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Waiting Time


Author: Tarlan (TarlanX@aol.com)
Pairing: Vaako/Riddick
Type: slash
Rating: R
Warning: angst, violence
Summary: Vaako is barely hanging to life. How does Riddick handle it?



Lord Marshal of the Necromongers. Not something I ever expected to be but I'm not complaining. It won't change much. I'll still be watching my back, except it won't be mercs looking for the bounty.

I think back to the day I killed the Lord Marshal, a man they believed to be invincible, but I know they don't see me the same way. I see it in their eyes. A lucky kill... and if I could be lucky, then so could they, with the prize being one of the largest, most powerful armies in the galaxy. A few have already tried for the prize... and my knife found them, ending their schemes and dreams swiftly as they discovered a new secret about me that they would take to their graves. They won't be the last though, for the whole Necromonger philosophy seems to be based on strength... sort of Darwinian in nature... the strongest survive, and that secret could not stay secret forever.

The Elemental, Aereon, thought it highly amusing to see me become the leader of the Necromongers. She told me of the prophecy that it would be a Furyan who would destroy the old leader, and I knew from the moment I first met her that she considered me to be the one.

Furyan. I never knew who or what I was until I met her. I never knew why I'd spent my whole life running and fighting but it was all there in the main computer. A full account of how the Lord Marshal had ordered his Necromongers to hunt down and kill every known male Furyan, to stop that particular prophecy from being fulfilled.

It still makes me laugh knowing the Lord Marshal had a Furyan within his highest ranks, unbeknownst to him.

That Furyan saved my life in the hope that his one act of greatness would bleach the stain of guilt on his soul. He walked into the sunrise on Crematoria as a final act of betrayal to the Necromongers, making the choice of death rather than return to the murderous duty he had performed on their behalf.

Fool. Better to live with our choices and pay the price for setting things straight rather than take the coward's way out. I should know. I've paid heavily for the foolish choices I've made in my life. I should have listened to the Imam. I should never have left Jack behind, running off in the belief I was being a hero and saving her from the mercs that would never stop coming for me. Should have known she would follow, joining the mercs in the hope they would lead her to me. Should have been there to stop those mercs from selling her into slavery, to be used as a whore for anyone willing to pay for their sweaty pleasure.

Those first few months as Lord Marshal gave me too much time to think, about Imam, about Jack... about me... and I didn't like what I saw in the mirror. Fry started the process of drawing me back to the human race, showing me there was more to life than mere survival, and I squandered all I learned through her sacrifice. The Imam was dead. Jack was dead... and now...

I turn my thoughts away from that direction. It's not a path I want to travel down until I have to. Instead, I return to the beginning of this new stage in my life. I turn back to the day I watched Jack die, to the moment I killed the Lord Marshal and sank backwards in my grief, unknowing and uncaring of where I landed. I recall looking up, too full of grief and too tired to fight as Vaako approached with the battle ax still in hand. Killing the Lord Marshal had drained me as I felt his putrid soul, his essence, flash up through the knife and send its darkness deep into me, bequeathing me with the power he had brought back from the Underverse.

Until the others found out, I trusted only one man alive with this secret, outside of myself... and he might not live to see the false dawn on this ship.

I squeeze my eyes shut to close off the image of his pale, sweat-sheened face. I don't want to remember him that way. I want to remember him full of life, full of animal lust as we rut... sharp bites and brutal kisses, bruising hands that rip the ecstasy from my body, turning me supernova until I burn out and collapse inwards... the pitch black void in my body and soul waiting to be filled with the light of his being again.

Pitch black forever, if he does not live past this dawn.

I sneer at my morbid yet poetic thoughts... and then I force them away again as they grow darker still with fear of imminent loss. I cannot travel down that path just yet. I must go back to the beginning... back to the day I looked through grief filled eyes to see Vaako and the other Necromonger lords approaching. I would fight them all to my last breath, no matter how tired I felt, and no matter how much grief filled my bleeding heart.

Instead, Vaako knelt down before me, bowing his head in supplication, and the others followed his lead, acknowledging my right to take what I had won. But what had I won? Imam was dead and Jack - Kyra - was dead, leaving me with nothing but memories and self-condemnation, and for that I blamed Vaako. I blamed him for being the one to bring Jack to this place. I blamed him for being the one to intervene when my strength gave out during the fight with the Lord Marshal. I blamed him for giving me a way to avenge Jack's death but, by doing so, letting me sacrifice my chance to end the misery of my existence at a superior enemy's hands.

A lucky kill. With his soul stretched between the two of us, the Lord Marshal had chosen to face my tired and battered body rather than certain death from Vaako's ax, not seeing the knife in my unsteady hand until too late. It wasn't the sweet spot, not that place in the small of the back that severed the spinal cord, but it still felt good to watch the life leave his body.

I blamed Vaako, and I took every opportunity to bait him, wanting him to challenge me so I could have reason to beat him to a pulp before letting my knife sink into his flesh. I stripped him of his newly won rank, reducing him back to the outer layer of command... and I took his beautiful consort.

Had been a long time since I smelled beautiful. Her skin, her hair, the sweet curves of her body. She bathed in softly scented perfume, lightly dusted her hair in mica so it glittered as she moved. The rich material of her form-fitting clothing accentuated every one of those smooth curves. Yes... she smelled beautiful, looked beautiful, felt beautiful in my arms... and she was as deadly as a snake.

I recall the tic in Vaako's jaw when I claimed her. I saw the hardening of his eyes, the tightening of his mouth into a thin line of barely suppressed fury, and yet he said nothing. As the new Lord Marshal, I could do what I pleased and, anyhow, she made no objections. She wanted me as much as I wanted her... and how I wanted her... an alpha male attracted to an alpha female.

After two months, I came to regret that choice 'cause she was the original power-hungry bitch from Hell. Got her all frustrated though, 'cause she thought she could wrap me around one elegant finger.

At first I found it amusing watching her slowly play all her cards, watching her machinations covertly. Having her in my bed was compensation enough, adding a thrill every time I sank into her body from not knowing if she'd knife me as I bathed in the afterglow of possession. The animal in me--the Furyan--found her exciting, dangerous... at first.

Then came the day when I took her to my bed and I no longer smelled beautiful upon her. That day, I looked upon her differently. I knew the lust in her dark eyes was not love but ambition. Cold. Calculating. Contemptuous. It always had been but I'd never cared before. It had not mattered beyond the animalistic pleasure of having her in my bed.

After using her body I sent her away, I turned the lamp to a low setting and I lay on my bed wondering why it mattered now. Slowly, I replayed the day's events to see if I could pinpoint that moment when my lust and amusement turned to contempt for her.

The moment came as a jolt to me as I recalled the way she mirrored my disdain for Vaako, sneering at him, ridiculing him publicly as if he had never meant anything to her.

Of course, I reasoned, no one had ever meant anything to her--except for herself. As soon as Vaako had fallen from favor, she had turned her back on him and sought another to provide her with the power and position she craved, and I had been only too willing to oblige. She acted as if she was Queen of the Necromongers, holding court among the higher ranking, gloating over her high position but I had made it clear to all that Vaako was mine. Only I had the right to ridicule his ideas and plans openly, and only I was allowed to find fault with his every move, thought and action.

His face swam before my mind's eye. Strong and handsome, with dark eyes that glowed, alternating between fury and despair, and soft lips that tightened into a bloodless line as he bit back the retort hovering on the tip of his tongue.

As I lay there, I wondered why? Why had he chosen to suffer my abuse rather than challenge me? He was no coward; having already seized one opportunity to destroy the Lord Marshall while others shrank back in fear, even while knowing he would be putting his very soul in danger should he fail. He had taken the risk, spurred on by his consort--now my consort--and he had lost to me. Yet, he had shown me nothing but the utmost loyalty since then, never deserving the harsh treatment I meted out to him, accepting it all without question, and without retort.

Perhaps he was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike back at me. Or... maybe he truly believed in the Necromonger religion, and accepted this abuse as my right. And maybe the look I saw in his eyes when we were not in confrontation was true loyalty... or love. Unspoken. Unacknowledged. Unrequited.

I sighed deeply.

I blamed him for Jack's death because he had been the one to bring her to this place, but he had not placed her in the conversion machine. He had not forced her to accept the pain and choose life as a Necromonger, and he had not ordered her to strike at the Lord Marshal, resulting in her death.

I blamed him because it was easier to blame him than myself. I blamed him because I saw something of myself in him, and what I could become if I chose to tread a path that did not focus solely on my survival. I saw humanity in him, something that should have been wiped away by his conversion, leaving him as cold and calculated as the others but which had, instead, enriched him. The very thing that Fry had wanted me to find, that the Imam had tried to help me find... that Jack had made me find in those last seconds of her life.

I blamed him for making me care, for making me... love.

For a moment, I teetered on a precipice of fear as an abyss opened up beneath my feet, filled with all the darkness and light that was humanity. Would I survive such a fall? Could I survive? I had to know, and so I sent for him...



My thoughts return to this lamp lit room, and then to the strong body that had looked so frail to me as they took him away.

How long ago was that now? How many days and nights had we shared in passion... in love? How many times had I heard him call my name as I thrust deep inside him, and how many times had I cried out to him in my ecstasy?

More than I care to count.

No perfume bath, no mica dusted into his hair, and yet he smelled more beautiful to me with each passing day. His skin was not silken, yet every gliding touch sent sparks of pleasure arcing through me, as if touching him completed a circuit of desire. His hair was not elegantly styled, drawing the eyes and hand, and yet I could never stop my fingers from running through the soft, short strands on top to the long silken length cascading past his shoulders. Even the raspness of the shorn sides sent shivers of desire coursing through me as I traced his flesh with tongue and fingers.

With my former consort, her rich clothing fitted like an extra skin, leaving nothing to the imagination, leaving no great treasure to discover each time she undressed... or maybe it seemed to be no great treasure to me. In contrast, undressing Vaako was like opening a gift, like having a birthday, every day. Removing the bulky armor or heavy garments, revealing the creamy skin beneath that contrasted so strongly against my flesh.

All her wild passion paled in comparison to the pleasure he gave me. The sharpness of her nails raking down my back an irritation compared to the bruising strength of his blunt fingers grasping my hips and ass tightly to draw me deeper, harder, faster into his willing flesh. His kisses seared my lips, his harsher cries of pain and passion struck a possessive chord within me, heightening my pleasure beyond anything she had ever given.

Afterwards, we would lie together. Spent. Exhausted. Satisfied in every sense of mind and body. And when I succumbed to the pleasurable tiredness, when I sank down into the darkness, I did so in peace, knowing I did not need to fear the slice of his blade across my throat as I slept.

Would I ever have that feeling back again?

A weak moan falling from my own lips called my attention back from those bittersweet memories of ultimate pleasure and loss but, this time, I had no one else to blame.

No one had challenged my leadership in months, not since learning of the gift I had received from the previous Lord Marshal, but love had made me blind. Love had turned me into a fool, had weakened me, and I had paid a high price for my delusion of grandeur, of invincibility, though not with my own blood.



The hours passed slowly, and still I could not understand why Lord Senden would wish to slay Vaako, why he would lie in wait and run him through with his blade, aiming for the same spot that I so favored in my kills. Yet, just as I had missed with the merc, Johns, so Senden had missed with Vaako. As with Johns, he had left Vaako with the tip of the knife, which had snapped inside, lodging close enough to the spine to cause a lifetime of agony, and the fear of permanent paralysis if the sharp metal should move.

Johns had been one mean sonuvabitch before but had lost his edge, and his soul, to the morphine. I could not bear to lose Vaako to the same pain, seeing his soul destroyed long before his body realized it was dead. Better to take the risk and operate. Better to lose him beneath a surgeon's knife than watch all that I had grown to love fall from grace.

Love. Love had made me weak... a fool.

I squeezed closed my eyes again, knowing it was not true. I could not blame love for my loss when it had given me a full heart, had given me Vaako. I could not blame it for my weakness when it had given me so much strength in knowing I was loved... and beloved. I could only blame myself for a lack of vigilance, for forgetting I was a marked man.

I glanced at the chronometer, instinctively aware that each minute drew me closer to good or terrible news. No one approached. No one entered the hall seeking an audience with me, knowing they would find only my knife. I needed to be alone with my thoughts while I waited for my life to end... or begin again.

While they operated, I sat vigil at the feet of the monument they had raised in my honor, unwilling to look up and see my own face carved in obsidian even though I knew my true face would look as expressionless as stone. All the turmoil, all the fear, swam beneath the surface, and I would take no action until I knew if he would live.

The great door opened, with light spilling across the hall. I could see a single figure backlit from the light in the corridor beyond and I knew, without hearing any words, that Vaako lived. It was written in every line of the confident figure striding towards me in triumph. Yet I waited for confirmation. The tired surgeon stopped before me.

"He will live, my Lord Riddick. We removed the blade tip successfully."

I nodded in acknowledgement, sinking back against the lower legs of my monument, unable to display any more emotion.

"When can I see him?"

"He is still under the effects of the anesthetic, and must remain immobilized for a day or two... but there is no reason why you should not see him immediately, my lord."

I close my eyes in relief, unable to prevent the small smile twitching my lips. He would live, and now I must discover why Senden tried to kill him.



Epilogue:

I should have sent her away to one of the other ships... or better yet, left her behind on the next world we passed, having taken what we needed. Vaako had warned me, and even though I knew her nature, knew how much more deadly she could be as a woman scorned, I felt too strong, too invincible to take heed. I never believed she would try to go up against me, but she had been the one to manipulate Senden into helping her exact revenge for the way she had been pushed aside by Vaako. She has convinced him that I had a weakness that could be exploited once Vaako was out of the way, no longer watching my back.

Of course, it had been a lie, and she had expected the guards to kill Senden for his treachery long before he could betray her part in the affair.

"Why?"

"Because I am a more worthy consort of the Lord Marshal of the Necromongers. He should never have taken my place at your side, and you would have seen that once Senden removed him... permanently. You would have called me back to be your consort."

"And Senden? You knew he could never kill me."

She laughed. "Senden was a fool... and deserved to die."

"Bitch."

She smiled then, as if I had just paid her the highest compliment, but that smile did not last long. My knife slipped easily into the small of her back, and I recall the look of surprise mingled with horror on her face when she realized her life had come to an ignoble end. Her dark eyes stared up at me, much the same way Fry had looked at me during those final seconds of her life, except I was the one holding the killing weapon this time around. She jerked once before her eyes glazed over in death, and I dropped her once-beautiful body to the stone floor.

My eyes scanned the room, filled with the elite from Necromonger society--Warriors and their consorts, both male and female.

"Know this... he is mine," I state firmly, and no one looked confused by my words.

I turned away, leaving some underling to take away the body and clean the bloodstains from the floor, and I smiled at the handsome man seated by my throne. I held my hand out to him, letting his fingers clasp around my forearm as I drew him to his feet. Together we walked out of the great hall, with the sea of Necromongers parting before us.

When I glance sideways, I feel the familiar heady feeling of lust and love swell over me. His face was still too pale, his movements less than fluid, but he was gaining strength with each passing day and, tonight, he would be strong enough to return to my bed.

I had lost Imam, and I had lost Jack but this time I had been lucky. The waiting time was over and I had my consort, my lover, by my side again.

THE END

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