LOADING...RETURN TO FURYA

DATA ENTRY: THE VOYAGE

LOG 003-12/03/2514

Three weeks.

Aereon had to endure three whole weeks of Richard B. Riddick.

Honestly, she was rather surprised she had survived this long. Despite her ability to phase-shift, she was fairly certain Riddick would have found a way to kill her if she'd tried to murder him in his sleep. Not that she wasn't sorely tempted over the last few grueling days. For goodness sake, how aggravating could one person possibly get? Someone ought to give her a medal, or something, for showing such restraint.

That first night they'd spent on their stolen ship—which quickly proved itself to be such an ornery little craft she'd internally titled it The Piece of Shit—she'd tossed restlessly in her bunk, resolutely ignoring the itch between her legs and the ever-present ache in her chest...and awoke the next cycle to find Riddick sitting not two feet from her bed like a total creeper.

"You snore," he informed her, as if watching her sleep was a perfectly normal thing to do.

"I do not," Aereon retorted crisply, very careful not to act in the slightest bit perturbed (it would only amuse him, and possibly encourage him to keep doing this), and haughtily swept out of the room in search of the latrine. She was suddenly very glad she always wore a camisole and boxers to bed—but then she'd half-expected him to try something like that, hadn't she? Just to prove that he could. As if she didn't already know there wasn't a lock on the door. How utterly puerile.

She was deeply grateful for the lock on the bathroom door. Even if it was a flimsy thing, and wouldn't do a thing to keep Riddick out if he really wanted to get in there. But she'd been watching him long enough to know he probably wouldn't try something like that. Maybe. Hopefully.

She was halfway through her shower when he knocked on the door.

"I gotta piss."

"You can wait five minutes, can't you?" Aereon asked, a note of plaintive exasperation in her voice and her hair full of suds. Damn him, he was doing this on purpose. He probably didn't even need to go.

There was a beat of silence. Then a quiet scuffling on the other side of the door, followed by the ominous click of the lock.

"...Did you seriously just pick the lock of a bathroom door?"

"I told you, I gotta—"

"No, you don't, you just came in here to harass me," Aereon snapped. It was too early for this, dammit.

"Well, well," Riddick drawled. "Someone sure thinks highly of themselves."

Aereon was acutely aware that she was naked, and that there was nothing between them now but a thin plastic curtain. Her heart started thumping against her rib-cage, and she firmly told it to shut up. It didn't listen. Then, over the rush of water pounding down on her back, she heard the quiet snick of a zipper. Her heart started thumping harder. She ignored it, and scrubbed savagely at her hair, keeping a sharp eye on the curtain and an even sharper hold on her magic. If there was even the slightest hint of movement, she was out of there.

The tell-tale sound of someone peeing broke through the fog in her head, and she felt her face go up in flames. She wanted to sink right through the floor. She wanted to throw the curtain open and throttle that son of a bitch. She wanted him to throw the curtain open and—

She very brutally stomped on that train of thought, and resolved not to think about anything at all until that Furyan bastard was gone, gone, gone.

Speaking of which...he was still peeing.

Her forehead thumped lightly against the wall, and she bit down a frustrated groan. Why had she thought this was a good idea? Well. Because, on paper, it looked good. When she'd run the numbers, it was the best possible solution. But numbers were cold. They didn't account for things like emotions or hormones.

She hadn't felt things for such a long time.

And she had almost convinced herself that she couldn't feel anything at all, anymore.

God, she was so, so wrong.

...was this a mistake...?

"Hey, you need any help in there?" Riddick asked casually, zipping up his fly.

"Oh, no thank you, I'm fine," Aereon replied through clenched teeth. "I think I can handle washing my hair on my own. Been doing it all my life, you know."

"I didn't mean that," he replied, and she could practically hear the smirk. Suddenly, she could feel him right on the other side of the curtain. The deep growl in his voice went straight to her core. "I meant the problem you've been ignoring. The one right between your legs? I can smell how wet you are from across the ship."

"I told you," Aereon gritted out. "It'll go away on it's own. Like you should."

"I could have you up against the wall in two seconds."

Aereon closed her eyes, fighting off a hard shudder. She knew for a fact he was messing with her. He wouldn't try anything like that if she wasn't willing. He abhorred rapists. He'd killed quite a few of them, actually. So, she wasn't afraid he'd try anything.

She was afraid she'd give in.

And she couldn't let that happen.

"Go. Away."

"Your loss," Riddick shrugged. She could see his outline through the curtain, saw the rise and fall of his massive shoulders, and wondered what it would be like to—NO. STOP IT. She heard his footsteps retreat, and breathed out a sigh of relief. Shutting off the water, she reached for the towel on the rack...and found that it had suddenly and mysteriously vanished.

Oh. Joy.

Aereon poked her head out. Riddick stood in the doorway, the towel in his hand, teeth bared in a crooked, razor-edged grin. So, he was playing that game. Well, then.

"Would you be a dear and hand me my towel, please?" she asked, all honey and tar. Riddick almost choked, he snorted so hard.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he began, and oh dear Lord, he was practically purring, "...No."

Aereon huffed out an irritated sigh—the only sign that she was royally pissed off—and vanished. She neatly plucked the towel out of Riddick's hands as she passed, wrapped it firmly around herself, and was halfway down the corridor before she reappeared.

"I don't know about you," she said flippantly, not even bothering to look back. "But I find all this sexual tension unspeakably tedious. So, when you've decided to stop acting like a randy dog in heat, come find me. I'll be making breakfast in the galley, should you choose to start behaving like a civilized human being."

"I'm not a human being."

"Well, technically neither am I, but that's beside the point."

Abruptly, an arm wrapped around her middle, and pulled her up against a warm, rock-solid chest. The breath left her lungs. When had he—she hadn't even heard him—

"I'm not civilized, either," murmured a low voice in her ear.

"Riddick, you are perfectly capable of acting like it, aren't you?" Aereon retorted, ghosting away from him and planting her hands on her hips. "Which you will, in my presence, if you don't wish to spend the remainder of the voyage talking to thin air."

With that, she turned on her heel and marched away.

She did not think about the way her spine tingled. She did not think about the giddy butterflies in her stomach. And she most certainly did not think about the low, quiet chuckles that followed her all the way through the ship, despite the fact that their owner had long stopped laughing at her.

She didn't shower again for at least two days after that. But eventually the oil in her hair and the grime under her clothes got to be too much and she finally, cautiously, caved. Still, she waited until they'd both turned in for the night, and then ghosted down the hall as quietly as possible.

The water felt heavenly, even if it was only lukewarm, and she had just managed to relax into it when the shower curtain was tugged sharply to the side.

Aereon did not jump. She didn't scream, or throw things, or do anything someone might normally have done upon being walked in on in the shower. Instead, she just sighed with a carefully crafted air of mild annoyance, canted a hip, crossed her arms, and waited.

Riddick's silver-eyed gaze made a point of looking her up and down, painfully slow. Tracking over every curve, drinking in every dip, as if he was trying to memorize her. Then those eyes zeroed in on her own, and she felt the world tip beneath her feet in a way it hadn't done in such a long, long time. The sheer amount raw wanting in his gaze was so powerful it actually made her heart skip a beat, the traitorous little—

"Happy, now?" she asked, feigning a look of supreme disdain, followed closely by boredom. Riddick merely cocked his head at her. Just to be impudent, she cocked her head back. She refused to acknowledge the fact that she was standing there absolutely and completely naked.

Or that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Or trousers, for that matter. Or anything at all.

Of course he slept in the nude.

(Or maybe he didn't, and he'd just started that habit with the sole purpose of catching her like this.)

She did not look down.

She did not look down.

She did not look down.

After about a minute into their staring contest, through which Aereon kept her expression ruthlessly inscrutable, Riddick afforded her the barest of smirks, twitched the curtain closed, and walked away. She didn't know how long she stood there. Long enough for the water to run cold. It didn't help much.

She still felt like a boiled lobster.

Over the next few days, Riddick did very little but follow her around and constantly pester her. He didn't walk in on her when she was in the bathroom anymore, thank goodness, but he came up with a myriad of other ways to get a rise out of her. Granted, it was the only form of entertainment he could get, so she could at least partially understand why he was so determined to be an absolute pain in the ass.

Unfortunately, that knowledge didn't make her any less frustrated with him.

Still. She could be patient. It was worth it in the end. She just had to get through the next few weeks, and then it wouldn't be just the two of them. They'd find other people he could annoy into an early grave. Well...if he didn't kill them first, and put them there even sooner. That was a possibility.

"What're you doing?"

Aereon sighed, as an hour's worth of calculations dissolved into a convoluted mess. She waved the smoke away, and reached for her glass of tea. It was cold. Wonderful.

"No, please, do keep asking me questions about things you couldn't possibly understand," she said, tartly. "It's not like I was concentrating, or anything."

Riddick didn't apologize—not that she ever expected his vocabulary to include the word sorry—and just shot her another one of his amused smile-smirks before dropping into the chair across from her. The galley table was quickly becoming their favorite hang-out spot. Not that they had any other options. Riddick made it very clear he wouldn't let her stay alone in her room for the entire trip, and she refused to be anywhere near him when there was a bed so close by.

The temptation was...too much.

So, they'd fallen into a routine of sorts. She would work on her calculations at the table, and he would ask her inane questions, pretty much doing everything he could to be as distracting as possible. Or maybe he was just naturally distracting.

A slight frown was pulling at his features, and she cocked a brow at him.

"I'm not stupid, you know."

Oh, that was...adorable. He almost sounded petulant.

"That's not what I meant," Aereon huffed, half-annoyed the thought had even occurred to him. "I mean, would I really put the fate of the entire galaxy on your shoulders if you were? Honestly. Use your brain for once, Riddick."

That last was said with a fair amount of cheeky teasing, and Riddick snorted, shaking his head at the sheer nerve.

"Seriously, though, explaining Arithmancy is like explaining quantum physics to a four year old," Aereon went on, removing her half-moon spectacles and carefully cleaning them on the edge of her shirt.

"...Arithmancy?"

Aereon paused, then blew out a sigh, waving her hand as if to bat away a particularly stubborn fly.

"Well, that's just what I call it. The proper term is—"

"Isn't that from Harry Potter?"

Aereon blinked.

Shit.

She had forgotten...

Studiously, she did not react, beyond lifting her eyes to meet his, and asking with a faint whiff of surprised incredulity, "You've read Harry Potter?"

Riddick shrugged, but there was a sudden sharpness in his gaze.

Double shit.

"It was one of the only books we had at the orphanage," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "We only had Prisoner of Azkaban. It was pretty torn up, too. Half the pages were missing. I went looking for the rest, but nobody had even heard of it."

"Well, it was written several thousand years ago," Aereon conceded, carefully.

"You're the first person I've met who has," Riddick continued, slowly leaning forward in his chair and folding his hands across the table.

"What can I say?" she said, smiling as harmlessly as possible. "I enjoy the classics."

"Uh-huh," Riddick said, his voice gone flat. "You know, a few weeks after I read the third one, somebody donated the entire series to our orphanage. All brand new. Always wondered who it was, actually."

"Clearly someone who liked books," Aereon replied, returning smoothly to her calculations.

"You like books?" Riddick asked pointedly.

"Never touch the things," Aereon lied flippantly, and meticulously avoided his eyes, busying herself with writing notes. She ended up making random doodles across the page instead. She couldn't have concentrated if she wanted to, with him staring at her like that. He was quiet for a while, and just watched her write gibberish equations in unintelligible chicken-scratch.

"You know," he said, when it was clear she wasn't going to break. "...I used to dream about getting a letter from Hogwarts."

"You did no such thing," Aereon scoffed, nearly choking on her own laughter. It was sometimes difficult to tell when he was lying, but she knew bullshit when she heard it.

"Sure I did," Riddick replied, with a slow wolfish smile. "Back when I was still young and stupid. Anything to get me out of that hellhole you put me in. Course...it never came. No matter how much I wanted it."

Aereon's hand almost stuttered, her heart constricting, and she cursed the stupid thing seven ways from Sunday. She wouldn't be surprised if the manipulative bastard was making it all up, but it still managed to sting, anyway. She put her pencil down, and took a steadying breath, refusing to meet his eyes. She stared down at a stain on the table, instead. Easier that way.

"If you recall," she said quietly. "Dumbledore put Harry with the Dursley's to protect him from Voldemort. So...maybe...the person who gave you those books was trying to tell you something. That...even if you're in a shitty situation..."

She looked up at him, her eyes locking into his over the rim of her half-moon specs.

"...it can always be much, much worse."

"I think you need to work on your inspirational speeches," Riddick told her after a long pause. "'Cause that...wasn't very inspiring."

Aereon shrugged.

"Sorry, that's the best I've got for you," she said, with a lop-sided sort of smile, before she slowly cocked her head. A bad habit she was picking up from him, apparently. "...did you really dream about getting a letter?"

Riddick gave her a level stare, and raised the most sardonic brow there ever was.

"No," he snorted flatly.

Aereon chuckled, and shook her head. His gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment, his expression unreadable, but she could guess what he was thinking.

"You don't look like much of a Dumbledore, to me," he said.

Or...maybe not.

This was such a surreal conversation.

"Oh, I dunno," Aereon replied, a hint of playful mischief twinkling in her eyes. "I think I'd look pretty good with a beard."

She pulled a lock of her snowy hair forward, and held it under her nose, posing regally.

"What do you think?"

Riddick started laughing.

My muse is a fickle bitch. It can't stay focused on one story for more than a few chapters, it seems. Ah, well. Anyway, I'm back on this one—for however long that is. Sorry, folks. I know how frustrating that can be. Also, I went back and added some things to chapter two, so reread that if you haven't already, for those of you who actually remember this story.

Moving right along, some people had commented on how chatty Riddick was being, and I have a defense for that. See, in the first movie he's either on his own, or surrounded by people who think he's the scum of the earth. Not much room for idle chitchat there. In the second movie, he's either on his own or surrounded by people who want to kill him.

Yeah, there's Imam, but that dude totally betrayed him. Like, not cool, bro. And sure, there's also Kyra, but she's a prickly little bitch for most of Chronicles. Also, she's a bit mad at big brother Riddick for ditching her. Now in the third movie, Riddick is either on his own, or surrounded by people who really want to kill him. Plus, they totally killed his dog, and that was pretty much the only healthy relationship I've ever seen him in. All poisonings aside.

Now, here he is with a cute, intelligent little girl who isn't afraid of him, doesn't hate him, doesn't want to kill him, and is actually willing to sit down and have a decent conversation. Or at the very least exchange witty remarks. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for Riddick to release his inner snark. He does have a pretty funny sense of humor, but he's usually too busy beating the hell out of everything to get a chance to use it.

So, that is my justification for all the bantering.

I REGRET NOTHING!