14. Behind the Big Blind

Zemma sipped the lukewarm tea left at her bedside, and peered at the scrap of paper left on Riddick's pillow for her. She quietly cursed how truly clever the man was, to have somehow learned a language, her native tongue, in five months time.

Except, she had never learned to read or write it. She could read and type Standard just fine. She'd had little reason to print much by hand. And no opportunity to read Furyan at all. She glared at the scrap; torn from some printout, and wondered where he'd even found a pen.

There's been no paper, no pens, and no books on the breeder ship. Her father had forbidden anything too obviously Furyan in their suite. Everything she'd learned of Fury from him had been spoken… until he seemed to give up talking altogether.

Her mother had taught her to speak both Furyan and Standard. Later, her father had taught her to read and print her letters. Typing of course came almost naturally with practice, no set lessons but lots of time.

Staring at the note, Zemma realized she couldn't be sure she was even holding it right side up. She groaned in frustration, and pounded her head into the wall behind her.

Was it a love note? She snorted. Okay, a command? Why not just wake her up and tell her anything important? Was it a reminder of something? She was so flustered by the very existence of the message that she couldn't recall anything pertinent.

Damn it.

So fucking clever. Thought he'd amuse himself, and tease her with a little demonstration of what he claimed he really didn't know -and just how long had he not really know it, anyway? That's all it could be, some teasing comment that would make her grind her teeth and have him laughing at her.

Something like 'I win,' or 'keep poised.'

She spelled out those words on her fingers. Without any other tool, her mother had taught her fingerspelling. She'd told Zemma she couldn't know the language properly if she couldn't spell the words. They'd sometimes traced letters on the wall, but using their hands had been easy and fun for little Zemma, more like a game than actual learning.

Math she had learned to do in her head, until her father had rescued her and began her education anew on a computer.

Nevertheless, her mother had done well by her, early on. Teaching her daughter had been an excellent distraction for them both. To Zemma, the secret language she shared with her mother, which could be spoken across a noisy room without notice, was a delightful game.

Later, it was all but forgotten, as she had access to so much more.

All, but… not forgotten. Zemma ran the alphabet through with one hand, then the other. She counted the letters on the note, and tried to remember the ones she'd traced with her mother's help on anything: ash on the floor, water spilled on the table.

It wasn't enough. Her brilliant and beloved mother, a noted child psychologist before Zemma was born, before the 'Mongers came, had not been able to teach her daughter to read and write in her own language. Her father had been unwilling to.

Jaron must have given Riddick a reader. Zemma thought maybe if she could find where he'd hidden it…

But she wasn't to have that much time. The door opened, admitting a be-goggled Riddick.

"Lights, dim."

Zemma quickly covered her annoyance with a happy smile. Not quickly enough, as Riddick did a double take.

"You're still in bed?"

Zemma slid further down under the covers and stretched languidly. "Mmm hmm," she answered contentedly.

"Well, at least that means you didn't use up all the hot water." He stripped off his shirt and pulled off his boots, watching her without seeming to.

"There's a water shower in this cabin?" Zemma sat up; elated with the news, and hoping the subject of the note could be avoided, as she slipped it surreptitiously under the covers.

Riddick's brows came together a fraction, as he stopped unbuckling his pants to look more pointedly at Zemma.

Hyper-fucking-sensitive, AND too fucking smart.

She smiled lasciviously at him. "Oh! Don't stop," she teased.

Riddick's face barely changed, though none of his expressions were really pronounced, except anger and amusement. This one was slightly predatory, slightly smug, and entirely artificial, for her benefit.

She'd overplayed her hand and he was looking for the bluff with one of his own.

"Didn't you get my note?" He asked innocently, as he crossed the room to her. Of course, he could see it was not where he'd left it.

Zemma felt like she was 'behind the big blind': she had a large, forced bet on the table and no choice but to play the cards dealt her. She simply did not want to fold, and admit to him that she couldn't read or write her own language.

He stung your pride with that comment that you're no more Furyan than he is… And now he's just a little bit more.

Zemma sat up, letting the covers drop into her lap, as she reached for his beltline.

Riddick took her wrist in one hand, and as he straddled her legs with his own, took her face in his other hand. He kissed her lips, and asked innocently, "Didn't you read my note?" He was waiting for the game to resume, perhaps so he could say, 'That's Furyan? But I don't know Furyan.' He'd wanted to tease her this morning. He couldn't know why she was avoiding it, just that she was.

"Note?" Zemma asked.

Riddick laid her back against the pillows, reaching for her exposed breast and kissing her jaw line.

"Mmm hmm."

His other hand reached under the covers and unerringly retrieved the crumpled paper.

"This note."

He held it between his second and third fingers, in the space between their faces, a small grin of satisfaction on his lips.

Zemma snatched it, showing real speed, crumpled it in her palm and moved to throw it away. But while she had trained up from merely quick to actually fast, her movements would have seemed a blur to an outside observer, Riddick was still faster. He caught it midair, and sat up.

Zemma tried one last time to distract him. She ran her fingernails across his abdomen, enjoying the feel of his muscles tightening under her touch.

"Funny," he mused. Outwardly he was ignoring her, but as he was straddling her, she knew she had at least some of his attention elsewhere.

"I would've bet," he went on, pretending not to notice her hand as it traced down his body to…

"You would've flown to that shower, without your feet touching the deck… If, you'd read my note." He tipped his head a little to the side, in that maddening 'I can see right through you' posture he took sometimes when he was trying very hard to taunt her.

Zemma didn't look him in the eye. Only shrugged a shoulder and reached for his naked chest with her other hand.

Pride, Zem, just let it go and tell him.

I'll never hear the end of it.

Stupid, useless pride.

"For a woman who spent her whole life in space, you use more hot water than any two women I've ever known." He was drawing out the game; confident he'd get an answer to this little riddle, and in no hurry.

Zemma glanced up at him innocently. "What was that? My mind was somewhere else…" Her hands left no doubt where.

Riddick laughed from diaphragm to ceiling; that laugh she loved. A genuine smile, real pleasure, suffused her features as she looked up at him.

Oh, Stars! I love him so much it hurts!

Fuck pride.

Looking down, watching her reactions closely to gage how far the game could go, Riddick must have seen something that startled him. Smug and amused was replaced by a poker face, that expression Zemma had never learned to read accurately.

Zemma stopped her ministrations, sitting up a little, her fingers lightly grazing his chest.

"Riddick," she started seriously. "I…"

He interrupted her with a kiss, one hand suddenly at the back of head, pulling her closer. The other hand against her cheek, the note dropped somewhere in between. Zemma let herself melt into him. When they broke away, Riddick was staring intently into her eyes, trying to read what was going on behind them.

He thought you were going to say something else…

Something a little more frightening than just you giving up a little pride.

Zemma put both hands to either side of his face, staring back just as intently. THAT wasn't what she needed to say. She didn't think THAT needed to be said. THAT would only hurt more than her pride if it was met with the same silence Jack had received upon a similar declaration.

Zemma sighed. She felt Riddick tense against her. She had to suppress an inappropriate need to giggle at him. "I can't read," she stated simply. She released his face and tipped her into his chest, blushing furiously.

There. Said it. Pride be damned. She waited for him to chew on it, and spit out smart-ass comment number…89, 90, 91… one thousand and ninety one.

He tipped her back again, to read her. She looked back frankly.

"Your father wouldn't allow it." Statement, not a question. Now that the game was over, he'd put the pieces together with Riddick-ish speed.

Zemma pressed her lips together as she nodded slightly against his hand. "The wall scene and the figurines were the only Furyan artifacts to be found in our suite. Both had been widely popular, so not suspect."

Riddick's thumb stroked her cheek lightly, as if brushing away a tear where none had fallen. "We'll fix that," he told her simply, and seriously.