A/N: So I meant to post this last night, in keeping with tradition, but the stupid server was down. I was in Dublin all day today so I couldn't post until now. Better late than never, right? Here it is, the chapter you've all been waiting for, one day late, but plenty long. So enjoy!
PS. Just as clarification - I referred to Jack being about four years underage in the previous chapter, and then being about fourteen in this chapter. That's because I was going by the European drinking age, which is generally eighteen. So it's really not THAT farfetched that Jack could pull it off.
PPS. The two or three lines of song in this don't belong to me, they belong to Savage Garden, and they're from the song 'To the Moon and Back', which I thought was entirely fitting.
Now. On with the show!
Since they had returned to the house to practice fighting, Jack was able to properly dress up for their outing that night. She had carefully not brought up going out, worried that Riddick had regretted it in their mad morning rush before school. But after pronouncing her self-defense repertoire 'adequate', he had told her to go get ready to go to a club.
So here she was, stationed in front of her bathroom mirror, attempting to cover the cut on her nose with concealer. Pausing in the desperate attempt, she took a second to stare carefully at her reflection, turning back and forth in front of the mirror. She had put on make-up before of course, but this was the first time she'd applied it in at least a year. There was something about make-up that made one feel inherently beautiful.
She could hear the other shower running, and guessed that Riddick was cleaning up too. Must be a serious deal then – maybe she should wear the fake lashes?
With a groan, Jack gave up on hiding the scab and wiped the concealer off – she'd go for the 'dangerous' look tonight. Her outfit certainly supported the image. Black leather pants – fit like a second skin. Heeled boots assured that she would at least come to Riddick's shoulder. A shimmery top with no back – except for a few ultra-thin straps. She supposed it was a good thing that she had no breasts to speak of – it meant that she could wear shirts like this, ones that made a bra impossible.
Staring in the mirror like this made her realize that her hair was finally long enough to do something with. Gleefully, she dug out the tube of hair wax she been saving for this day. Reverently squeezing out a glob, she applied it carefully to her inch-long locks. After playing around with it for a while, she decided to leave her hair spiked up messily, and hooked in her insta-dryer to set the wax.
And then she spied her purple lipstick. Hmmmm… she thought.
Jack was putting the finishing touches on her lipstick, when Riddick pounded on her door. "Ready?" he called.
"Yeah, just a sec."
When she stepped into the hall, the appreciative look on Riddick's face would have made all her preparations worthwhile – had she seen it. As it was, Jack was too busy bestowing her own appreciate look on him.
He was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with sleeves that hooked over his thumbs. It had cut-outs on the shoulders, and it molded over his muscles. He looked good. Really good. His usual cargo pants were held up by a chain belt, and tucked into his boots. A long black duster was draped over his shoulder. The hall light glinted off his freshly shaved scalp and ever-present goggles.
She finally jerked her mind away from Riddick appreciation, to realize he was talking to her. "Sorry, what?"
"I said, you look nice."
Jack could feel heat rising in her cheeks. "Thanks. So do you."
For a minute they stood there, awkward. Then Riddick smiled and gestured for her to precede him down the hall. "We're going to a serious club tonight. You ready for this?"
She grinned back at him. "You bet your ass I am!"
As they sat together in the hov-cab, Riddick tried to keep his gaze straight ahead. It was awkward, sitting together, silent. But he needed to keep his mouth shut – couldn't tell what was going to come out of it.
When Jack had stepped out of her room, he hadn't recognized her. This was a woman, not a kid barely into her teens. He had only recently started thinking of her as even a member of the female species. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he wondered how he could have ever thought any differently. She was definitely female.
He would have to keep an eye on her tonight – guys at this club would be all over her. How had she even gotten these clothes? He couldn't imagine Imam buying her skin-tight leather pants, or spike-heeled boots. Hell, Imam probably didn't even know his young charge owned such garments. What the hell was she doing with them, then?
How old was Jack anyway? Thirteen, maybe fourteen? She was too young to be exposed to underground raves, too young to be out drinking, too young to be dressed like that, too young to be getting in knife fights.
But Jack wasn't young, not after The Planet. She had been one of three survivors out of forty. She had seen death before her eyes, people she knew and cared about. She had seen bodies and bloodshed, seen people driven mad – seen them commit suicide. She had seen her friends being eaten alive. Jack wasn't a child by a long shot.
Riddick suddenly had that irrational desire to protect this fragile young woman. The need to destroy anything that threatened her, the need to make sure she was always happy. He wanted to wipe the haunted look from her eyes, wanted to wrap her up in blankets and cradle her like a child – make her feel safe.
Shaking his head, Riddick jerked out of his trance. What the hell was that? He was freaking himself out. Am I turning into a parent? Is this how Imam thinks? He rubbed a hand over hisscalpabsently.Shit, I need a drink.
Jack leaned against the hov-cab window, face turned to the dark streets flashing past. But she didn't see them, not really. No, her entire attention was focused on her body, and the man seated next to her. Every place where their bodies touched - and due to the cramped interior of the vehicle, there were quite a few - seemed to feel extra hot, and Jack was sure that temperature matched the one in her cheeks.
She had never been so acutely conscious of herself, of her age, her inexperience. Going out to the bar yesterday had been fun, but it was just brushing the surface. They had just gone out for a drink after school and – well, whatever Riddick did during the day. This was a serious deal now – they had actually taken showers for this.
She didn't know what was going to happen, and that kind of scared her. Sure it had been a blast dancing last night, and even drinking a little, but she was new to this whole thing. She would be fine if she knew Riddick was there, but he shouldn't have to babysit her the whole night – he deserved time to relax too.
Jack sighed. She didn't know how to handle herself all alone in a room full of older men – well she knew one way to do it, but she wouldn't be able to fend off the attention it would bring. What if some guy tried to take her home? She was slight enough that he could just throw her over his shoulder and carry her off. At least Riddick had taught her some moves to escape that, but how well she could do them slightly inebriated in three-inch heels was anyone's guess.
What if someone puts something in my drink? What if i just get drunk? What if Ilose Riddick? What if hegets drunk? This quickly seemed like a less and less good idea. Maybe she should just have a bit to drink first, just enough to get happy, lose her inhibitions. Yeah, that's a good idea. When in doubt, have a drink.
When they pulled up at the club, the driver handed her out, and Riddick immediately put a proprietary arm around her. Jack normally would have put up token fuss, but she was unsure enough now that she let him. He guided her towards a long queue of people outside a plain building, from which the pounding bass beat of music was pumping.
She expected him to go to the end of the queue, but instead, he walked straight past it and towards the door, where a couple of bouncers were checking IDs. "Riddick," she hissed. "I don't have an ID!"
He smiled slightly. "I know."
They were getting close to the doors now. "I'm gonna get caught!" When he didn't stop, she desperately hissed, "Riddick!"
"Act cool." He muttered, as they walked up to the bouncers. They were big guys in stereotypical black t-shirts, and they were packing heat. Trying to look nonchalant, Jack threw back her head and smiled up at Riddick. Only he could see how tightly her jaw was clenched, and only he could feel her nails digging into his side. Quite hard, actually.
Watching the bouncers apprehensively out of the corner of her eye, Jack could imagine them standing menacingly over her and demanding ID. What excuse could she come up with? Um, I forgot it?
But when they noticed Riddick and Jack, both bouncers nodded, and stepped aside. Jack hid her surprise with a cool nod to the men, and then they were past.
A long flight of twisting stairs led immediately downwards, and as they descended, Jack abandoned her pretense of sophistication. "You know those guys?"
Riddick smiled mysteriously. "I know a lot of people."
She was silent for a moment as they moved further and further underground. "So you've done jobs for them."
He grinned down at her. "Sharp, kid. It was for their boss actually, but close enough."
Jack nodded. "Right."
Just then, the stairs leveled out, and they were in a small room with double doors at the other end. The music was loud enough down here that she could feel it thrumming against her chest. A chubby girl was leaning on a plain desk, and her eyes lit up when Riddick walked in – though they did dim slightly when the girl noticed Jack under his arm.
"Can I take your coats?" she asked brightly, smiling at Riddick.
He removed his arm from Jack's shoulder and shrugged out of his duster. Jack removed her jacket as well, folding it over Riddick's and handing it to the eager girl. Taking their claim ticket, Riddick led the way to the double doors.
He pulled both of them open easily, and Jack was hit with a blast of sound. Her first impression was of mass chaos – bodies jostling, music thumping, lights flashing. Tentatively, she stepped into the room. Riddick was right behind her, and one of his hands ghosted down her back to guide her through the crowd.
"You want a drink?" he yelled in her ear.
Breathing a sigh of relief she nodded. "Please!"
After leaving Jack in a relatively safe corner, Riddick shoved his way towards the bar. He needed to get a hold of himself. He hadn't known her shirt was backless – otherwise he never would have let her out of the house.
It wasn't that he was shocked by the amount of skin she was showing – he had known girls who would consider her outfit prudish – but he wished she had worn something else. It wasn't that she didn't look good – damn did she look good. That was the problem.
Jack might not have the mind of a kid – or the body, come to think of it – but in years, she was. And anyone going after her would still be a paedophile. That included Riddick. He wasn't attracted to Jack – not really. Sure she looked good – hella good – and sure she was exactly his type, but she was too young – she could be his little sister for pete's sake!
So he would keep his hands off, for now anyway. But that backless shirt was going to attract at lot of attention from single (and probably not so single) guys. He'd have to keep an eye on her. He felt bad – she deserved to let loose tonight, not be loomed over by big brother. But he wouldn't risk her getting hurt. So he'd stay close by, as discreetly as he could of course, but still near.
When he arrived at the bar, he had totally forgotten what he had intended to get for them. "I'll have a Bommer and a Frekkian Twist." He finally decided, and carefully made his way back to where he had stashed Jack.
But the only people in the corner were a smooching couple and a druggie with dreadlocks.
"Fuck!" he growled. He couldn't see her anywhere – strobe lights flashed everywhere, and the dark mass of bodies writhed only a few feet from him. She could literally be anywhere – the room was the size of a warehouse. "JACK!" he yelled, uselessly, because his voice was instantly swallowed in the screaming guitar of the song.
Suddenly, something thunked lightly off his head. It was a ball of paper, confused, he looked up. There was a thin catwalk stretching around the room, mostly where smokers and couples went. Jack was standing above him, waving down.
Muttering curses under his breath, he located the curling staircase, and clomped angrily up it. When he reached Jack, he stabbed her drink towards her chest. "You scared the shit out of me, you know that?"
She smiled, and took her drink. "Nice to know you care."
"Of course I care, you idiot! I nearly had a heart attack! I haven't even had a midlife crisis yet, and you're giving me heart attacks! Why the fuck are you up here?"
Jack smiled through his tirade, not looking the least bit remorseful. "That druggie down there kept asking me if I wanted to buy, and making lewd suggestions. I got a bit freaked out waiting for you by myself, soI came up here to get away from him while still being able to watch for you. I called out, but you must not have heard."
At the tale of the dread-locked druggie's exploits, Riddick's face hardened. "Well that was actually quite smart of you. I take back all my yelling. Sorry."
She grinned. "I think that's the first time you've ever apologized to me, Richard B. Riddick!"
He snorted and motioned for her to follow him down the stairs. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Momma never loved her much, and daddy never keeps in touch – that's why she shies away from human affection. And somewhere in a private place, she packs her bags for outer space – now she's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come..."
The lyrics twisted over the crowd of sweating bodies, while the bass pulsed out loud enough to ruffle clothes with each boom. Neon colored drinks waved high above heads, held by hands wearing glow-bracelets or striped with fluorescent paint.
Jack moved in time with the beat, reveling in the sway of her hips and the primal call of the dance. Yes, the drink had been a good idea – she felt much more at ease now. Closing her eyes she ran one hand down her body from her neck to her hip and sipped her drink.
She and Riddick had started out dancing near each other, but quickly became separated by the crush of bodies. Every now and again she would catch a glimpse of him through the crowd – he seemed to be quite popular. Last she had seen was a fucking queue of girls waiting to dance with him.
Just as she was about to start feeling jealous of his wealth of partners, someone grabbed her free hand. She opened her eyes to see a tall man with a fishnet shirt and tight black pants, smiling invitingly at her while he rocked his hips to the beat.
She grinned and moved towards him, and he obligingly wrapped an arm around her waist. Jack let her free hand rest on his muscled chest – he had a six-pack, but still couldn't hold a candle to Riddick. Even dancing up close to another sexy guy, she was thinking of him. For some reason that thought annoyed her, so she focused back on her partner.
He guided his leg between hers, so that as she shimmied to the music, she was grinding against his thigh. Jack giggled – hey, what ever rocked your ship – and scooted closer to him, rolling her body up on his side.
As she sipped her drink again, and felt someone else slide up behind her – and looked back to see a guy with eyeliner and a shirt that seemed to consist of mostly holes. As she shook her hips and shoulders between them, she felt someone's hand gliding across her stomach, and a few daring fingertips danced under and over the waistband of her pants. Jack curled the arm with her drink around the fishnet guy, and reached back behind her with her other to wrap around eyeliner dude's neck.
Feeling lightheaded and giddy, she threw back her head and laughed. The night was young, sexy men surrounded her, and she had a delicious drink. But the happy feeling disappeared when the daring fingers slipped fully under her waistband. That wasn't something she knew how to stop. Suddenly she felt young, clumsy, and scared. Where was Riddick? Trying to hide her panic, she looked nonchalantly around her, searching for the familiar figure.
And there he was, dancing a few couples to her right. He had a pair of blonde twins – one on each leg, and a red-haired chick in snakeskin against his back. Looked like he was having a good time.
She hadn't realized how much the sight of him relaxed her until he glanced in her direction. Their eyes met, and she grinned. His eyes seemed more interested in her than in any of his dancing partners – molten silver drank her in. He sent her a questioning look and she jerked her head towards the fishnet guy – who happened to me the owner of the daring fingers, which were now trying to worm their way from the side of her jeans to the back – a trip made difficult by the lack of extra fabric in her pants – and rolled her eyes.
Riddick seemed to be mutely asking if she wanted him to rescue her – funny how she could understand a slight tip of his head, a raised eyebrow, and narrowed eyes – but she shook her head. She wasn't scared anymore – Riddick had her back. He nodded and winked at her – a flash of silver in the strobe light.
Jack laughed again, and grabbed the wrist of the daring fingers. After giving her partners a smooch on the cheek and a saucy wink, she shimmied out from between them and back into the mass of jostling bodies.
Riddick sighed in frustration. He didn't know which was worse – leaving his goggles on, so that he could barely see in the dark club, or taking them off and being blinded by the bright lights flashing in his face. He finally settled for half-lidding his eyes and keeping his head tilted down.
This made it a bit hard to keep an eye on Jack, but after a while (and two-thirds of his drink) he got used to the strobe lights and lasers. And picked up something of a harem as well. Not that he minded of course, but it was hard to focus on when you had someone grinding up against you.
But nevertheless, he stayed near his young charge, changing partners when some exuberant girl wanted to head off into a corner or closer to the speakers. Soon, he began to grow tired of the women thrusting up against him, giggling, and passing him around like a slab of meat.
He watched Jack twining her body in the dancing light and began to wish he was dancing with her. Wish he was actuallydancing, not having sex with his clothes on – like these women seemed to be attempting to do. More and more often his gaze strayed to the girl with the thin shoulders and spiky hair.
She was beautiful, this young Kyra Fry, there was no denying that. Slender and exotic, she was flirting with her body, exploring her sensuality. She shimmied and swayed, pumped her fists in the air, then ran her fingertips over her body. She knew how to move, but didn't seem aware of it. Her figure spoke of dark magic and mysterious clues, her dancing from the Zultan's palace on Araby, or the Grande Batell on Engle.
Her movements carried hints of fights in dark allies, darting desperation and tense waiting. She looked wild and dangerous one moment, but then the light would flash and she would be all angelic purity. Literally like a virgin touched for the first time. She was excitement bottled, a slither in a box, poetry in motion.
Riddick had never had any interest in the Arts – well, any besides the fighting kind – but at this moment he wished that he could paint, or make a movie, or compose music to illustrate Jack's dancing. But he couldn't, so he tried to imprint the memory in his brain, never to be forgotten, simply to be taken out and looked at after the moment was past.
When he glanced at her again, she was looking at him, and she was moving awkwardly, uncomfortable. He raised his eyebrows, asking if she was all right, and she cut her eyes to her dancing partners – a couple of guys made bold by the way she moved. Riddick could feel his blood boiling. But she winked and motioned that she'd be all right, so he let it pass.
She was growing up, that was for sure. There was no way he could avoid it. Looking at her out there, swinging through the undulating crowd in her sexy clothes and her woman's eyes, he knew that he needed to let her go. Needed to stop clinging to the tomboy he had taken a shine to on a planet with three suns, and a month long night. Because she wasn't the girl he had known – somehow, while he hadn't been watching, she had turned into this saucy young woman. And she could take care of herself.
Suddenly, he felt lonely in this room full of people. Tugging his goggles down over his eyes, he separated from his partners, and cut through the crowd. He headed for the bar in an effort to stave off the conclusion his mind had been trying not to reach all night. Jack didn't need him anymore.
Jack danced her way through the crowd, lingering a bit at each cute guy she passed. She didn't know where she was going – she was just dancing. Every now and then, someone would grab her ass, or try to cop a feel of her chest. The latter always made her laugh – there wasn't anything there to feel! Short hair and wearing pants wasn't the only things that made people think she was a boy.
But no one here thought that tonight. No, she gathered the envious glances and lusty hints to her like mother gathering toys. She would remember this night when the fifth formers teased her, when the other girls sneered at her, when her classmates edged away. And she had Riddick to thank for this confidence boost. He had brought her here, showed her what it was to be wanted, opened her to all these people who thought she was beautiful.
As if conjured by her thought, a large hand enveloped hers, and she was pulled into a rock hard chest.
"Trying to run away?" Riddick asked, a grin playing on his face, and fluorescent colored drink in one hand.
Jack answered his smirk with one of her own. "From you? Never. You don't scare me."
A strange look darted across his face. "Really?"
Confused she shook her head. "Of course not. Why?"
He shook his head and sipped his drink, still moving unconsciously to the music.
Trying to break the solemn mood that had descended on her companion's bald head, she tugged the drink from his hand. "I want some, I'm parched!" But the first sip had her eyes watering and her nose scrunched up. "Fuck's sake, Riddick! How can you drink that?"
Taking back his drink, Riddick shrugged, then drained it in one gulp, sticking the empty glass into the hand of some unfortunate bystander.
Almost worried now, Jack reached up – thanks to her heels, she didn't have to stand on tip-toe – and pushed his goggles onto his forehead. Riddick's eyes had the strangest look in them, as if something horrible had happened and it hadn't quite sunk in yet. "What's wrong?" she asked, unconsciously clasping one of his hands to her chest.
He shrugged again, and pulled his goggles back into place with his free hand.
A tall man covered in swirly blue tattoos sashayed up to Jack and twined and arm around her waist while Riddick brooded. Smiling invitingly, the guy tugged her lightly towards him and bumped his hips against hers.
Unsure what to do, Jack glanced at Riddick. The convict was staring at the tattooed man, his face perfectly still, not a flicker of emotion seen through his goggles. But his free hand was clenched in a fist. Seeing her eyes on him, he relaxed his hand and nodded his head jerkily towards the man. "Go ahead, I'm not your keeper."
Feeling slightly hurt by that, she pulled away from Riddick, frowning. The tattooed man took that as acquiescence, and began leading her back into the fray of manic dancing. They were almost there when Jack dug in her heels, removed her hand from his grip, and trotted back to Riddick, who had been watching her departure stonily.
When he looked at her questioningly, she grinned up at him, and bumped her hip against his. "It's impolite to leave your partner, didn't you know that?"
He shoved his goggles up on his head and stared at her oddly.
With a frustrated sigh, she elaborated. "Look, I'd rather dance with you, okay? So when you've got a money card, run with it. Capiche?"
After another moment of silent staring, a smile broke out on Riddick's face, and he chuckled. Then in a moment of uncharacteristic affection, he picked her up and swung her around before setting her back on the ground.
Laughing giddily as she danced against him, Jack quipped, "I'll take that as a yes, then?"
Her only answer was a hip bump and a silver wink.
A/N: So. Reactions? You have them, yes? Tell me, my pretties! And your little dogs too.
Cheers to last chap's reviewers: Lover's Lament (glad you beat your laziness and dropped by - and don't be offended by the glasses and braces thing. I spent three years in braces and still wear contacts myself!), buecha, JaclynK (death to goons!), But He Hit Me First, Wildfire6962000, SpikeRiddick, shamrock920 (yes, that time of the month is going to be very...educational for our dear convict. We'll call it a 'crash course'. Heh heh heh.).
Thanks everyone, I heart you!