Author's Note: I do not own Riddick, more's the pity. I did not create Slam, merely this interpretation of it. I did not have any hand in the creation of Pitch Black. I did however create Spook, and the other characters not seen in Pitch Black.

Was the world supposed to spin like that? She couldn't remember ever feeling it before, but all her recent memories featured the strange spinning, as well as the unbearable pain.

Had it always been there, with the spinning? The pain that seared through everything? Sure, the first time she'd been knifed hurt worse, but this pain… The pain was a throbbing ache, like someone was slowly, intently gauging her eyes out. The pain blocked all that came before its forceful presence.

She heard a soft mewling, something small terrified and hurt. It echoed dully through her ears. A sound that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. A soft sound. A quiet, pitiful sound, it's wretched tones speaking volumes. A pathetic sound, like a wounded kitten. The sound kept coming, and it seemed to get louder as the world spun faster and smote her again and again, sending sparks through her aching skull.

It was her.

The realization took a moment to fully dig its way into her poor brain, smarting with the ache of the burning in the front of her skull.

It just made her whimper and sob louder.

Then arms, strong and sure, hard but yielding, closed around her. They drew her to a broad, firm chest. She felt breath stirring her hair, and one powerful hand flexed against her back. The chest thrummed with that low growl, with that foreign note.

She buried her face against him, her shoulders shaking.

"I know. Hurts. Today's the worst. It'll be better tomorrow. Should be healed up in about four weeks. Then you'll be able to see again." She only whimpered. The arms tightened about her in a strange motion of tenderness. "Lemmie know if you think you're gunna throw up. That's not a good sign. If you're getting nauseous then Doc fucked up. You get nauseous, you tell me, he dies." He felt her attempt to nod, her cheek shifting against his chest. "Good girl, Spook. Try to rest." He hesitantly rested a hand on her head, shifted his arm around her a little.

She slept, at least for a little while.

And when she woke, Riddick was there, with a soft touch from his heavy hand to soothe her. Time was even less recognizable to her as she faded in and out of sleep. She had no idea if she slept for hours, or even the night. She would slowly come awake, and immediately feel his idle touch, like a man with a favorite dog.

Often she could smell the peculiar dust of the books, hear the sound of pages turning. His hand then would be very idle, just resting on her hair. He would simply keep reading, keep turning the pages in a steady rhythm. There was even a time when she woke up to feel him against her back, his arm heavy over her ribs, his breath stirring her hair in a slow tempo, the hard muscled chest rising and falling with the sluggish pace.

He was asleep. The Big Bad was wrapped around her, asleep. And she knew that if she moved he'd wake up. And if she stayed still, it would wake him up because it was unnatural. She shifted her shoulders a little, and the breath paused in the intake, the heavy arm flexing, tightening. She felt him sit up, then reach for something, then pages again turning as she drifted back to sleep.

Next she woke to find him seated beside her, a dish in his hands that he carefully pressed into hers. The metal was gently warm.

"Snagged me an errand boy. He brought the food. I never left your side. Now eat, Spook." She heard the popping of joints. Either his shoulders or his neck, she guessed, from the way he shifted. She could feel his eyes boring into her, waiting for her to obey. She carefully scooped a little of the contents onto her fingertips. "It's safe," the voice growled out at her hesitation. "I made the boy eat."

Thick and mealy, tasteless, but her body eagerly swallowed it. She needed it, she realized. It still took her a long time to eat. Each mouthful was quite deliberate, slowly lifted from the bowl to her mouth, small amounts of the thick gruel.

The bowl empty, she leaned back, curled up at the huge mans side. She could hear the pages turning, then they stopped. The bowl shuddered as Riddick's hand closed on it, his body shifting, preceding the soft clink of metal on cement as he set the bowl on the floor. He straightened, and the page turning continued.

"Read to me? I miss my books."

She felt the surprise through his leg where it touched her shoulder. He must have been staring at her. He grew very still, and she listened to his breath coming slow and even. In her mind she could see the expression, the steady stare of the silver eyes, the lowered brows while he tried to decide if she was mocking him in some way. The way his lips would be pursed, a tight frown.

Finally he shifted, coughed. Pages turned. "Something new ok? Was going to save it for a present once you were better." She nodded, shifting so that her cheek rested on his thigh, his arm on her shoulder. He lifted his arms for a moment, letting his thick fingers feel the fine texture of her dark hair, twisting a lock of it between his fingers for a long moment. With a sigh, his arm went back over her shoulder, and his husky voice began.

"O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam
Survey our empire, and behold our home..."

The voice prowled over her, and she sighed, listening intently to every word. A few times she drifted off, between the soft caress of that voice and the idle stroking of his hand on her hair, but she woke up again, slowly resurfacing to the stalking tones of the deep gravel pit voice, the lazy tones of rock shifting to fall.

He had felt her drifting in and out of sleep for a while. Each time he'd slow in his reading, amazed at how anyone, especially a girl like her, could sleep in his presence. She was scared of everyone, and rightly so, but somehow she'd decided that he was the one to trust. He figured it was good for him, but still couldn't understand it.

And he couldn't shake the feeling that as soon as he managed to get that collar off all his carefully laid plans would come crashing down around his ears.

But he quickly banished that from his mind as she stirred again, waking quietly. He continued with the reading, feeling her shift against him.

Then came five words that were the last thing he ever expected to hear from anyone.

"I'm glad you're with me."