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

Scratching the Surface

Food came finally. Riddick raised an eyebrow at the amount, but Zemma expected visitors and a late night. She wasn't wrong. Jaron stopped by with an update on the battle. High casualties on both sides. Perfect.

Jaron staying was not a surprise. That Don W'Rdah came and stayed was. The men were keyed up but 'off duty' and trying to relax. Vaako was on the bridge and one wall screen followed the action outside. The lights were dialed up a bit, the three men and Jack poured drinks and dealt cards.

Riddick looked at Zemma and glanced at a chair at the table but she smiled and shook her head in a tiny movement. She was happy just to watch the interaction of the people who didn't hate her.

Well, weren't trying to kill her, at least.

She took a seat at the bar, where she could sit above the table and watch the poker game. The men were joking and laughing, covering bluffs. (The biggest one happening outside the ship.) But they weren't drinking their shots like Jack was. She seemed in her element and happy to be there.

And Zemma had become completely invisible to her. Zemma smiled a little at that. Riddick looked up at her at that moment.

Damn, paying more attention than you thought he was.

She dropped a slow wink back. A muscle near his mouth ticked up at that.

Much more attention.

Don was laughing vociferously at a joke Jack told and she was grinning along. Zemma felt a little pang of jealousy at that. He never smiled at her, and while he had quit physically knocking her, he had continued to do so verbally.

But she loved the flight simulator and would have put up with any amount of bruises for it.

Canopy; a living ceiling. She could probably do that. She'd have to try.

Nor, old as she was, would no doubt love a chance to play in a jungle.

And where's Riddick in this little fantasy?

That's not the Now.

You're covering.

Riddick laughed loudly at something Jack said. Zemma concentrated on enjoying it. That was the Now.

You think it won't last.

Zemma kept her face a mask of pleasant relaxation.

Jack punched Riddick in the shoulder and he feigned pain.

At least Jack has quit trying to piss him off.

Uh huh.

Now she's just trying to piss me off.

Jack laid her hand on Riddick's arm and leaned in close to whisper something, something no doubt funny. Riddick's eyes cut to Zemma. She twitched one side of her mouth up in a lopsided smirk and continued bouncing her foot slowly to the music she'd selected.

The girl may be very good at what she does, but so was Zemma. She might not be able to fool Riddick, or Jaron for that matter, but the girl would never score her armor.

She did once.

A scratch.

Riddick turned back to Jack and laughed again.

Won't let the kit bite her again is all.

"Hey! This music sucks." Jack was suddenly quite loud, not talking directly to Zemma but in her direction. "What else ya got? Something with more… umph."

Zemma wasn't sure the 'Mongers had anything with more 'umph' that wasn't a war march. She went to the computer and tapped for a minute. "Jack, say 'music' please."

"Music."

"Ok, you can switch it at your whim. Music, random. Just say 'switch' now. You can cycle it for days."

Jack tried it a few times while Zemma got herself situated back at the bar. The game went on. The battle went on. But Zemma was feeling tired. She wanted to go to bed for a while but was run aground by a social dilemma. It was stupid, really. But it kept her butt glued to the barstool while she pondered it.

Do I kiss him goodnight?

Silly.

But what's the role I'm playing here? Lover? Lady?

She wished she could ask Jaron. If they were alone she would kiss Riddick. Probably kiss him. At least touch his shoulder and tell him she was going to bed and hope he would join her. They hadn't had sex yet since he conned her into moving back in.

Conned?

Well, he cheated!

After he won the hand he'd grinned at her, daring her, she thought, to make something of the coincidence. She'd just smiled, feeling drunk and happy enough that the issue was settled without having to talk about it, exactly. She'd smiled, got up from the table unsteadily, squeezed his shoulder and kissed him. And walked into the bedroom.

He'd followed her and they had crawled naked into bed. And then he just held her, his front to her back, his hand stroking her stomach lightly and his face in her hair. She'd stroked his hand… and fallen asleep.

She woke the next morning with his arm still across her, feeling particularly happy. It had been hard to keep from grinning like an idiot all day, even in the face of preparations for a stylistic war.

Jaron, or perhaps W'Rdah, had done quite a bit of research that night. The aliens tended to stay on the outskirts of human systems. They frequently acted as mercenaries, taking on human criminals in one on one challenges, and then socking them away on their ships. Not all of the criminals made it to slam.

Human mercenaries were often crewed but not so often used. They considered it a cushy job, the aliens only used them for the lesser captures and they got paid well. No one mentioned what happened to convicts who didn't make it back to prison. Jaron thought they might have become trophies and Riddick had nodded as if he agreed, but didn't elaborate.

They never went to war with humans, but frequently warred amongst themselves. Always outside human systems so rumors were all the information they had about it. Seems they cleaned up after themselves too. There was never any salvage for entrepreneurs to collect.

Jaron made some interesting leaps of logic, and while Zemma concurred with him, she stayed silent as he and Riddick discussed the possibilities. Between the information gleaned and the ceremonial wording and attitude of the alien liaison, Jaron concluded they would have to prove themselves worthy of war.

It seemed the aliens knew of the 'Mongers belief in death and it intrigued them enough to give them that chance. The massacre in the throne room had clinched it. Now they watched the battle carefully, waiting for any other cues that would keep conflict running at as high a level as they could afford.

Zemma had no input on this matter. She'd never researched aliens, never participated in a space battle, and while watching the poker game was teaching her a lot more than the few hands she had played herself, she was tired and didn't think she could garner any more information about Jack from it tonight.

But how to exit gracefully? She always kept her voice, words and actions professional, and distant, around W'Rdah, who so disapproved of her already. Jaron would only smile, knowing her as he did. And Jack? What action would least antagonize the child who clearly saw Zemma as an outsider in the private circle she shared with Riddick.

Who's jealous of whom? You're worrying too much again.

Zemma slid off her stool and walked towards the table. Riddick's eyes were on her immediately and she gave him a tired smile. She almost decided to just walk right by but Riddick tipped his head in a tiny 'come here' gesture and she found herself turning towards him.

"My lady, gentlemen, I'm tired." She told them as she laid a hand on Riddick's shoulder. "Goodnight." As she started to step away Riddick caught her hand and drew her down. She kissed him and felt the light butterflies she frequently felt when he kissed her. She hoped she wasn't blushing. As they drew apart Riddick's eyes slanted towards Jack. Zemma's followed as she stood to turn away.

Riddick was sending Jack a message.

'More things than you have changed.'

By the set of Jack's mouth, Zemma didn't think she liked that idea. Someone else had to deal with their memories of the past.