw in readiness. River shot forward, cracking her skull against a very hard forehead, and she cried out, clutching at it. The Riddick jerked back before he could get brained again or clawed by her hands and nearly dropped her in the process. She wavered, tipped, and was gathered back up again as her balance started to go. Panting, she pressed an ear to the landslide in his chest and clutched at his arms for support. They tightened infinitesimally before loosening and turning her so she could meet his eyes. &ldquo;What the fuck,&rdquo; he muttered, and she wanted to giggle at the confusion on his face and in his head. &ldquo;The fuck was that all about?&rdquo; She stiffened and nearly lost herself in the river again as her short term memory caught up with her. The jaguar lifted an experimental paw and she threw herself back into the present. The scent of lemons was still in the air, along with charcoal and steel. That surprised her, until she thought it through. Of course she&rsquo;d been angry. Her ge ge wanted to wrap her up like a doll again, dose her at the slightest hint of instability, and generally treat her the way he had that first year after he&rsquo;d gotten her out. She&rsquo;d needed it then, at least some of it, but since the Miranda wave went out and the pea had been taken from her pile of mattresses, she&rsquo;d been much better. It had taken screaming and fighting and the threat of leaving forever, but she&rsquo;d eventually gotten him to wean her off of most of the drugs and had been using mainly meditation and the occasional hormone therapy to keep herself on an even keel ever since. But he feared what the capture would have done to her and was fully prepared to lock her in her bunk if need be. Her lips lifted in a silent snarl. That wasn&rsquo;t what she needed. What she needed was for someone to take her at face value and, if all else failed; hit her over the head to knock her out of the fits. The jaguar huffed a laugh. The man rumbled something at it, but she didn&rsquo;t quite catch what was said. She could guess though. The Riddick was still waiting for his answer, patiently too, all things considered. River took a deep breath, then another before finally speaking. &ldquo;Cotton and wool. Like a china doll.&rdquo; His face twisted in confusion and she took another breath to sort out her words. &ldquo;Girl found the crew. Found her ge ge. He plans to do anything. Anything to get his mei mei back. And keep her.&rdquo; Another breath, and her fingers clenched, nails biting into his arms. &ldquo;Plans to do anything needful to keep her. Keep her safe and sane. Forgets that she&rsquo;ll never be entirely sane. Forgets she did fine these past three years, two months and fifteen days. Forgets she talked him into weaning her off the psych drugs, and replacing hormones the brain can&rsquo;t produce as a substitute.&rdquo; She stared up at him, at the stars taken down from the sky and set in the face of a killer. Who else&rsquo;s face should they be set in? Who had paid for them in blood? &ldquo;Is back to thinking of her as the mostly helpless lunatic he rescued.&rdquo; She shook her head and looked down, even as he shifted her into a slightly more comfortable position. The jaguar yawned and lay down in front of her. The man tilted his head to one side and lifted a hand to run through her hair and examine her skull for bumps. She heard it in his mind when he found the needle marks instead, and the scar at the base of her skull. Rage roared through him, even though he&rsquo;d already known some of what had been done. She cried out as his fingers clenched involuntarily and managed to get the forming goose egg right on the nose. He let go, growling under his breath, and she relaxed slightly. &ldquo;She does not&hellip;&rdquo; she couldn&rsquo;t finish the sentence. Speaking meant she couldn&rsquo;t take it back. Words were like stones. Solid, immovable. Say them and a person was committed. And the girl suddenly had no idea what she truly wanted. &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t what?&rdquo; She could hear it in his voice. He had guessed. His mind was working through the possibilities, and the jaguar was offering suggestions. She shuddered a little bit. Things happened when the man and his animal agreed. Momentous things. She had a sudden vision of herself wrapped in steel and blood instead of wool and cotton and nearly cracked her head open again trying to get out of his grip. He growled and reached for her, but she&rsquo;d gotten over the chair, under the table, and to her feet on the other side faster than he&rsquo;d have thought possible. He lunged, the rumble in his chest more animal than man, but she was out the door and down the hall before he&rsquo;d finished shoving the table to the side. She couldn&rsquo;t run very well on her torn feet though, and he caught her just outside her bunk, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around to pin her against the wall with his bulk. &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t what ,&rdquo; he growled again, and he could feel him hot and hard against her hip and could smell the vanilla rising in the air around her. &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t know !&rdquo; River clenched her eyes shut and turned her head away so she wouldn&rsquo;t lean forward and up into that snarling mouth. &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t know what she will do!&rdquo; Her hand was scrabbling behind her and she shifted her hips to distract him from what she was doing. It was nearly her undoing as well as he groaned and dropped his head to her neck, lips grazing the skin at the edge of her tank top as he pressed his length against her. She gasped and nearly rolled her hips again. The jaguar was far too pleased with itself, and her weapon half was looking on with increasing interest. The girl found what she was looking for and slapped the button for the door. It slid open behind her and she toppled backwards shoulder first as she twisted and pulled out of his grip. She completed the turn, hitting the lock on the interior side and dodging his outstretched hand as he tried to get to her before the door closed on his arm. He was snarling, and she wept as she backed away towards the bed, flinching when he punched the wall outside and roared at her. Still crying, she crawled into her bed, wrapped herself in the blankets, and prayed to be made stone.