26. The Long Night

Riddick stood, and took the cold tea. "Goodnight, Jack."

She only nodded.

Riddick left without a stagger, and never a slur, same as Don. But Jack was feeling five shots like a kick in the head. She pushed away her half eaten tray of dinner with a slight smile on her face.

Zemma had kicked her in the head… But Zemma wanted her to stay. Jack snorted with amusement. That girl didn't make any damn sense.

Jack would have killed anyone who…

She shook her head, trying to clear it. It didn't help. Her vision swam a little, before her eyes landed on the empty bottle. She probably shouldn't have tried to keep up with Don on an empty stomach.

Don didn't make any damn sense to her either. This time she didn't smile. She didn't know what to think of his speech, and had less understanding why he made it.

Hypatia hadn't been the faerie godmother type at all. She made the wicked stepmothers look snuggly. When she'd locked little Audrey in various abandon apartments and warehouses, she'd frequently forgot to leave, or bring, her food.

At least she'd quit worrying about being fattened up for supper.

Still, the cold, pale woman never ate anything in front of young Jack. But she could drink mightily. Like Riddick, like Don, it never seemed to affect her.

The fear and loneliness of the first few weeks with Hypatia had been nothing; it didn't prepare her for the worst few months after that...

Because Hypatia didn't like to be bored.

Jack tried to push the memories away but the shadow she thought had followed her on the moon-base was harder to shake out of her head.

Hypatia liked to play games. Cat and mouse was her favorite, but not the only one she tormented Audrey with… 'Bait' was fun too. Hypatia was a predator who preferred to hunt other predators: human or animal. Audrey was a tempting bite sized morsel to both.

Her mother had been the first dead body she'd ever seen; in the months that passed she quit counting how many more she'd witnessed. That wasn't the frightening part. Hypatia liked to jack her jaw at the final moment, drawing it out and reveling in her own artistry. Her favorite color was arterial red, she'd said. She seemed almost giddy afterwards; friendly in such an unnatural way that Audrey was more afraid of her at that moment than of being alone.

It was another feeling that never left Jack. Friendliness was dangerous- she was only really safe when she was alone. Never mind that it was contrary to her other needs: to be cared for and loved. In a child's mind there are no contradictions.

Jack put her arm across the table and laid her head on it. She tried to think of happier thoughts, safer memories.

Her mother's smile was forever denied her; replaced and overlapped by the image of death. Her brain shied away, latching onto the only cold comfort she trusted.

Riddick.

Her Aramis. Her savior.

He'd held her hand as the skiff left the nightmare planet: A moment of peace and freedom and security. Jack reveled in the calm of that memory… before everything went to hell again. Before he left her alone to her fate, again.

Perhaps, in time, memories of Kyra would bring her solace. For now, the guilt, already two years old, and fresh as the moment it happened, would not abate. She'd run back to Hypatia to gain her freedom, and abandon Kyra to her fate on Crematoria. It never mattered that Kyra had urged her to go.

She'd run, just like Riddick.

Did it mean she never really loved Kyra? Jack never let herself think on it. She never let herself wonder, for more than a moment, if she was even capable of real love.

Jack fell into a dreamless sleep. Alcohol was always useful that way.

Zemma wasn't in bed when Riddick returned. He could hear her dry heaving and moaning in the bathroom. He found her there, naked and shivering, a sheen of sweat covering her body. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot, but otherwise she seemed to be there. No one could look so miserable and not be fully in this world.

"Riddick, she whispered hoarsely. "What the hell…?" More unproductive gagging interrupted her words.

He put down the tea, and stepped past her to turn on the shower. "You caught the flu, back there."

"I haven't been sick since I was a kid," she might have started to laugh ironically but her body was suddenly busy trying to throw up nothing again.

"Lots of newbies get sick at a new port. It's why people like cryo." He picked her up around the middle and dumped her unceremoniously under the hot water. "Just sit there for a little while."

"You didn't…" she gasped out accusingly.

"I've been there. I've been damn near everywhere. Everything else I got vaxed for."

"Even," she had to pause again as her body took over it's futile efforts to rid itself of the common, but annoying, virus. The gagging was a little less strenuous, the time a little shorter, and she was able to continue after she caught her breath. "Even that plague you're worried about?"

"Yes."

"I don't have it, then? That plague?"

"No, it's just the flu. You'll be miserable, but you'll survive it." He waited for the question 'how do you know,' but she only nodded and leaned against the wall with her eyes closed, the water washing over her.

After a few minutes she appeared recovered enough to ask another question. "Will I get sick at every port?"

"You can only catch any strain once. Local ports usually all have the same strain and the populace is immune. You should be okay at the next one."

She nodded again but didn't look any happier. At least her body was relaxing under the hot water.

Frequent travelers usually only got sick the first few years, but then became immune to all the common strains. Riddick had had his share, but seemed to throw off illnesses faster than others. He hoped Zemma would too, being Furyan.

He scowled to himself. Of course, he could just be built differently. The cold reality washed over him again. He was just a clone, a runaway experiment. He pushed the thought away irritably.

"We got Jack," he told her.

She nodded, "Good. Thank you, Riddick." She didn't look happy about it right now, but that was excusable.

"Do you remember our talk?"

Zemma frowned with her eyes still closed. "Why?" She grimaced, but Riddick hoped maybe it was her stomach, not her memory, that affected her this time.

"How's the water?" He changed the subject. He didn't want her going away into her own head again.

"Getting cold…"

"Let's get you back in bed."

He turned off the water and helped her up. He toweled her dry while she shakily held onto his shoulders, and leaned her head against his chest. He felt her chuckle weakly.

"I was so scared the first time you did this."

"I know."

She sighed and he thought she might say something else, but all she whispered was 'thank you' as he walked her to the bed. She could have meant then or now. He didn't inquire; he just snagged the cup as they passed.

"You're welcome," he whispered, as he pulled the blankets up around her. He meant both then and now. "Drink this," he handed her the tea. "And go back to sleep."

Eyes closed, she sighed again, "Do I have to?" She peeked one eye open and suppressed a slight grin as he took a deep breath to argue with her.

"Yes," his voice was firm: the final word.

She smiled weakly at the consternation on his face.

"You feel well enough to give me shit, now?" He asked her archly but not without some humor.

"Hopefully," she paused as a wave of nausea accompanied her first sip of tea. "Until the day I die." She didn't look at him.

It wasn't what he expected her to say. It took him by surprise, and he could only look at her. He'd been expecting her to tell him she loved him, again. She hadn't since that one night when she said she was IN love with him, but that learning to love him would take time. He'd been steeling himself for it, not knowing how he might respond.

Did he love this woman? He wanted her. He cared about her. He thought he might actually need her. He'd been ready to give up on not just his life, but all life. But, did he love her? The closest he'd come to love was… Jack… because Carolyn had cursed him to care.

But, love? Anything that wasn't 'I love you, too' would hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her.

But, love?

She glanced up over the rim of the cup, her face pale, but her eyes mischievous. "You don't get off easy - you said I'd recover."

He cuffed her lightly along side the head and called out the lights. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," she said meekly, but he could hear the smile in her tired voice.

A minute later he crawled into the other side of the bed. She reached out to touch his shoulder lightly.

'You don't have to say it,' she told him once. 'Just make me feel it.'

He took her hand in his.

What the hell was love?

Of all the people on board the stripped down frigate, only one didn't fall asleep wondering about the nature of love, or his capacity for it. Don had loved and been loved many times as a young man. More importantly he'd been best man and witness to a love affair he considered the high bar for relationships.

If Jaron was Don's best friend, Tetily was Jaron's. Don couldn't find the capacity to resent her for it. She'd been a remarkable woman. Don couldn't stand watching his best friend searching so futilely and painfully for the woman he loved and couldn't talk about for nearly 30 years.

The woman Don had been forced to kill, and couldn't talk about for nearly 30 years.

He understood love just fine.

Sometimes it was a painful thing.

Zemma slept fitfully that night.

Riddick slept lightly, but that was usual.

When she shook from chill, or called out in fever dreams, Riddick would pull her close until she quieted. Then he could sleep again.

Sometimes when she wouldn't settle from just his touch, frustration would unaccountably and briefly flare. It was a baffling reaction, like the relief he felt when he walked her out of the police station... he couldn't explain it, or remember it ever happening before.

Finally she would fall back to rest again, and Riddick would command himself to do the same; not wanting to sleep, but having to because he couldn't think of anything to do that would soothe his agitation. He couldn't leave her… alone.

He woke early ship-morning, when Zemma's breathing changed. Her skin was hot and dry - dehydrated from the night of fever sweats. She began tossing her head a bit, small noises of distress escaping her chapped lips.

"Zem?"

She groaned in response, then sat bolt upright, gagging, before leaping, still barely awake, for the bathroom.

Riddick followed, intending to give what comfort he could, knowing it probably wouldn't help.

She was crying, heaving uncontrollably, her body fighting against her will. He crouched near her, rubbing her back lightly with one palm.

"You said..." she gasped, "I'd get better." She had to pause again, face pale, body shaking, hair clinging to her face and skull. "I feel worse," she accused him. Her eyes burned into him.

"It's just the flu." He tried to say it soothingly, knowing it was hollow and meaningless, and exactly what she didn't need to hear right now.

She started crying again, which caused the gagging to return.

"Shhh. Don't cry." He patted her back awkwardly. He felt powerless... and angry. She needed him and he couldn't help her. There was no enemy to fight, no action to take, no way in the Now to solve the problem.

"My head hurts so bad."

"I know." It sounded so trite that he regretted it instantly.

She leaned against him, and he found it felt good, like she needed him, wanted him...

"I want to lay down." Her voice was so small.

At least he could help her with that.

"All right. Up you go." He lifted her bodily and set her on her feet, but let her walk back to bed.

"My mouth tastes like shit." She groaned.

"You've had personal experience?" It was a pretty lame attempt at humor. Zemma didn't seem to appreciate it. "I'll get you some water," he amended, feeling angry with himself all over again. Angry at God all over again. Fucking stupid.

Zemma nodded a little as Riddick pulled the covers over her.

Filling her teacup with tap water offered him some little relief to the building tension of the last five minutes. It was an action, no matter how small, that would make her feel better. "Drink as much as you can. You're getting dehydrated."

She nodded again, with her eyes closed, but only took a little sip when he placed it in her hands.

"More," he grumbled.

"I don't want to throw up anymore." She kept her eyes closed, her tone a little rebellious. She didn't want to say 'no', but didn't want to comply, either. It annoyed the hell out of him that she wouldn't let him try to make it better. It made him want to hit something. Fucking stupid.

He must have growled a little, because her eyes flew open. They were glassy with fever and red rimmed from crying. He took a deep breath.

"You gotta drink as much as you can. Don't make me get an I.V." He tried to keep his voice calm. "I'll get you something for your headache." He put his hand into her hair; his fingers massaged the back of her neck.

She held his gaze over the rim of the cup as she drained it all and handed it back. He kissed her forehead as he started to get up, but she caught his hand.

"I'm sorry Riddick. I don't mean to..." Tears filled her eyes again, but didn't spill.

Riddick felt worse. Was this what love was supposed to feel like?

"Don't worry." He cupped her cheek with one large hand. "I'll get you some aspirin."

He squeezed her hand and left quickly for the med lab, relieved to be able to do something.

Fucking stupid.