Disclaimer: There's a poem by William Blake called The Tiger that I quote bits of.

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The Gifts

Jealousy and joy were warring in her Now.

Riddick still appeared to be looking at Zemma and Jaron on the dance floor but his hand was stroking the arm of the painted Lady nearest him. Zemma's heart started beating hard again and she tipped her face into Jaron's chest 'till she had it under control.

Furians! There are still Furians! Think on that.

Well, it's hardly more 'now' than what's going on across the room.

"Child," when Jaron spoke in Furian he seemed to forget she hated being called Min. "I'm sorry I misread the situation. I didn't mean to cause you discomfort." He was looking towards the throne, his voice cheerless. "It was my idea to use the Ladies as a screen."

"Jaron, despite my apparent youth," she concentrated on keeping her voice and face unconcerned. "I am in the Now."

That got a smile, and a kiss on the forehead. Despite her inner control she felt tears pop into her eyes for his concern and consideration of her, a total stranger. She tipped her head back into his chest so he wouldn't see.

"If it weren't completely against protocol I'd take you back home this instant."

That was a strange comment!

"Jaron," Zemma stretched his name out slowly. "What's going to happen next that I should be aware of?" She kept her eyes on his face and away from the throne. But a sprinkling of applause drew her attention back there anyway.

A silver cart was being wheeled in, with wrapped presents on top. It was heading for the throne, and the gaggle of women camped there.

"This is my fault, Zemma." Jaron spoke more softly as the musicians and guests all stopped to watch.

Gifts, from the Lord Marshal to the available Ladies. Zemma wished she hadn't had that drink now; or had more of them.

Silly girl. It's all show, why take it so personally?

I don't know why.

Jaron was speaking again; she had to concentrate to hear his words even in the lull.

"They are cloaks. Meant to give anonymity to the Ladies invited to the Lord Marshal's suite."

Zemma's heart lurched. She thought of her cloak, left in the bowels of the ship… how many days ago?

A lifetime.

"I meant it to give you anonymity as well, Zemma. You could go to his suite more or less undetected. Everyone could be watching and still not know which Lady he had called."

But he hadn't called her, had he. Zemma was feeling overwhelmed. She'd never felt such strong emotion, even at the death of her father. But it was similar; it was a kind of grief.

Jealousy, sweetie, plain and simple.

Riddick was not staying to watch the Ladies open their gifts. He was leaving without a backwards glance at her. Zemma watched his departure, one hand still on Jaron's arm.

"I'm not armored there, Zemma." Jaron's voice drew her back to the now.

"I'm sorry, Jaron," she said absently. She didn't look at him but for another drink cart. "I think I'd like another drink."

He patted her hand and led her off the dance floor.

"We can leave now if you'd like."

Zemma only nodded and tried to keep her face blank. She tried not to see the various Ladies trying on their plain black cloaks, as if it were the most precious gift they had ever received.

In the suite she saw a similar package as those delivered to the Ladies in the throne room. But she didn't open it. She walked straight to Jaron's bar but stopped there, thinking better of it. As much as she would like to feel detached, she didn't want to feel sicker than she did right now.

It's not like you've called him to explain yourself.

Jaron made the arrangements. It's the logical solution.

But you haven't even tried to talk to him.

To say what? 'You're the most remarkable man I've ever met, won't you please sweep me off my feet'? Please. He's not the save the maiden type.

He saved you twice.

I had to beg him to sleep with me. He did it as a favor, probably just to shut me up about it. And now I'm reading too much into it and letting it torture me.

Jaron wordlessly came to the bar and poured two drinks. His face seemed to register some discomfiture. Zemma smiled at him but they both knew it was artificial. He returned her poor substitute for a smile with one of his own. At least she knew Jaron cared.

"If it makes you feel any better," Jaron spoke softly into his glass. "He said he knew how dangerous it was for anyone to get close to him. He said everyone he ever cared about died."

Zemma sipped at her drink and didn't comment.

"I think he wants you safe, Zemma. It's why he agreed to tonight. You have no idea how much of a fight he put up over this, 'fucking charade' I think he called it."

Zemma smiled at that and tried to find what Vaako had been searching for in the bottom of his glass not so many days ago. In the hours after she and Riddick had…

"Jaron," she started. But she didn't know what she intended to say. "I need to go for a walk," is what she ended with.

Jaron took the glass from her hand and patted it. "Just go change first. If I find out you climbed into an access vent in that dress I might be forced to take you over my knee."

Zemma looked up at him. He was smiling that catching smile of his. She returned it more earnestly than she had before. "I wont be gone long. There's something that I want to check out." She went to her room to change, still thinking about Vaako and his drink; Vaako and his grief. Vaako, who was, for some little more time, on the bridge.

And she still knew several good access codes.