Author's Note: I do not own Riddick, more's the pity, however I do promise to return him. 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.

Near total darkness, something akin to absolute silence, flowed through Slam. The rare runnerlights flickered, sputtered fitfully. A subdued, sullen gang glowered at each other across the tables in the mess. Guards shifted at their posts, expressions of extreme boredom pulling at their grim faces behind their clear face shields.

Riddick cast a half full bowl onto the table before Spook, glancing around him, brows furrowed against the strong broad nose, casting his gunmetal eyes into pools of shadows. A casual flick of his wrist dropped his own bowl onto the table, and he settled onto the table and bench like a lion, his thick forearms on either side of the metal dish, broad shoulders hunched. Cold breath flared his nostrils, a stallion scenting a rival. Brooding eyes continued their wandering, occasionally settling for brief moments on the near-serene face across from him, a face that held traces of wild anticipation in the haunted lines.

For her part, she watched him. That omnipresent ghost of a smile hovered around her soft mouth, and the soft quicksilver eyes watched his closed, clouded face. An arm reached out. Her warm gentle fingers seared his skin at the soft caress on his own fingers. With effort, he turned his silvered eyes to hers. Her full lips formed words that voice did not.

Do you trust me?

He blinked. His tongue darted to moisten his lips. The heavy brows flickered, the slightest barely noticeable twitch towards his stubble pelted scalp, then again took their roost, hanging ominously over his eyes.

"Why?"

He put no volume into the rumble, letting her feel the words, like a tide of thunder, an avalance in a gravel pit.

"Talking would be easier here," her fingertips rose, brushed softly across his stubble-strewn temple, fell back to his hand where his fingers lightly took hers. "I can watch it like ripples on the surface of a pond, never delving deeper." A tilt of her head and she met his eyes again. A strange light shone behind her shine, a light that nagged at Riddick, gnawed at the back of his head, begging to be realized.

Trust me.

That was what those open, frank, glowing eyes said. That was what the wordless plea was for.

It was a similar feeling to a foot in an open wound. Painful, yet at the same time numbing. Chilling to the core.

And he didn't know how to respond.

After all, wasn't she just a tool, a means to an end? That was why he had been grooming her, encouraging, enhancing, cultivating her trust in him. He scowled, retreating from that earnest gaze.

I trust her to stay out of my mind. I trust her to not ghost me. But this... This is new. There was an odd feeling, a strangeness, in his chest. If I don't make a show of trust to her, I could be dead or worse; She could rat me, or ex me out like she did that bastard in the hall, or just vanish into slam leaving me right back where I was before I stumbled onto her in the first place.

I've always thought that something else had a hand in that... The way our paths kept crossing. That for some reason, that little rabbit got my attention, my curiosity.

But the question here is trust.

How far do I trust her? I can't control her through fear. It's probably good she doesn't really fear me anymore. I'd be just like that poor ghost, laying out in the bowels of slam until a guard hauled my dead ass off to Disposal. She does what I want of her without fear. All I've ever had to do was ask. She's always respected what I've asked of her in regards to my own space. Would this be any different?

"Spook, come sit next to me."

His glinting eyes closed, feeling her settle next to him on the bench, the way the heat radiated off her at the closeness of her body.

Eyes gleaming with surgical shine resumed their cursory scanning of the room, glowering down the few faces that had turned to watch the pair with muted curiosity.

That look, so full of darkness, sent their attention quickly to other things, their curiosity quelling in the face of murderous calm.

Everything. Everything depends on a display of trust. "Tell me how it works."

She kept her voice low, to where even he had to work to hear her, but she spoke in a steady stream, without any hesitation.

"The easiest is if I just keep, well, I guess you could compare it to a finger on the pulse. Like that, only on your mind. I've found that I'm drawn to what I have to call shouted thoughts, for lack of a better term. Those are the ones that the thinker is concentrating strongly on, focusing on the importance of them.

"You don't have them often, if at all. At lest, I've never noticed them coming from you, so it should be an easy way to do this

"Whenever you want me to hear it, you just shout it in your mind. Does that make sense? If you do that, and I have that 'finger on the pulse' going, then there's no way I can miss it, but I'll not see anything else."

Riddick was nodding slowly throughout the explanation, but now he paused. "There's something else."

"Well, yes. Talking inside the head will always color whatever is said with the emotional state of the speaker. I don't know any way around that." There was a tinge of fear around her, coloring her scent. It was a welcomed thing to the huge man; it was like an old companion, and it set him at ease. That scent was what he was used to in people. Fear was his dearest friend. Fear also was one of the best truth serums he knew.

He bent his head closer to her, letting the scent wash over him. It brought a clarity to his mind.

I've got a great opportunity here. My own Psi to get me out of here.

Be damned if I'm going to let this opportunity go.

His breath licked her ear. One heavy hand settled onto the small of her back, just to the left of her spine. He felt her breathing quicken, scented the rise of her pulse. His other hand slipped beneath her chin, turning her face with an amazingly gentle pressure.

She couldn't help but widen her eyes at the closeness of his face, and the way his very essence seemed to wrap around her. He loomed, closed around her, pressed so close without ever touching except for the harsh hand at her back, the snarling, calloused caress on her jaw.

He was some sort of nightmare closing in around her, all terrifying power, liquid strength, poured into a near-human mold. Or a storm, brooding, building, deepening, crackling beneath the caramel skin, skin that glowed, radiated with power and light, shimmering before the shine.

His fingers lightly stroked her cheek, a study in contrasts; harsh fingertips against smooth jaw; his cool flesh against her warming skin. Her scent sharpened, echoing around him, through him. He met her eyes, silver boring into silver.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing quick, her eyes wide.

The stone-etched face of Riddick moved a little nearer, almost touching hers. With a soft sigh he closed his eyes, drawing her scent deeply, his outward breath tickling her cheek, sending the loose strands of her hair fluttering like her heartbeat. A rumble shook his frame, something akin to a purr filling the tightness around her. Shivers wracked her small frame, shuddering through her into his hands.

Her only fear is instinctive. It's the fear of a female confronted by what is perceived as a stronger creature, a more dominant male.

And then it hit him.

She doesn't realize that she can kill me. She still sees me as the one to turn to for protection. Not a clue why, but she still sees me as the stronger one.

This could work nicely.

And he nodded, letting his cheek barely graze against hers.

Rasping voice whispered, hoarse, in her ear.

"I trust you, rabbit."