It wasn't exactly something you could call a routine that they settled into. As important as the GR project was, it was classified, and civic life did not revolve around her bedroom. Riddick didn't attempt to contact her outside of their weekly liaisons, and since he knew when appointments were set, she assumed they'd give him some internal com access along with a citizen net ided. She couldn't imagine they were blocking his requests. But it was strange, to her at least, that he didn't initiate conversation. He'd indulge her post-coital desires to be close to him, even stay till first sun-up. It was still so strange to have someone in her bed at all, she didn't sleep well. But he didn't talk.

That was hard. It wasn't that she had much to say, neither had romantic delusions, or a need to discuss their day, but Dr. Othnhaus had an annoying way of wording notes, or making comments at briefings, like she was somehow supposed to address concerns when the 'subject' refused to cooperate - or just laughed in his face. He's not your personal lab monkey, doc, Kij had grumbled under her breath at one point, though everyone in the room had heard it.

Lt. Gen. Huston had become a military liaison of sorts, part tour guide, part recruiter. Showed him the military complex, let him watch training exercises. And probably gave him sharp things to play with, Nicola thought ruefully. Being a medical guinea pig couldn't be fun, even if he were banking sizable credit. Boring, somewhat insulting, she imagined, based on his temperament. "Beats the slam." he'd told her when she'd inquired briefly one evening in the second month. " Not by much, but I got nowhere else to be."

She did wonder about that, on nights when her thoughts drifted before bed. What did he do to occupy his time? He had officer clearance for things like the training gyms and station entertainment, he could more or less come and go throughout the city day or night. Having been privy to the negotiations and recon meetings with the merc team sent to find him, she knew he was extremely good at sensing trouble, and disappearing his own trail.

The clearance on his whereabouts was classified, the public didn't know he was here. Since he'd had to constantly watch over his shoulder most of his adult life, she couldn't imagine how he handled the restless need to keep moving. Even if he was as safe as he was likely to be.

He'd refused to speak to the psychiatrists, muttering something about checking the body count after his last psychological evaluation. After accessing his prison files, that line of inquiry was dropped like hot lead. Still, it was hard for someone like Nicola to fathom how he processed things, or decided what to do with his life. She was an adept negotiator, an arbiter, and was used to wants and needs being presented - often quite loudly and in detail - to give her a sense of expectations and goals. How else do you measure success? How did you move forward as a person? Riddick was an enigma. It was hard to make small talk with an enigma.

Especially in bed. Honey, I have a meeting next week, do you mind if we move our weekly date back a day? It sounded too clinical. Should she add that it was offworld negotiations with the Aquilians regarding their joint scouting mission and space lane treaties for Furya? Would he care? He still used 'politician' as a dirty name for her in the bedroom. She couldn't find a suitable insult to throw back, calling him a convict seemed gauche, merc - likely to get her gutted, Lord Marshall... far too soon. She'd privately settled on 'predator,' but it was not something she thought he'd react to.

But he was, very much like a big cat. Speed, grace, silence, and always stalking, forever plotting, that alien glint to his eyes that was beautiful and somewhat inhuman. Even as she gazed at him sleeping next to her now... was he sleeping? It was more an alert rest. Enough time in the military had taught her not to startle a sleeping comrade - especially one who'd seen active combat. Post-tramatic stress and flashbacks. And Riddick? She'd sooner poke a rabid Thelriss sand devil. Less likely to lose a finger.

Of course, make something forbidden, and it suddenly becomes fascinating. Nicola pursed her lips, considering. His back was to her, just out of arm's length. Gods knew she tended to move away from him in slumber, it was like sleeping next to a furnace. She knew it was very hard to sneak up on a cat, even if it was one that appeared to be at rest. As long as she made a bit of noise, just scooted a little closer...

He didn't react. That she could see. She knew better. This was not a cat. This was Riddick. But dammit, he was in her bed. Yes... he was in her bed. And that started a whole new line of thought.

He always initiated. She hadn't considered it before. Though still unsettling at times, she enjoyed his attentions, as much as she would any other partner. And using that word... partner, keeping a very tight leash on that relationship- business partner, sports partner, dance partner. But that didn't mean he always had to take the lead.

Nicola studied his back a moment, fingers sliding along the sheets, warming chill fingers. She hadn't more than caught glimpses of it in passing. He didn't wear shirts to bed, well...anything post coitus. But she was usually facing him for most of the night. He was laying on his left side, breathing evenly, only a hint of movement visible. Old scars crossed his skin, most no more than slightly paler discolorations that shifted light away from that gloriously defined muscle structure. And her own minor nail marks - already barely discernible - as his accelerated healing made quick work of the superficial wounds. Microvascular regeneration in subject appears to be hyper accelerated with nuclear transcriptional activators responding in homologue response with protein Nex2- unique to subject's blood. The scientific notes were growing more convoluted. Dr. Othnhaus had flagged this for her to read, only in excitement of isolating this new anomaly and requesting authority to break a subset team off to study what could prove to be a medical breakthrough in internal regeneration. Quicker healing. That in itself could offset the outlay this project was costing. She wondered if they told Riddick these things. She wondered if he'd care.

She finally reached out the curled fingers of her right hand to trace the red trails her nails had made a few hours previous, admiring the contrast of his tawny skin to her pale flesh. She was wary though, ready to snatch her hand back if he turned on her. When he didn't react, she spread her palm out, sliding her thumb along his spine, pausing midway, surprised to feel his heartbeat so easily under her fingertips.

It was fascinating really, to see the contoured definition of the muscle groups, the trapeziums, deltoids, she couldn't remember much else for names. It was elegant though, and surprisingly stimulating. Like fingering a carved statue, a very warm, pulsing marble.

He inhaled deeply then, moving his shoulders, but didn't move to shake her off. That stirring sent a erotic jolt through her system and her she moved closer, suddenly wanting to taste that smooth golden skin. Salt on her tongue as she licked him from midspine to neck. He grunted and she pressed her breasts against him, breathing "Shh, let me," in his ear. The tips of her nails made erratic curving patterns over his lower back and circled up, as she used tongue and teeth from the base of his neck over each shoulder. She raised her left hand to his head, running fingers against the grain of his shaved skull.

"Fucking tickles" he grunted, shoving his back against her nails."Use more pressure." Mildly insulted, she bit down where she'd been kissing behind his ear and smacked him with the back of her knuckles. Then she complied, putting muscle behind the claws, and the throaty rumble of pleasure made her forget the slight.

She rubbed a cheek against the stubble on his head, enjoying the rough texture. Then she pressed her chest against him again, moving her left arm over his shoulder and chest, running nails lightly across his pectorals. He moved his head toward her arm, scraping sandpapery cheeks along her skin, planting a kiss on her forearm appreciatively. Encouraged, she circled her right hand under his arm, scoring four parallel lines across his stomach. The sharp catch in his breath thrilled her. Predator mine, she thought smugly, sliding her hand down further.

Oh, that was tangible proof of her victory, brushing her palm. Hot and hard and pulsing, she was rewarded with another reverberating rumble as her fingers circled his phallus. She kept her stroking gentle, teasing, resting her chin on his shoulder to watch his face in profile. His eyes were closed, and she admired the flickering of his dark lashes, the slight movements at the corner of open lips. She moved her thumb to the base of his member, and extended her pinkie and ring fingers to brush his balls.

He groaned, hand closing over hers but she snatched it away, nipping his earlobe. His eyes shot open, flicking right, and she slapped his side, "No helping!" she chided.

She brought her fingers to her mouth, and licked her palm, still watching his face as she gripped him again. The lubrication helped, but the awkward angle made her wrist begin to complain after a minute. She moved to shift her body lower, but he took her wrist gently, bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss. "Hate to discourage you, honey, but having jetted twice tonight is gonna make that a tough endeavor."

He rolled on his back, pulling her forward onto his chest. This is my game, she thought fiercely, glowering at him. You don't call the shots, I do. She swung her leg over his chest, straddling him, intent on staying in power. He eyed her for a moment, expression caught somewhere between admiration and surprise. The lust sheening through his silver irises was plain, and it made her grin wickedly. She drove all ten fingernails into his chest and slid back slowly, flexing her glutes to rise over his pressing member. She mounted him then, but drove down slowly, savoring it, tossing back her hair and gazing down at him haughtily. Hands slid up her legs, resting on her hips, stroking softly. She stretched her fingers out slowly as she leaned forward, holding his metallic gaze... oh it was liquid now, burning, as her body moved over him. She let her hair fall forward, veiling her face, brushing his skin languidly. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, and she whipped her head back, seizing his wrists and shoving his arms back over his head. That got a snarl, but she hissed back, fingernails caressing his palms and wrists. She pressed breasts to his mouth, peace offering. He caught a nipple with his lips, adding teeth that made her gasp and arc her back. She offered him the other as she quickened her rhythm. Growing need, she straightened her back, lifting off him for more friction, hot and wanting bad to peak. She pressed her hands to his chest again, seeking more leverage as her thighs began to burn. Nails came down, gripping, as the ache inside finally made her moan aloud. Almost there, almost there.... bucking wildly, teeth clenched, reaching... but strange sensation in her left hand. Burning cold, a thousand electric pin-pricks across her nerves. Her eyes flew open, body already spasming on its own, Riddick's face contorted, back arched as he came with her... A frozen second as her brain registered a strange hand print shimmering blue beneath her own, and then a ferocious blast of emotion: fury, rapture, pain, euphoria...none of it her own, overwhelmed her senses and everything went black.

________________________________________

Shrill beeping woke Nicola finally. The com schedule alarm grew increasingly loud if she failed to silence it by responding. A failsafe she seldom required, so it shocked her that the noise was suddenly so blaring. "Acknowledged!"

Sitting up produced that dull soreness she was beginning to associate with nights with Riddick. Her thoughts were cottony, disoriented, and something in her mouth tasted strange. Nothing she could pinpoint, just as if she'd been breathing different air, walked into an air conditioned building after being in a sweltering desert summer storm. She stared at the clock, 9:35 - shit. She was supposed to have woken two hours ago, she had to be to a briefing in less than half an hour. Her body protested as she moved quickly to dress. This was to be the last planning session before the delegation left for Aquila Major this evening. Stupid final party planning for the returning ambassadors they would host if negotiations concluded on time. Talks on their planet, signing and publicity on Helion. Gods knew who negotiated that part of the plans.

Aquilians were big on pomp and circumstance however, so preparations for the gala were important. Nicola had gone the extra step to enlist a well-known Aquilian designer,Che-Terrah, to craft the dress she was to wear to the event. Well, it was really that cosmetologist, who had somehow insinuated herself with the Prime Minister, suggesting that her own personal flair may help boost public relations numbers if she were allowed a managerial role in public appearance management. Kofie, fan of the game, had allowed her far too much rein in this arena. But until the woman misstepped, there was nothing Nicola could do.

Still, she hoped she had time to check in with the Offworld Intelligence Bureau Chief. Rumors of rogue pirate attacks along the space lanes between the Proxima and Kaz-Kaiya systems. Those lanes intersected the proposed Furya route, and placement of joint outposts should be considered if extended colonization plans were being considered. It wasn't vital, but forward thinking. Who knew how much the Aquilians were willing to invest this early. But as OIB Chief Carringworth had bothered to mention the rumors at all, it meant something. Perhaps her Aquilian counterpart would be willing to share some intel over dinners. She hadn't met the man in person before, and for all com-conferencing made interstellar communication easy, there was still much to be said for human interaction itself.

---------------------------------

Elated and riding a victory high only strengthened by Champag-hol toasting, Nicola opened the apartment door and kicked off the hated high heels. She'd managed to close the deal on two vital parts of the beta-inter-star league, secured rights for uncontested defensive moon base construction and tonight a verbal pledge from the Aquilian prime minister to help co-fund the initial xeno-anthropology missions for Furya! Everything coming up rowzes! She should tell Riddick the good news!

She went to the door separating their rooms and stopped. He wasn't expecting her. It was late, almost 25:30. Their 'night' as it was, had been postponed till tomorrow. She'd been gone 9 days. She knew he'd been invited to attend the gala, but no one expected he'd attend. For all she knew he was off-world himself, he wasn't required to check in for tests for two more days. She chewed her thumb thoughtfully, then unlocked the door and knocked. Silence. Bouncing on the soles of her feet she waited, counting to ten slowly. Nothing. Oh well. Perhaps tomorrow.

At least now she could get out of this constricting dress. Aquilian high fashion apparently appreciated style over comfort, the corseted top tied both at the neck and the waist, with the skirt a mess of shark-tooth trailing ruffles mimicked an inverted flower. Very pretty, if you didn't have to move or sit in it. And Che-Terrah's brilliant idea had been to hand-dye it to match the color of Helion's South Oceans, representing the unity of the two planets. Well that was fine, if you looked good in aqua-green. But Nicola was far too pale, and her hair, brown though it was, too light. But one didn't argue with an inter-stellar designer. Not after dropping six credit figures on a dress.

Nicola reached behind her to loosen the lacing on the bottom, but the elaborate bow the designer had used when dressing her snarled into a knot. She sighed, reaching for the top tie, carefully feeling out the strands so as not to make the same mistake again. She did not want to have to summon the overtaxed Capitol guard on duty to help her untangle herself from a dress.

"Need some help?" The voice made her jump. She turned, Riddick was leaning in the doorway. He was wearing black cargo pants and a matching tank top, goggles on his forehead, like he'd just walked in from outside. She smiled wryly, turning to indicate her back.

"I suppose. I've managed to knot the bottom of the tie, if you could just loosen the ..." All she felt was the air move and a snap of laces. The top of the dress fell forward on her chest.

"Riddick!" she shrieked, whirling to slap him. "This fucking dress is worth more than your bounty in three systems!" He shrugged, utterly unfazed. "Can't you ever come in here and not ruin my fucking clothes?!" She shoved him, he didn't move.

"Told you before, green ain't your color." He crossed his arms and surveyed her. Her baneful glare caught the glint of metal in his hand.

"And WHAT did I say about bringing blades in my room?!" She grabbed for the shiv, which he handed over easily, smirking.

"I didn't bring it in here. It's from your desk." Her mouth opened and closed on the reply, since it was true. It was the antique letter opener that was part of the desk set. But someone had apparently sharpened it to a lethal edge.

"Dammit!" She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, slicing it clean down the front with the blade. "How do you like it?" He just looked at her, which only pissed her off more. She flipped the knife in her hand, holding it like a shiv and brought her arm to his neck. "Just what the fuck do I have to do to make you take me seriously?" she spat through clenched teeth.

"Take the blade off my neck for one" He hadn't really moved. "And get out of that stupid dress." Nicola narrowed her eyes.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll solve both those problems in about two seconds. And I doubt you're gonna like how it turns out." There was no humor in his tone. She lowered her arm, dropping her gaze to the blade. "You do get points for holding it right though."

"Lucky me," she muttered , turning her back on him and walking back to her closet. She unsnapped the closure on the dress's skirt, stepped out of it and threw the taffeta mess into her closet. She grabbed her robe and walked to her dresser to remove her jewelry. She dropped the knife next to her necklace, staring at it a moment. "Not my style, you know, blades and balls."

"You seem to handle balls just fine." Nicola snorted.

"Don't know which you're talking about, but I resent the implications either way," her tone was sarcastic as she unpinned her hair. "You really have no concept of my world, do you?" She turned to look at him, still standing in the same spot she'd left him.

"Not understanding and not giving a shit are too different things, sister." She laughed humorlessly, picking up a brush.

"And yet, my world, tonight, has you one step closer to your home." He shrugged, watching her brush her hair like it was interesting. She set the brush down, trying to read his lack of reaction. "Furya. I got them to agree to fund the scouting mission. Soon. Do you even care?"

"Never been there."

"Don't you want to go? I thought that was why you were here."

He shrugged again. She wondered if there was something he wasn't saying, or if there was nothing he could say. His lack of reaction was exasperating. She was not going to engage in some preposterous romantic fantasy that he was there for her. Yet the fact that the thought even occurred to her made her check her emotional boundaries. She looked at her feet, trying to compose herself. She shook it off.

"Fine, congratulations are apparently too much to expect. " She sighed, stepping past him to the bed. "Excitement is out of the question. Whoop de do, I make a promise and I keep it, guess it doesn't matter." The hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"It matters. But don't look for cheerleading from me. I've seen too much shit happen too many times to trust anything, or anyone."

"Well that's fucking depressing. Not much to look forward to."

"Surviving day to day in the big black ain't a game. Gotta deal in the right now. Keeps you alive longer."

"Well right now, I'm going to bed, since you rather thoroughly killed my buzz."

"I could probably fix that."

"What would you do if I said no?"

"You won't, you know what's good for you."