She'd given Joey the list of names in a moment of undeniable cowardice. Fantine simply didn't want to know who it had been; she'd blocked all faces out of her memory, leaving only nightmarish sensations of being passed around like a piece of meat. Which, really, was nightmare enough. They were walking through the halls from the infirmary and Joey was reading as he walked, a skill she envied him. Then again, most of the time he seemed to be hyper-aware of his surroundings anyway, at least in places where there were a lot of people around. It was a sort of awareness she was starting to realize she shared. She was starting to realize a lot of things about Joey.
Most of which, she was sure, he wouldn't want known, so she kept her silence. Kept quiet, as he must have kept quiet for all those days or weeks or months or however long it had been. She wanted desperately to ask him how he managed it. How he managed to keep up some semblance of normality, but at the same time she was sure he didn't want to talk about it. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. It was too intense, too overwhelming. Just thinking about it obliquely, with as little as she knew, made her shiver.
He made a strangled noise, and she glanced sideways at him. Her hands, she realized then, were clenched into shaking fists. She'd noticed a habit of doing that when she wasn't concentrating, or surrounded by friends at which point she could relax. It was probably going to get someone into trouble some day.
"How bad is it?" she asked after the third person had walked around them, cursing.
"Bad." He glanced at her. He was barely taller than she was. "You should really read this for yourself."
Fantine nodded. But she was staring at the list as though it was something large and poisonous that was going to bite her in half and dissolve what remained with acid from its fangs, only that was the nightmare she'd had last night. Reality and fantasy warped in on each other for a second, came back to reality as someone stumbled into her. She would have punched him if Joey hadn't put a hand on her arm, looking as though he expected to be punched, himself.
"I'm okay..." she muttered. It was a blatant lie.
"Of course you are." He kept his tone mild, looking around. "Here... come on, let's get out of the hallway, at least."
"Where are..."
It wasn't far, whatever it was. There was the lingering smell of laundry- room chemicals, old containers and piles of rat-chewed clothing. "I don't think anyone remembers this place exists," he told her as he turned over a couple barrels, apparently to make sure there wasn't anything nesting underneath them. "I'm surprised they haven't walled over it yet, but I guess they're not too concerned about the architecture of the place as long as they have enough room for everyone."
"I guess..." her voice came out faint. Architecture and forgotten rooms were definitely some of the last things on her mind, although she was grateful for the privacy. "Thanks."
"Anytime..." he touched her arm, gentle but insistent. "You really should read this. I don't think you'd want me to read it to you..."
She took the list, muttering, "Don't be too sure about that." But he knelt beside her at least, hovering close enough that it would have been stifling, before. Now it was just comforting, a relief. She swung from such extremes of fear and unthinking comfort, and she hated it. But she had the list in front of her, and if Joey could stand it, so could she. "All right. Here goes."
The words didn't make sense at first. The letters were right, she recognized the alphabet she had learned before she could remember her childhood, but the order in which they went didn't seem to make sense at first. She was reduced to sounding out the names like a baby again, and felt hot and humiliated because of it. Joey didn't say anything. She was able to shut him out, almost to forget he was there. After she'd sounded out the last name she sat, frozen, for one long minute. The tears were rolling down her face again.
"Fantine..." Joey whispered, not touching her, not yet. "Are you there?"
A detached part of her mind that could still think noticed that he hadn't asked if she was okay, but if she was there. Probably a more reasonable question. Reason born out of experience, he had experience in such matters. God. What had they done to him? To both of them? She could match faces with the names, now, horrible faces that leered at her from somewhere above her chin as the hands pressed down low where hands shouldn't go, bruising her, clutching and grabbing and squeezing till she popped.
"Fantine..."
She was crying still. Actually by now she was gasping and sobbing, completely unaware that she had an audience. She wouldn't let herself cry around Riddick if she could possibly help it, and she'd managed to keep that small bit of self control for a long time. Bad enough that she could barely leave his side without becoming panicked, she wouldn't let him see how weak she'd gotten. But this was different. This was a trigger and a pounding flood of memories and this was little Joey Keyes, who knew. He knew.
That made it all right, somehow. She could cry in front of him, and all the aching grief and terror and loss of the woman she had been came out in a flood of wet. And Joey took her into his arms and pulled her gently down to where he knelt on the cold ferrocrete floor, awkward and stuttery and a wealth of comfort.
He didn't say anything. She was afraid of how grateful she was to him for that.
"Oh god..." It was all she could say for a little while, and at that it was an improvement over not being able to say anything at all. "Oh god. Richard can't know about this. He just can't know."
"He's going to find out sooner or later," Joey pointed out. "And more likely sooner if he talks to Doc Weller. I don't think the Doc's going to keep this from him, not with... well, you know what he's like."
"Yeah." It didn't matter which 'he' Joey was referring to, really. "But... God. If Riddick finds out... he's going to do something stupid, I know it. And he can't do anything, not with this..."
Joey nodded, slowly but emphatically. He hadn't moved, either, and she was startled to realize that she didn't want him to. Joey was safe to be with in a way that Riddick never could have been, safe to be weak in front of, safe because he knew what it was like. Every movement he made was welcome, every word he said had been right so far, and even Riddick had had awkward moments where he said something to provoke her into blind rage or helpless panic. It was different, now, and Riddick and Lawson and even Doc hadn't realized it. But Joey had.
"This isn't the kind of thing you can just leave alone, though," Joey pointed out after a little while, although his arms tightened around her while he spoke. It made her want to giggle, the thought of little Joey Keyes being protective of the Fury. "These people aren't going to stop. And like you said, Riddick is going to want to do something, and Lawson is, too..."
"Lawson...?" she blinked. For some reason that hadn't occurred to her.
"Yes..." Joey smirked, but didn't explain why. "And it's just going to piss them off even more. We might be able to get around Big Rob, deal with him somehow, but Petrovsky..."
Fantine turned and vomited what little lunch she'd been able to force down onto the floor. Cold, papery skin, fingers ending in pointed nails slipping tenderly into her, a grotesque parody of a lover's touch while his gray voice slid into her ears. She finally registered that Joey was speaking.
But he wasn't speaking anything more than drivel, over and over again. "Fantine... Fantine, come on back. Come on back. They're not here, it's just you and me. It's just you and me, Fantine..."
"I'm okay..." she muttered. There was a coppery taste in her mouth that did not bode well. She scrubbed at her mouth with a sleeve drawn over one hand; Joey found a piece of clean cloth from somewhere and helped a little. "I'm okay."
He didn't even call her on the lie. "You're doing damn well, you know," he told her instead. "Most people would have hidden in their pods and not come out for months. If at all."
She smiled without humor or cheer. "I might as well stay in my pod. It's not like I can go anywhere without one of you guys..." He was shaking his head. "What?"
"Fantine, nine... no, eleven out of twelve people who have been through what you went through would be shivering in their beds and probably dying of starvation by now. You were out and talking and going to breakfast the next day. And if you think you're weak just because you have to depend upon the presence of a friend... you're not. Trust me."
She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth trembling a little. The thought that it could be worse than it had already been hadn't occurred to her, nor the thought that she might be doing well. She wasn't sure he wasn't just saying it to make her feel better, although she would have suspected that more from Riddick or Lawson.
"What are you saying..."
"I'm..." he shook his head. "Hell. I don't know what I'm saying, except ... you're strong, Fantine. You're stronger than either Riddick or Lawson. At least from what I've seen, you've come through hell and out the other side and you're barely shaking. At least that's what it looks like from out here. Most people in your situation, nearly all people, wouldn't leave their pods if they knew for certain that more, and possibly worse, was on the way. They certainly wouldn't be walking along as calmly as you've been, like nothing happened. You look fine, you look strong. You definitely don't look as weak or cowardly as I bet you think you are." He put a teasing tone to his voice, teasing and serious at the same time.
"Really?"
"It's only been... less than eight weeks, definitely. And you're acting as though nothing's wrong, nothing's happened, at least in public. It's not as though you went very many places without us anyway, not openly. And no one really expects the Fury to come back, I think. So, yes, really. In fact that's probably why ..." he stopped.
"Why no one's made a move to finish the job, or at least start the sequel." She knew he'd been thinking it. She'd been wondering something similar, or at least waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was almost like the few days after she'd been unmasked, only worse. Infinitely worse. "Especially given..."
"Given who was in on it." Now that she'd broached the subject for herself Joey was willing to talk about it, at least tentatively. "And that probably explains why they were able to get away with it, and bribe guards to stand watch. They were probably under orders to shout a heads up if Riddick or Lawson came their way."
"Or you..." she smiled, letting her head drop to his shoulder without thinking. She was so tired all of a sudden.
"Not me." He sat her up, gently. "Not me. I'm not strong. Not like you three." There was more, but he wasn't saying it.
"You've survived more than they have." It seemed self-evident, she didn't know why he was denying it. Especially not after what he'd told her. His arm tightened around her again in a half-hug.
"Fantine, it's not that simple. You're fighters, you're survivors, and I'm not. You're not a victim, you're a survivor..." It came out more choked than she'd expected, and she pulled her head back to stare up at him with widened eyes. His face had gone still and trembly at the same time. "And I'm not. I'm just not. It's... I can't explain it. Don't ask me to explain it." The last six words rasped out of his throat.
"Joey..." She didn't know what to say. "Still?"
He wouldn't look at her, which was really answer enough. Thoughts whirled around in her head, and for once the memory of being passed around like a breakfast plate didn't wrack her body as it usually did. There weren't any faces or sensations connected with it this time, though, which probably did it. It was just a phrase associated with thoughts of Joey, the thought that he must have meant something like that, and just couldn't say it even to her. Being a woman in the boys' club counted for some good things as well as a whole lot of bad, but evidently she wasn't woman enough to know what happened to him, still. Or maybe she was too much woman, and he wanted to keep some semblance of manliness even when held up next to archetypes of masculinity like Riddick and Lawson and even the fatherly Doc.
"It gets better..." he said finally. "Living with it, I mean. It gets easier. You get used to it."
She wasn't sure which he was talking about, and she hoped he wasn't talking about future events. Now Fantine realized she was in the unlikely position of needing to offer comfort; it was easier, somehow, because she couldn't stand to see Joey so broken. Or maybe she always had been seeing it and hadn't known what she was looking at. That thought was so much worse, though. She held him as he had done for her only moments before, trying to think of the right words.
"Richard wouldn't have thought of this, you know..." she said suddenly, remembering something. "He doesn't... I don't know. I thought it would be okay, even once I realized that I was scared to... that I was scared. But he still doesn't understand some things. He just..."
"He won't," Joey smiled a little. "He's smart, but he's not a victim. He never has been, not like that. I can't imagine that he ever will be, although you never really know. That's part of the harshness of it, you don't know. But... no, Riddick isn't a victim. Hasn't been a victim. Neither has Lawson. Neither has Doc, although he's seen more of it than either of the others put together."
She nodded. "Richard said something like that. Said that the Doc was ... was surprised Richard hadn't know what was going on in the infirmary."
"Most of the people who go down there who haven't been shivved, half the people who go down there for getting the shit kicked out of them..."
"Also go down there for other things."
He nodded. "It's one of the staples of prison life," he said, with only a little bitterness. "Part of the package. You get your bad food, your sticky mattresses, your malfunctioning electrics, your tough guys, prison bosses, indifferent guards, and your victims."
Eight weeks ago she would have made a flippant comment about prison bitches. Not anymore. "I don't suppose," she said almost wistfully, "That it would help to offer to do anything about it."
"There's nothing you can do." Simple, matter-of-fact, and utterly devoid of hope. "It's..."
"A fact of life, I know." She remembered something Riddick had done, and brushed her fingers over the top of his head, through his hair, stroking lightly. It had seemed to help at the time. She made it clumsy and awkward, though. "I still wish..."
He caught her hand in his after a minute and watched her startled reaction. "Yeah..." His eyes were searching her face for something, and she didn't know what it was or how to give it to him. "I wish, too."
He was holding her hand very lightly, as though expecting her to pull away at any moment. So it wasn't as though it was entirely unexpected when he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It wasn't even unpleasant; he wasn't a very good kisser, but somehow that made it better. More real. There was the requisite bumping of noses, fumbling gestures that reminded her of the kisses she'd given and received when she'd barely begun her teenage years. And the whole affair was done with exquisite care and tenderness.
But he did pull back, after a few moments, when she didn't respond perhaps as much as he'd hoped. And he knew it, too, when she smiled ruefully.
"I had to try..." he smiled back a little, clearly hoping she hadn't taken offense or (perhaps worse) been triggered into a flashback. Not that she would have, not from that clumsy and heartfelt kind of kiss.
"I know. I ..." Understand, but the moment had just turned plain awkward now. He blushed, and she blushed too and shook her head, chuckling. "I'm flattered."
"But there's Riddick, huh." It wasn't a question, but he didn't seem to be upset, either. She thought about it a bit before she spoke up.
"No..." Fantine shook her head, wondering if she'd have to tell Riddick what she was starting to realize. "Not really."
Joey blinked. "Not really?"
"Not in that sense, anyway. Not really. It..." She was poking amongst feelings that she'd never explored before, and she was a little startled to find out what they were. "We're friends. But that's obvious, and everything else. But it's not anything more than that. Not anything... romantic."
"This isn't exactly a romantic sort of place," he pointed out.
"Yeah, but it's more than that." She stood up a little, feeling the need to pace, to rub her arms although she wasn't exactly cold. "We're friends. We're good friends, I know he's got my back, I'm pretty sure he knows I've got his if it ever came down to it. We can talk pretty easily, we share some common areas of interest, some common ideas. We get along all right, and there's that other aspect of it that's ... well. But it ... I don't have feelings for him. Not those feelings, anyway."
He smiled a little. "But not for me, either."
"And why do I feel like I should be apologizing for that?" she made it teasing, disarming, hoping to lighten the mood a little. And he did laugh, gently.
"It's all right. I didn't really think you had, anyway. But..." he shrugged.
"Nothing wrong with hope."
"Mmm." He looked around. "I guess not. It's a rare enough commodity here as it is."
Most of which, she was sure, he wouldn't want known, so she kept her silence. Kept quiet, as he must have kept quiet for all those days or weeks or months or however long it had been. She wanted desperately to ask him how he managed it. How he managed to keep up some semblance of normality, but at the same time she was sure he didn't want to talk about it. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. It was too intense, too overwhelming. Just thinking about it obliquely, with as little as she knew, made her shiver.
He made a strangled noise, and she glanced sideways at him. Her hands, she realized then, were clenched into shaking fists. She'd noticed a habit of doing that when she wasn't concentrating, or surrounded by friends at which point she could relax. It was probably going to get someone into trouble some day.
"How bad is it?" she asked after the third person had walked around them, cursing.
"Bad." He glanced at her. He was barely taller than she was. "You should really read this for yourself."
Fantine nodded. But she was staring at the list as though it was something large and poisonous that was going to bite her in half and dissolve what remained with acid from its fangs, only that was the nightmare she'd had last night. Reality and fantasy warped in on each other for a second, came back to reality as someone stumbled into her. She would have punched him if Joey hadn't put a hand on her arm, looking as though he expected to be punched, himself.
"I'm okay..." she muttered. It was a blatant lie.
"Of course you are." He kept his tone mild, looking around. "Here... come on, let's get out of the hallway, at least."
"Where are..."
It wasn't far, whatever it was. There was the lingering smell of laundry- room chemicals, old containers and piles of rat-chewed clothing. "I don't think anyone remembers this place exists," he told her as he turned over a couple barrels, apparently to make sure there wasn't anything nesting underneath them. "I'm surprised they haven't walled over it yet, but I guess they're not too concerned about the architecture of the place as long as they have enough room for everyone."
"I guess..." her voice came out faint. Architecture and forgotten rooms were definitely some of the last things on her mind, although she was grateful for the privacy. "Thanks."
"Anytime..." he touched her arm, gentle but insistent. "You really should read this. I don't think you'd want me to read it to you..."
She took the list, muttering, "Don't be too sure about that." But he knelt beside her at least, hovering close enough that it would have been stifling, before. Now it was just comforting, a relief. She swung from such extremes of fear and unthinking comfort, and she hated it. But she had the list in front of her, and if Joey could stand it, so could she. "All right. Here goes."
The words didn't make sense at first. The letters were right, she recognized the alphabet she had learned before she could remember her childhood, but the order in which they went didn't seem to make sense at first. She was reduced to sounding out the names like a baby again, and felt hot and humiliated because of it. Joey didn't say anything. She was able to shut him out, almost to forget he was there. After she'd sounded out the last name she sat, frozen, for one long minute. The tears were rolling down her face again.
"Fantine..." Joey whispered, not touching her, not yet. "Are you there?"
A detached part of her mind that could still think noticed that he hadn't asked if she was okay, but if she was there. Probably a more reasonable question. Reason born out of experience, he had experience in such matters. God. What had they done to him? To both of them? She could match faces with the names, now, horrible faces that leered at her from somewhere above her chin as the hands pressed down low where hands shouldn't go, bruising her, clutching and grabbing and squeezing till she popped.
"Fantine..."
She was crying still. Actually by now she was gasping and sobbing, completely unaware that she had an audience. She wouldn't let herself cry around Riddick if she could possibly help it, and she'd managed to keep that small bit of self control for a long time. Bad enough that she could barely leave his side without becoming panicked, she wouldn't let him see how weak she'd gotten. But this was different. This was a trigger and a pounding flood of memories and this was little Joey Keyes, who knew. He knew.
That made it all right, somehow. She could cry in front of him, and all the aching grief and terror and loss of the woman she had been came out in a flood of wet. And Joey took her into his arms and pulled her gently down to where he knelt on the cold ferrocrete floor, awkward and stuttery and a wealth of comfort.
He didn't say anything. She was afraid of how grateful she was to him for that.
"Oh god..." It was all she could say for a little while, and at that it was an improvement over not being able to say anything at all. "Oh god. Richard can't know about this. He just can't know."
"He's going to find out sooner or later," Joey pointed out. "And more likely sooner if he talks to Doc Weller. I don't think the Doc's going to keep this from him, not with... well, you know what he's like."
"Yeah." It didn't matter which 'he' Joey was referring to, really. "But... God. If Riddick finds out... he's going to do something stupid, I know it. And he can't do anything, not with this..."
Joey nodded, slowly but emphatically. He hadn't moved, either, and she was startled to realize that she didn't want him to. Joey was safe to be with in a way that Riddick never could have been, safe to be weak in front of, safe because he knew what it was like. Every movement he made was welcome, every word he said had been right so far, and even Riddick had had awkward moments where he said something to provoke her into blind rage or helpless panic. It was different, now, and Riddick and Lawson and even Doc hadn't realized it. But Joey had.
"This isn't the kind of thing you can just leave alone, though," Joey pointed out after a little while, although his arms tightened around her while he spoke. It made her want to giggle, the thought of little Joey Keyes being protective of the Fury. "These people aren't going to stop. And like you said, Riddick is going to want to do something, and Lawson is, too..."
"Lawson...?" she blinked. For some reason that hadn't occurred to her.
"Yes..." Joey smirked, but didn't explain why. "And it's just going to piss them off even more. We might be able to get around Big Rob, deal with him somehow, but Petrovsky..."
Fantine turned and vomited what little lunch she'd been able to force down onto the floor. Cold, papery skin, fingers ending in pointed nails slipping tenderly into her, a grotesque parody of a lover's touch while his gray voice slid into her ears. She finally registered that Joey was speaking.
But he wasn't speaking anything more than drivel, over and over again. "Fantine... Fantine, come on back. Come on back. They're not here, it's just you and me. It's just you and me, Fantine..."
"I'm okay..." she muttered. There was a coppery taste in her mouth that did not bode well. She scrubbed at her mouth with a sleeve drawn over one hand; Joey found a piece of clean cloth from somewhere and helped a little. "I'm okay."
He didn't even call her on the lie. "You're doing damn well, you know," he told her instead. "Most people would have hidden in their pods and not come out for months. If at all."
She smiled without humor or cheer. "I might as well stay in my pod. It's not like I can go anywhere without one of you guys..." He was shaking his head. "What?"
"Fantine, nine... no, eleven out of twelve people who have been through what you went through would be shivering in their beds and probably dying of starvation by now. You were out and talking and going to breakfast the next day. And if you think you're weak just because you have to depend upon the presence of a friend... you're not. Trust me."
She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth trembling a little. The thought that it could be worse than it had already been hadn't occurred to her, nor the thought that she might be doing well. She wasn't sure he wasn't just saying it to make her feel better, although she would have suspected that more from Riddick or Lawson.
"What are you saying..."
"I'm..." he shook his head. "Hell. I don't know what I'm saying, except ... you're strong, Fantine. You're stronger than either Riddick or Lawson. At least from what I've seen, you've come through hell and out the other side and you're barely shaking. At least that's what it looks like from out here. Most people in your situation, nearly all people, wouldn't leave their pods if they knew for certain that more, and possibly worse, was on the way. They certainly wouldn't be walking along as calmly as you've been, like nothing happened. You look fine, you look strong. You definitely don't look as weak or cowardly as I bet you think you are." He put a teasing tone to his voice, teasing and serious at the same time.
"Really?"
"It's only been... less than eight weeks, definitely. And you're acting as though nothing's wrong, nothing's happened, at least in public. It's not as though you went very many places without us anyway, not openly. And no one really expects the Fury to come back, I think. So, yes, really. In fact that's probably why ..." he stopped.
"Why no one's made a move to finish the job, or at least start the sequel." She knew he'd been thinking it. She'd been wondering something similar, or at least waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was almost like the few days after she'd been unmasked, only worse. Infinitely worse. "Especially given..."
"Given who was in on it." Now that she'd broached the subject for herself Joey was willing to talk about it, at least tentatively. "And that probably explains why they were able to get away with it, and bribe guards to stand watch. They were probably under orders to shout a heads up if Riddick or Lawson came their way."
"Or you..." she smiled, letting her head drop to his shoulder without thinking. She was so tired all of a sudden.
"Not me." He sat her up, gently. "Not me. I'm not strong. Not like you three." There was more, but he wasn't saying it.
"You've survived more than they have." It seemed self-evident, she didn't know why he was denying it. Especially not after what he'd told her. His arm tightened around her again in a half-hug.
"Fantine, it's not that simple. You're fighters, you're survivors, and I'm not. You're not a victim, you're a survivor..." It came out more choked than she'd expected, and she pulled her head back to stare up at him with widened eyes. His face had gone still and trembly at the same time. "And I'm not. I'm just not. It's... I can't explain it. Don't ask me to explain it." The last six words rasped out of his throat.
"Joey..." She didn't know what to say. "Still?"
He wouldn't look at her, which was really answer enough. Thoughts whirled around in her head, and for once the memory of being passed around like a breakfast plate didn't wrack her body as it usually did. There weren't any faces or sensations connected with it this time, though, which probably did it. It was just a phrase associated with thoughts of Joey, the thought that he must have meant something like that, and just couldn't say it even to her. Being a woman in the boys' club counted for some good things as well as a whole lot of bad, but evidently she wasn't woman enough to know what happened to him, still. Or maybe she was too much woman, and he wanted to keep some semblance of manliness even when held up next to archetypes of masculinity like Riddick and Lawson and even the fatherly Doc.
"It gets better..." he said finally. "Living with it, I mean. It gets easier. You get used to it."
She wasn't sure which he was talking about, and she hoped he wasn't talking about future events. Now Fantine realized she was in the unlikely position of needing to offer comfort; it was easier, somehow, because she couldn't stand to see Joey so broken. Or maybe she always had been seeing it and hadn't known what she was looking at. That thought was so much worse, though. She held him as he had done for her only moments before, trying to think of the right words.
"Richard wouldn't have thought of this, you know..." she said suddenly, remembering something. "He doesn't... I don't know. I thought it would be okay, even once I realized that I was scared to... that I was scared. But he still doesn't understand some things. He just..."
"He won't," Joey smiled a little. "He's smart, but he's not a victim. He never has been, not like that. I can't imagine that he ever will be, although you never really know. That's part of the harshness of it, you don't know. But... no, Riddick isn't a victim. Hasn't been a victim. Neither has Lawson. Neither has Doc, although he's seen more of it than either of the others put together."
She nodded. "Richard said something like that. Said that the Doc was ... was surprised Richard hadn't know what was going on in the infirmary."
"Most of the people who go down there who haven't been shivved, half the people who go down there for getting the shit kicked out of them..."
"Also go down there for other things."
He nodded. "It's one of the staples of prison life," he said, with only a little bitterness. "Part of the package. You get your bad food, your sticky mattresses, your malfunctioning electrics, your tough guys, prison bosses, indifferent guards, and your victims."
Eight weeks ago she would have made a flippant comment about prison bitches. Not anymore. "I don't suppose," she said almost wistfully, "That it would help to offer to do anything about it."
"There's nothing you can do." Simple, matter-of-fact, and utterly devoid of hope. "It's..."
"A fact of life, I know." She remembered something Riddick had done, and brushed her fingers over the top of his head, through his hair, stroking lightly. It had seemed to help at the time. She made it clumsy and awkward, though. "I still wish..."
He caught her hand in his after a minute and watched her startled reaction. "Yeah..." His eyes were searching her face for something, and she didn't know what it was or how to give it to him. "I wish, too."
He was holding her hand very lightly, as though expecting her to pull away at any moment. So it wasn't as though it was entirely unexpected when he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It wasn't even unpleasant; he wasn't a very good kisser, but somehow that made it better. More real. There was the requisite bumping of noses, fumbling gestures that reminded her of the kisses she'd given and received when she'd barely begun her teenage years. And the whole affair was done with exquisite care and tenderness.
But he did pull back, after a few moments, when she didn't respond perhaps as much as he'd hoped. And he knew it, too, when she smiled ruefully.
"I had to try..." he smiled back a little, clearly hoping she hadn't taken offense or (perhaps worse) been triggered into a flashback. Not that she would have, not from that clumsy and heartfelt kind of kiss.
"I know. I ..." Understand, but the moment had just turned plain awkward now. He blushed, and she blushed too and shook her head, chuckling. "I'm flattered."
"But there's Riddick, huh." It wasn't a question, but he didn't seem to be upset, either. She thought about it a bit before she spoke up.
"No..." Fantine shook her head, wondering if she'd have to tell Riddick what she was starting to realize. "Not really."
Joey blinked. "Not really?"
"Not in that sense, anyway. Not really. It..." She was poking amongst feelings that she'd never explored before, and she was a little startled to find out what they were. "We're friends. But that's obvious, and everything else. But it's not anything more than that. Not anything... romantic."
"This isn't exactly a romantic sort of place," he pointed out.
"Yeah, but it's more than that." She stood up a little, feeling the need to pace, to rub her arms although she wasn't exactly cold. "We're friends. We're good friends, I know he's got my back, I'm pretty sure he knows I've got his if it ever came down to it. We can talk pretty easily, we share some common areas of interest, some common ideas. We get along all right, and there's that other aspect of it that's ... well. But it ... I don't have feelings for him. Not those feelings, anyway."
He smiled a little. "But not for me, either."
"And why do I feel like I should be apologizing for that?" she made it teasing, disarming, hoping to lighten the mood a little. And he did laugh, gently.
"It's all right. I didn't really think you had, anyway. But..." he shrugged.
"Nothing wrong with hope."
"Mmm." He looked around. "I guess not. It's a rare enough commodity here as it is."