Chapter 14
Jack lay awake that night, replaying the events just before Riddick left her standing in her room. It seemed to her that he'd decided he'd give her the cold shoulder for a while. Just before he left to retire to his room, he'd seemed fidgety, like he couldn't wait to get away from her – like she made him nervous or something. She sighed, flopping over onto her side.
What the hell am I doing? she questioned herself, squeezing her eyes shut. The back engines hummed quietly, the small vibrations following the metal architecture of the small space vessel. She'd not slept through an entire night in nearly a month now, and it seemed like Riddick was always up when she was, or got up shortly after she did, no matter what part of the simulated circadian rhythm it was. She shook her head. I need to just grow some balls and tell him how I feel about him.
Her eyes opened slowly, focusing on a small spot of remaining rust on the wall. But how do I feel about him, really? She shifted onto her back, resting her head in the crook of the bent elbow raised above her head. Don't lie to yourself now, Jack. Work this out before it's too late. She had the feeling something was going to happen that would end up being a turning point in whatever their relationship was at this point, and it wasn't really a good feeling. Her ankle twitched and she rotated it, working the joint until it popped and stopped aching. She had the urge to stand up and walk around, but she shook her head. You are not getting out of this bed until you figure this shit out.
She sighed and closed her eyes, playing back memories, both old and new, of her time with Riddick. Images ran through her head – the playful banter, short spats, fights that almost turned into brawls, and the few times he got close enough to touch her. A shudder coursed over her, once again feeling his lips on her shoulder as though it were happening all over again. She rolled over onto her stomach buryng her face in her pillow. He'd kissed her back on Kallipolis, when she wasn't really sure if it was him or not. God damn contacts, she thought. With a groan, she sat up in bed, finally giving in to the itch for movement. She dug through a new bag in her closet and opened the package of wrapping, the pattern of wrapping her wrists and hands almost unconscious, automatic.
She opened the door and peered into the hall. All was quiet, the air hanging thickly through the ship. Her feet padded silently down the corridor, and the creak of the door into the dojo made her cringe. She paused and waited. No new sounds. All alone on a quiet ship with Riddick asleep a few doors down.
Sweat poured down her body. She'd discarded the sleep shirt she'd worn into the dojo, tossing it into a heap near the wall. Once she got going, it was much more comfortable in a sport bra and shorts. The quiet grunts escaping her disappeared behind the sounds of her fists making contact with the leather bag. The more she thought, the harder she punched. The more she remembered, the harder she punched. God, this feels good, she thought, reveling in the cathartic release the punching bag was granting her.
She paused to let the bag calm down and wipe her forehead with the back of a hand. It was getting harder to catch up with it, the power behind her swings making it sway back and forth. She didn't know she'd been going at it for nearly an hour now. Her muscles ached, screaming for her to stop, but she couldn't. It just felt too good to be doing this again.
I thought he'd said he was planning on converting part of the cargo hold into a dojo, she thought. Maybe he's gonna convert this into something else, move it downstairs for more room. She pushed the thought away, concentrating once more on the bag in front of her. She didn't know her grunts had gotten louder, her breathing heavy with a touch of whimper each time she exhaled. And yet the fist to bag contact was still louder, growing with each strike.
The air shifted, and she knew he was watching. She paused slightly, suddenly angered at the intrusion. The increase in power behind her punches grew with each new blow, and the anger started to melt away. He just watched silently as she landed two more hard swipes, finishing her therapy with a hard kick before letting her arms drop to her sides.
"You're gonna wear yourself out that way," he said quietly, once he was sure she was through. She turned and looked him over as he leaned against the door frame.
"That's the intention," she replied breathlessly, she body protesting already as she bent over to pick up her shirt. She looped it around her shoulders and unwrapped her wrists. "Might actually sleep now." He smirked.
"You might want to consider taking it a little easier next time," he suggested. "I need you in top shape in case we have any new repairs." Her eyebrows rose.
"What do you think that was all about?" she asked. "I'm staying in shape."
"You're gonna be sore." She shrugged.
"The price of fitness," she said simply.
"Maybe we should start working out together," he suggested.
"Wouldn't be a fair fight," she said, walking past him toward the kitchen. He pushed himself away from the door and followed, watching her extract a glass and fill it with water, gulping it down greedily. She'd read his mind – he was all for a sparring match. She emptied the glass and set it in the sink, wiping the water moustache from her upper lip. "I'm not sure I want you hitting me," she said, her eyebrow quirked.
"I wouldn't hit you hard enough to leave a mark." He reached out and smoothed a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from the cut on her forehead. His hand retracted quickly, as though he'd been scalded, and he turned away from her to rummage through the fridge.
"What's with the cold shoulder lately?" she asked, gulping down the lump rising in her throat.
"What do you mean?" His voice was thick. She didn't answer, so he turned back to her, watching her just stare back at him.
"Seems like you don't want to be close to me anymore," she said with a shrug. "Just an observation." He choked down a sigh. It'd been meant to keep him from doing something he might regret; something he'd hoped she wouldn't notice. All the affectionate gestures recently had just slipped by his defense against himself.
"You're reading too much into things."
"Am I?" She stared up at him, taking small, deliberate steps toward him. His voice was nowhere to be found. The look in her eye made him hesitate to even think about what he would say if he could answer. She stopped a foot's length away from him, those big green eyes staring into the depths of what were once his dark chocolate ones. His whole body tensed at her proximity. "I guess we'll see," she said with a shrug. His brows furled in confusion. "Should we pencil in sparring between repairs and mapping? Or should we just set a time every day to set aside for it?"
"Whatever you want to do." His voice had finally returned. She smiled up at him and stepped away.
"I'm getting in the shower." She collected her shirt and wraps from the counter and turned to exit the room. "Night."
As soon as she was out of earshot, he let out a low, rumbling growl, leaning against the refrigerator behind him and letting his head fall back against the cold metal as his eyes closed. It would be a long night with as anxious as he was for tomorrow to arrive.
He'd waited all day, and she'd given him no signs of when their first sparring match would take place. It was killing him. He wasn't even sure she was serious enough to carry through. The way she posed the suggestion seemed too ambiguous for him to count on the match ever really happening. He'd already prepared himself for the very real possibility of having to settle for beating up the bag instead of sparring gently with her.
She rounded the corner, concentrating intently on wrapping her wrists. He almost leapt out of the pilot's chair to attack her right then and there. Almost. She'd stopped in the middle of the room, still consumed in her preparations, so he took the chance to examine her. White wife beater and black yoga pants.
"She makes good on her promise." She only nodded in return, fastening the tape. "Not sore?" A slight shrug. "Sure?" Small nod.
"Sure you're up for it?" she asked, raising her eyes to his. They sparkled back at him, the glint either nervousness or excitement for a new workout. He wasn't sure which.
"The question is," he said slowly, standing to stretch lazily, "are you?" She just snickered and left the room. He changed into gray sweats and a black tee shirt, finding her already in the dojo, spread out in a stretch, wife beater already on the floor. His eyebrow rose. "That can't be comfortable." She was tangled in an outer hip stretch, one leg folded under her, the other extended straight out behind her, her upper body bent over, arms above her head and hands splayed out on the floor. She sighed contentedly.
"Amazing feeling," was all she said. He shook his head, leaning over to stretch his hamstrings. They went through their own series of stretches, and she waited, watching him finish the last of his. "Rules?"
"Not for you," he said with a shrug. She smiled wickedly, prompting him to correct himself. "But be nice." She snickered. "I won't take any responsibility for my actions if you go for the weak spot."
"Even if it's an accident?"
"No promises."
They stood there looking at each other for a moment, until Jack laughed nervously.
"Well, this is awkward," she said quietly. "How do you want to start?" He answered by faking a lunge at her, watching her instantly take a defensive stance. Her face was set as they circled each other, both tense as they waited each other out, not wanting to make the first move. She finally gave in, throwing a punch, which he dodged, and a swift kick, which he deflected. She cringed and tried another series of assaults, not really landing much. Their eyes were locked as they circled more than they attacked or defended, Jack still making all the advances. Riddick finally gave in, landing a kick to her shoulder and a swift jab to her solar plexus. She grunted, quickly regaining her stance. Her breathing quickened, but only slightly. He threw another series of blows, but she did a better job of deflecting or dodging this time. She cuffed her nose with a thumb and threw herself into a mad kicking spree, finally landing one to the side of his head.
"Nice," he commented, shaking the shock off. She didn't respond, still intent on every movement. He held up a hand and she lowered her stance, dropping her hands to her sides. She watched, fighting to keep her mouth closed as he ripped the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.
"Ready?" she asked. He took his posture, and the circling resumed. He caught her hand mid-swing and twisted her arm behind her back. She struggled, but he didn't let go. He placed two fingers on the small of her back, one on either side of her spine, and pushed forward gently. All movement from her halted, and her breath blasted out of her nose in short spurts.
"Remember this," he said. She was surprised at how close his voice was to her ear. "Push harder for the kill." His hand flattened against her back and he released her arm, his hand remaining until she caught her breath. His skin burned against hers but still conjured goose bumps.
She twisted, locking an arm around his neck and dropping her weight, attempting to drag him to the floor. He was faster, flipping her over his shoulder and onto her back, legs pinned under his chest in an awkward, twisted position, hands held firmly against the floor at her sides. She groaned, shifting to get her feet flat against his chest before pushing up as hard as she could, sending him reeling backwards. He popped back up and they circled again.
She landed a kick in the gut, distracting him enough to dart behind him and turn a cartwheel, snapping her knees around his neck and dropping him backwards. They rolled, landing with her crouching over his chest, legs crossed behind his back, heels digging into his shoulder blades. He grimaced, struggling for a moment before swinging a leg up to mimic her move, locking a knee around her neck and pulling her back. She fell over onto his side, dragging him with her.
"Where the fuck did you learn that?" he asked, his voice strained from the pressure of the hold.
"Some cheesy action movie," she answered, voice equally as rough. He chuckled.
"Wanna let me up now?"
"Why don't you let me up first?" she countered. "I pinned you first."
"And I pinned you back," he pointed out.
"Shit." She sighed. "On the count of three." He tried to chuckle again, but couldn't get enough air. "One… two… three." Neither moved. "Shit, Riddick. You didn't move."
"Neither did you." She struggled a little, and he tightened his grip.
"Riddick, I can't breathe."
"Neither can I."
"No, seriously. I've got little black dots swimming in front of my eyes." He released her and she relaxed, letting him untangle himself from her limbs. She let her eyes close, chest heaving. He leaned over her, concerned. Her hand snapped around his wrist, twisting him to the floor, one knee pinning his legs down, the other pressed into his back. Her hands rested on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscle slowly.
"You're a sneak," he mumbled, muffled by the carpet. She snickered, collapsing against him, shifting so her legs fell on either side of his waist, her forehead pressed into the nape of his neck.
"That was fun," she said, her breath tickling the damp skin between his shoulder blades.
"What makes you think it's over?" he asked. She almost got out of his reach, but wasn't quick enough. He grabbed an ankle and flipped over, sending her sprawling into the floor. She sat there for a moment, watching him jump a few times before crouching, hands poised for attack.
"Riddick, I'm tired."
"You tricked me," he said, straightening.
"Yeah? So?" She looked up at him with the most exasperated look she could muster without laughing. His eyebrow rose and he walked over to her, offering her a hand to get up. She placed her hand in his and her foot darted out, knocking his feet out from under him. His grip on her wrist pulled her down as well, and she fell on top of him to straddle him, hands planted, arms trembling, on either side of his head.
"You fight dirty," he said, staring up at her. She just grinned wickedly before her arms gave out. A small grunt escaped him as she landed on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and sighed.
"You're not even breathing hard," she said despondently.
"Yeah, well, you'll get there eventually," he said with a slight shrug. He could feel her heart racing, her breath coming in short, raspy gasps. "Think that's enough for one day?" he asked, smiling as she nodded vigorously. With shaky arms, she pressed herself up to sit on his hips. He didn't mean for that groan to get out, but it did. Too late to fight reflexes. She stood quickly, the sudden repositioning making her dizzy.
"Sorry," she mumbled, blushing furiously. He shook his head, still sprawled in the floor. He lifted a hand to dismiss the apology and let it drop back to the floor with a quiet thud. She bent to pick up her shirt and pulled it over her head, wrapping her arms around herself as he sat up. Her cheeks were still flushed.
"It's not a big deal, Jack," he said, standing slowly. She shrugged, shifting her weight back and forth between feet.
"I'm gonna take a shower," she said quickly, turning to go. He caught her elbow and restrained her.
"Jack." She looked up at him, eyes still wide. He smiled and shook his head with a quiet laugh. "It's okay." She nodded and smiled weakly, pulling her arm from his graps and leaving the room. He sighed and retrieved his shirt. Definitely innocent, he thought with a wince. If she's that embarrassed over something like that, she's not gonna make a move first. He rubbed his neck, shuffling into the cockpit.