Chapter 8
"You wanna go for a walk?" Riddick's eyebrow rose, taking in the Sarge, leaning against the wall as she wrapped evenly torn black fabric around her wrists and hands. Her eyes met his, locking on his even as she moved toward her bed, tucking shivs into hiding places on her body here and there. He just stared back, and she finally sighed, rolling her eyes. "Of course you do," she said quietly. "Come on." She nodded to the door, grasping a bar as she swung around the corner.
"Where are we going?" he asked slowly, receiving only a shake of the head from the woman in front of him. He followed her down a dark hallway, and paused as she did, hearing the footsteps too. He wrapped a hand around her waist, pressing into her belly to draw her back into a shadowed corner against him, both watching; waiting. The footsteps paused, no words spoken, and then continued on. Riddick grinned, giving her a quick squeeze to let her know it was okay to continue.
She led him down the corridor, feeling along the wall to find her way. He watched her move, very catlike, walking on her toes silently. Just like a fighter. Her pants were so long he didn't notice her ankles were wrapped as well, in the same torn black fabric. She paused, and he watched her search for something, finally crouching.
"Here," she whispered, nodding at the wall. She pulled on something, finally removing a grate from a vent duct. He glanced over his shoulder. All clear. A nod, and she returned it, disappearing into the hole. "Close it behind you," she instructed, waiting as he turned to secure the grating. Evidently she knew where she was going. The ventilation system was a maze, even worse than the corridors of the prison itself, but she seemed to know exactly which turns to take. Finally, she paused above another grate, staring down into it. He watched as she passed it and then worked her way around to face him, holding a finger to her lips and pointing downward. Shuffling forward silently, he hovered over the screen and watched lightly-armed guards mill around for a while. His eyes snapped up to hers, and she just grinned maniacally. He shook his head, silently telling her this was crazy, but she shot him a chastising glare. The lights went out, and she waited a few moments before pulling the grate from its resting place, pushing it quietly behind her. He sighed, watching her drop down into the locker room, landing in a defensive stance. She glanced up, nodding. He knew it was clear. Fuck. He lowered himself silently, crouching between two rows of lockers as footsteps passed the door.
A hand lightly touched his shoulder, and he turned, arm pulled back and ready to strike. She scowled up at him, nodding behind her. He sighed, following her into the shower room. Hidden up a pant leg was a small, self-made bag, and she filled it with the largest bars of soap she could find, also adding other little things that could catch a nice price on the prison market. He stood by and watched, leaning against the entrance to the showers, watching and listening. She nudged his shoulder, nodding up at him, and he led the way back to the grate, lifting her up high enough for her to grasp the edge and pull herself back up. He followed quickly, watching her replace the grate.
"You know where you're going?" she whispered. He shook his head, and she dropped hers between her shoulders with a heavy sigh. "Lay down."
"What?" he whispered back sharply. Her eyebrow rose.
"You don't know how to get back. I do. You're in front, and I can't whisper directions the whole way. Lay the fuck down with your arms above your head." He sighed, complying, and she crawled over him, kicking him in the shoulder to let him know she'd passed. Back through the maze of tunnels, and he saw the small amount of light shining through the grate ahead. She paused in front of it, listening. Quickly, she pushed the barrier out from the wall and scampered out of the tunnel, waving for him to hurry. She replaced the grate, and they walked side by side back to the cell.
"How the hell did you –" She shook her head, nodding to the door. Right. The walls have ears, he thought.
"I"ll be right back," she said quickly, a satisfied smile touching her lips as she turned to head back out into the hallway. Her feet, bare except for the wraps, padded silently down the cold stone flooring, easily navigating the maze of prison halls as she made her way to the doc's. "Doc." He glanced up at her sharply, the irritation from being distracted from his work instantly fading at the sight of her leaning against the wall with that precious bag.
"You got something for me?" he asked quietly. Her eyebrow rose as a smirk lit her face, and he grinned a crooked, partly toothed smile.
"It can wait until you're done with sterilization," she said lightly, knowing he would turn her down.
"That can wait. What did you find for me this time?"
"You know," she said, pushing away from the wall and flopping onto his makeshift surgery table. "I sure do you a lot of favors," she continued, meeting his eyes with a hard stare. His eyebrow cocked.
"I'm listening." She fought to keep the smirk from cracking.
"Went through some lockers," she informed quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Found some shit you'd really like to have." His eyes lit up. "Shit your patients would be begging for when having something major done." He nodded. "Now, I've got twenty-five for you," meaning cigarettes. A sigh. He hated bartering for work. "I'll give you those, plus the antiseptic I found, plus the three syringes I found," he glanced up at her, suddenly gaining interest, "and plus," she paused dramatically, eyeing him, "a whole stray bottle of that fucking tranquilizer they use to get people into decon."
"Done," he said quickly. She nodded, standing slowly.
"Oh," she said, turning back to face him. "Riddick stays." The doctor's eyebrows scrunched into a scowl. "Through the whole thing." One bushy eyebrow rose, but the menacing glint in her eyes was enough. "You fuck up, he snaps your neck, nice and quiet like, got it?" He nodded, and she turned.
"Sarge." She paused, glancing over her shoulder at him. "When do I get the stuff?"
"Payment upon completion," she said with a shrug. "And that means after I heal completely and know I can fucking see." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Let me think about it."
"What's to think about?" she snorted, turning back to him, hands on her hips. He glanced at her, noting the wraps on her wrists and ankles, finally deciding not to push it.
"I'll let you know by messenger later tonight." Her eyebrow rose.
"Who?"
"Monkey." She nodded.
Riddick stared at her as she bounced lightly into the room, obviously happy about something. She swung the bag onto the bed and followed, the springs groaning in protest as her weight shook the small cot. His eyes followed her fingers as she removed the wrappings, folding them neatly before tucking them into her pillow case.
"You really were a fighter, weren't you?" he asked. She nodded slightly. "Competitive?"
"Professional for a while," she said with a dismissive shrug.
"Really." He sounded impressed, so she met his eyes.
"Does that surprise you?"
"Not really," he admitted, her indifferent gesture. "You actually know how and where to wrap, move the right way, light on your feet, know how to land." She smirked.
"Could just be good at being sneaky," she pushed. He caught the bait.
"No, you're more graceful than just being sneaky. It's just the stance," he said, not really knowing how to word the observation. "There's sneaky and then there's stealthy," he said finally, rubbing his chin. Outside the cell, a throat was cleared, and Sarge turned toward the noise.
"How nice of you to stop by, Monkey," she cooed, sliding off the bed. Riddick's eyebrow rose. The name was fitting. The small man – hell, the guy couldn't have been more than twenty – had a round, plain face, and ears that stuck out slightly. Riddick suppressed a chuckle. "Didn't take the good doctor long to ponder, did it?" He shook his head, not a word uttered. He held out a hand with a folded piece of paper, and she took it between two fingers, holding it up as though inspecting it. The boy cleared his throat again, and she nodded, clapping a hand around his thin neck and giving him a gentle squeeze. "Thanks." Monkey nodded and disappeared.
"Monkey?"
"Likes to climb shit," she explained. "Better in the vents than me," she added quietly. Riddick nodded. He could see that.
"Doesn't talk much." She paused, glancing up at him quickly before returning her attention to breaking the wax seal on the note.
"Never talks," she corrected. "He's mute, Riddick," she added softly. "Only thing he knows to do is clear his throat, and that's good enough for him." He watched her eyes flit over the paper, narrowing as she squinted to read in the dim light. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she lifted her eyes to his. His eyebrow rose questioningly, but she didn't say anything. Silver eyes lingered on her as she returned to the bed, blocking his sight of what she was doing. She turned to him, holding out a pair of black scrubs and a black wife beater. He glanced at them, and then back up to her quizzically. She only shrugged, dropping the clothing into his lap.
"What's this?"
"Payment," she said calmly as she walked away from him, running her fingers over the note.
"For what?" His voice had a slight warning in it, and she turned back to him slowly.
"I need a favor."