He'd probably get you here, right under the chin, and you'd never even hear him, cause that's how good Riddick is.

She knew first hand how good Riddick was. She'd watched him kill her brother, the only family she had left in the world. A shiv to the throat from behind... He'd bled out on the bedroom floor, while she watched from the closet. At thirteen, she knew wanted revenge on the monster who stole her family from her. He looked at her through the crack in the closet door, and even though he was wearing goggles, she'd known he was looking right at her. Her skin crawled, and it had felt like he was staring right in to her brain. Then he just turned his back and walked out. She sat in the closet and cried, she lost track of the time, but eventually she got up and left. She abandoned the small appartment that she'd shared with her now-deceased brother, giving up everything in pursuit of the murderer. By the time she caught up with him, he'd been caught by a merc and was being shipped back to Butcher Bay. She cut her hair, created a new persona for herself, and stowed away on the ship Riddick was on. There was no plan, she had no idea how she was going to take down Richard B. Riddick, world-class serial killer, but she knew it was something she had to do. But somewhere between the backwater planet she'd lived on and their next stop, something went wrong...

He'd gotten soft, sloppy. His bounty had been lowered significantly, since he'd been presumed dead for over five years now. The last time she'd seen him -- to his knowledge, anyway -- had been three years ago, and at nineteen Jack considered herself ready to take on the real thing, the hunt she'd been preparing for for two years. At seventeen, a year after Riddick had left her and Imam on New Mecca, Jack had signed on with a merc ship. She'd taken down a few small time criminals, saved up some money, and tracked him to this shitty little station. Her boss had called her crazy, said he was too much for her, but it hadn't mattered. This was personal.

Richard B. Riddick. Big Evil. He was the biggest baddest mother fucker on the station, so why would he check the shadows? 'Getting lazy, big boy.' Jack thought to herself with a smirk. He might have been big, but chloroform works the same on everyone, even notorious killers.

Where the hell can I get eyes like that?

Gotta kill a few people first...

Jack had never killed anyone. No, that was something she was saving entirely for Riddick. She wanted him to be special...

Back on the planet, the best way to stay alive had been to follow him, and she welcomed the chance to study her future victim. Even someone like him had to have a weakness. Women seemed to be the only gap in his armor. Carolyn had even convinced him to go back and save others. Jack had always assumed he didn't care about anyone except himself, but obviously with a nice set of legs and a half-developed rack you could manipulate him. Jack had stored this information in a dark little corner of her mind, knowing she might need it later.

He could have killed her there. When they were leaving on the skiff, after Imam had fallen asleep, he'd told her about Johns' idea. But she could never be sure if he just wanted the opportunity to kill Johns or if he actually cared enough to spare her life. Some of her resolve had broken down then. He'd spared her life twice, and saved her from death when he didn't have to. Riddick could have left them all there to die on that planet, she knew his rap sheet well enough to know he could pilot a ship on his own. He didn't need any of them... Maybe he'd developed a conscience.

She had him cuffed to a chair that was bolted to the floor, each limb cuffed separately so he couldn't use the combined strength. Jack had seen him escape from several different restraint systems, even watched him cut off his own bit while blindfolded. It was pretty impressive, really. Her chair was backwards and she straddled it, facing him. His eyelids flickered and he groaned as he came to. Jack reached out and smacked the side of his head, and his eyes flew open as he jerked in the chair.

"Morning sleeping beauty."

She could see his brain working as he registered his situation, his muscles tensing as he tested his restraints. Finally, it seemed to dawn on him that he was stuck, and that sitting in front of him, gun in hand, was Jack.

"What the fuck? Jack?"

She smirked.

"Surprised?"

He shook his head, apparently dumbfounded. Riddick had gotten lazy, she had watched him. Not keeping tabs on her after he left was one of his biggest mistakes.

"Why?"

"You don't remember me, do you?"

"Remember you? Of course I fuckin' remember you. I saved your life. Maybe you're the one who doesn't remember me."

Jack picked one foot up, resting it on his knee and crossing her arms over the back of the chair. She didn't know why she'd asked him that question. Why would he remember a little girl who was cowering scared in a closet, watching as he stole the last thing she had in the world? And more importantly, why would he connect that scared little girl with Jack? The little girl whose life he'd saved, who'd worshiped him for it? She hadn't really worshiped him, but the act had kept her from killing before she was ready, and possibly getting killed herself.

"Oh I remember you perfectly, Riddick. I watched you slit my brother's throat when I was thirteen."

The blank look she got in return infuriated her. She stood up, tossing the chair away from her and sending it clattering into the wall. He really had no heart, he didn't even register that he'd killed her brother. The murder had meant nothing to him. Why had he done it?

"I hid in the fucking closet when you broke in to my house and chased my brother into the bedroom. I watched you kill him. You looked right at me before you walked out!"

Riddick shrugged. She couldn't read any emotion, any remorse in his eyes. And to think she'd thought for even one moment that he might care about her. Those were the feelings of a stupid child. Hero worship because he'd saved her. But that didn't nearly begin to make up for what he'd taken from her. Jack hauled back and threw a right hook into the side of his face. It probably hurt her hand more than it did him, but she wasn't going to let him see her flinch.

"You fucking bastard..."

Her voice was shaking as she stared at him, almost on the verge of tears and hating herself for her weakness. Riddick spit a mouthfull of blood on the floor and then looked back up at her.

"You feel better?"

His tone sent waves of rage through her and she stuck her gun in his face, putting the barrel right between his eyes. She could see the gun shaking, but it seemed strangely detached, like it wasn't her hand that was shaking.

"Come on Jack, you're not going to kill me."

Riddick's voice was low, but confident. Arrogant bastard. He didn't think she was capable of killing him... Was she? Jack was doubting herself... In an attempt to prove it either to herself or him, she thrust her weight into the gun, pushing his head back slightly. Her finger tensed on the trigger, but she couldn't pull it.

"Put the gun down, Jack."

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes and burned hot trails down her cheeks. Slowly, reluctantly, she eased off the trigger and pulled the gun back slightly.

"Good girl, that's it."

She couldn't do it. He had saved her life, and she couldn't kill him. Now what? Take him to slam so that he could kill another pilot, hijack another ship, and start killing all over again? Jack lowered the gun to her side, her arms hanging uselessly as she stared at Riddick's chest, willing herself to stop crying. She couldn't just let him go. He'd kill her. And she couldn't make herself kill him... Riddick answered unspoken thoughts.

"Let me go, Jack. I've spared your life twice, I might be willing to do it again."

Jack shook her head. If she let him go, he'd kill other people. There was no way she could win...

"Jack."

His voice was still low, but not as gentle as it had been. It was the tone of voice that commanded action. But what did she have to worry about if he was locked securely into that chair?

"You can stay down here and rot for all I fucking care."

Jack stormed out of the room. She was furious with him for being such an arrogant, unfeeling bastard, furious with herself for being weak. She should have just killed him. It would have taken maybe another pound of pressure to pull the trigger. But she was a coward.

Riddick probably thought he was doing Jack a favor by leaving at night, without saying goodbye. Figured it would make her resent him, probably. In reality, it had just been an inconvenience. She had to fake sleep when he came in to say his silent goodbye, fight her desire not to scratch his eyeballs out as she felt him looking at her. She had to sneak out of the house to track him, and lie to Imam the next morning and say she had snuck out for a party. Life would be so much easier once she could get her merc license and take him down.

The sound of a crash from somewhere in the house woke Jack up, nearly startling her in to rolling off the couch. She grabbed the handgun from off the table and headed down the hall towards the room where she had restrained Riddick, assuming he had pulled the bolts out of the floor and fallen over in the process. There was no other explanation for the noise. She moved quickly and quietly down the hall, ready to shoot if she needed to, but mostly just wanting to tell him to shut the hell up so she could sleep.

A hand shot out of the darkness behind her, closing around her hand and forcing her to drop the gun. Before she could even scream, another hand was over her mouth and then there was the cold edge of a shiv against her throat. She recognized the feeling of Riddick, and wondered fleetingly how he'd gotten out. The metal over her jugular was a slightly more important issue, though.

"I could kill you right now. Slit your throat just like I did your brother's. How long would it be before anyone would even think to look for you, Jack?"

His breath, hot across her ear, sent shivers down her spine and made her skin crawl. She was making her peace with whatever cosmic being was out there, when the pressure from the shiv eased.

"I should kill you. But I'm not going to."

Jack, suddenly very aware of her own mortality, felt faint with relief. He wasn't going to kill her... Riddick turned her around, looking down at her with his shined eyes, full of some emotion she didn't understand. She forced tears, big, fake crocodile tears. But tears he couldn't resist. He tucked the shiv into his back pocket and pulled her into his chest, letting her cry onto his shirt. Inwardly, Jack smirked as she wrapped her arms around him. One hand curved around the handle of his shiv, sliding it out of his pocket and bringing it up, preparing to strike the final blow.

Just to the left of the spine, fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta.

"The sweet spot..."

Jack whispered the words into his chest as she plunged the shiv into his back, hitting the spot exactly, though she didn't know how. He grunted slightly, probably in shock. She twisted the blade, obliterating the artery, and felt hot liquid pouring over her hand. Her stomach somersaulted as she realized it was blood, but she steeled herself against the feeling and stepped back, letting Riddick's dead weight crumple to the ground. He didn't talk, but his eyes searched her face blindly, as if he was asking her how she could have killed him even after he spared her life for a third time. But she knew he was already dead, his brain just hadn't caught on to the fact. Jack squatted down near his head, looking down at his now lifeless eyes. She reached out and pulled his lids closed before standing up again.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance, Riddick."