Past times
By: Miss Nightshade
Disclaimer: I do not own Pitch Black. End of story. On with the fic. Unless you've left by now. Then oh well.
Chapter One: Sleeping with Ghosts
Carolyn Fry watched her daughter roll over on the bed; the baby's brilliant blue eyes shone with the exuberance of new life as she sucked on a piece of her curly black hair. "Leila." For the first time in a while the young blonde woman cooed gently with affection.
As if in response to her mother's address Leila turned her head and stared, her chubby cheeks creasing into perfect dimples. She gurgled with pleasure at the attention and flipped onto her back once more. "Shh." Carolyn hushed her, pressing a kiss to the baby's soft forehead. "Time for bed, honey."
She picked up the squirming child and placed her on her stomach in the nearby crib, pulling a pastel-coloured blanket over her. "Goodnight, sweetie." She whispered and flicked off the light-switch. Angry squealing erupted from the bedroom when the door closed but quickly subsided as the baby gave way to sleep.
Carolyn flipped on the baby monitor in the other room, listening to her daughter's quiet breathing. Sitting down on the sofa, the blonde woman leaned her head back in exhaustion, her eyes closed and memouries flooded through her mind. The only memouries she had since she'd been found on a barren planet two years ago. When the pilots of a new ship that was being tested had landed on the wasteland they had found her lying nearly dead on the ground, covered in blood and dirt, her insides hanging out and her pulse almost nonexistent.
She hadn't been conscious when they'd taken her aboard, but as she opened her eyes to the blinding light of a hospital her mind was blank. The doctors told her that due to the incredible amount of abuse her body had been put through, the large quantity of blood she'd lost and the various near-fatal wounds, her brain had all but shut down and had caused her to develop severe amnesia.
After six months on life support and masses of operations, Carolyn was able to leave sickbay. At the desk they gave her the only thing that had identified her, the tag around her neck with twelve numbers printed on it. She was Carolyn Fry, they said, captain of a wrecked ship. A captain? She couldn't believe she had ever been on a ship; her mind was empty, a heap of unreadable data and grey areas.
It wasn't until she had met Lysander that anything had seemed right. Lysander Gates. Pilot extraordinaire and the man she loved. Had loved. She'd met him on her way to the only place she could call home, the place her profile said she'd been born, Terra Cross, a peaceful planet light-years away from Andromeda Six where they'd brought her for rehabilitation. He was piloting the ship that took her there and if she hadn't walked mistakenly into the wrong room they never might have met. He had been jovial and good-natured about it; that was what had attracted her to him. Despite his light-hearted character, he was a beautiful man. Tall and slender with narrow brown eyes the colour of amber and thick black hair that kinked and curled all over his head, standing out boldly against skin paler than her own. He was fine-boned, almost effeminate, but his undeniable virility kept him that small step away. Somewhere in the murky depths of her memoury, flashes of an old story, a Shakespearian tale of love and magic broke through her thoughts at the sight of him. A Midsummer Night's Dream, that's what it was called. Staring at him standing there smiling at her, she felt like Hermia to his Lysander.
She'd fallen in love with him at first sight, and it seemed he had too. Seemed. That was the key word. Nearly three months later, when they'd been living together happily on Terra Cross in what appeared to be a perfect arrangement, she announced she was pregnant. Suddenly he changed toward her, anger bubbled up at everything she said or did until one night, he hit her. Hit her hard, hard enough to draw blood. And then he announced that they were through. He wanted no part of the baby, he shouted at her as she lay there bleeding on the floor, and packed all his things that night. He left the next morning for Andromeda Six she assumed, and it wasn't until later that she found out how wrong she had been about his feelings for her when they met.
Various woman called her weeks after he'd gone, screaming about how she had stolen their lover and how they were going to hunt her down and gut her like a fish. Needless to say, any hope she had of him returning was crushed in those moments, and she felt herself crumbling into a depressed, dog-tired life.
But the baby grew inside her, stretching her belly and giving her something to live for once more, after everything that had happened, what she could and couldn't remember; Carolyn knew one thing for sure. She was a fighter, and she'd be damned if she was going to let some Lothario-pig beat her down.
Eight months passed since the time of his departure and the child was finally born. It was sudden, frighteningly so. There hadn't been time to call for a doctor or even scream for help before she found herself lying on the floor, struggling to yield the life that fought for freedom inside her. When the baby was finally expelled, Carolyn moved lethargically to its side, gathering the screaming infant in her arms and pressing it close for warmth. It was a girl, with raven black hair and eyes that matched her own. She named her Leila, an Arabic name meaning 'black as the night' for her silky ebony mane.
Just six weeks had passed since Leila's birth; she had grown strong and healthy, her little limbs gaining the necessary baby fat. The blonde haired woman smiled at the thought of her little daughter lying asleep upstairs. She always smiled as she slept, as if she were dreaming of something delicious.
The sound of a door opening broke her from her reverie and sent her stumbling to her feet as she sought the gun she kept hidden in the small bookcase for emergencies. Somewhere deep inside the crevices of her mind, instincts to survive lashed out and took hold of her body. She crouched slightly and flattened herself against the wall, making her way quietly toward the kitchen, her movements nearly silent.
Carolyn's finger un-clicked the safety on the pistol as she inched toward the open doorway, her body tense, her heart beating like a rabbit's. She stepped carefully around the corner, pointing the gun straight in front of her. "Who's there?!" She shouted half in anger and half in terror, her arms were shaking and she felt as if she were going to vomit. "Come out!"
A dark shadow moved silently toward her from where it stood calmly at the kitchen table. "Hello, Carolyn." The voice was rough, almost gravely, but with a certain amount of seductive silk to send a chill up her spine. Like velvet raked over with a knife.
The young woman's breath caught in her throat and something somewhat like a shattered memoury scratched at the core of her brain, urging her to take hold of it and place that voice, that wonderful dangerous voice. Which belonged to a wonderful dangerous man.
"Who are you?" Her voice cracked, and she cursed herself quietly, clutching the gun tighter. The shadow moved closer yet, stepping into the light slowly. The form of a tall, muscular man emerged; brilliantly shining eyes leered at her from an attractive masculine face. Her heart almost stopped. If Lysander had been beautiful, this man was his better. Not beautiful, godlike.
"Aw. I'm hurt that you don't remember." He didn't sound hurt. The man stepped nearer to her and Carolyn found herself backing away from him, like a fawn to a lion. She gulped, her throat contracting, trying to moisten her tongue enough to speak.
"What do you want?" The question was dumb, and totally natural for a petrified human being. Her back impacted dully with the wall; unknowingly she had turned to look at him when he'd still been by the table, and she had steadily been moving toward the wall behind her.
The man closed the distance between them in one smooth movement, seizing her handgun and twisting her wrist behind her back. "You." The word was enough to make her want to scream. His lips against her neck increased that thought and a horrified shriek ripped from her throat as she struggled in his arms.
"No! Let go!" Her body twisted about wildly; his fingers clamped tighter on her forearms. The blonde woman cried out in pain and stilled her movements considerably as the sharp end of a knife pressed into her abdomen, the point making a small puncture in her flesh. Just enough to allow a slim line of blood to trickle down her hip bone.
"Shh." He murmured softly against her ear, his hot mouth tracing a moist line across her skin. "Don't fight me, Carolyn. Don't fight me." His words were low and soothing as he steered her forcefully toward the next room. She found herself losing her will to fight, just as he'd told her to and went limp in his arms. It was somehow familiar.
Flashes of rain and darkness raced across her mind as he lowered her to the floor of the living room. Inhuman howls and screams of agony tore across her brain. "Riddick-" She moaned; the name seemed so right, so real. Images of him lying atop her, his face barely inches away, his lips hanging torturously close to her own. Shouting words, wild, angry, magnificent words as he shook her. Wanted her to come with him. Somewhere. Then it was gone, as soon as she had seen it, vanishing as quickly as it had come.
Her fingers crept up his back, holding him close against her as he bit her shoulder roughly. "Oh yes-" She wanted her memouries back. She wanted to know why she was who she was. Her shirt was ripped savagely from her body, revealing nearly naked flesh.
He pulled his mouth back from his ministrations and grinned down at her wickedly. "That's right. I see you haven't forgotten me completely." He lowered his lips to hers slowly, relishing the need he saw in her eyes, and he knew was reflected in his own. "Old desires die hard-" He groaned, her legs rose up, circling his waist and drawing him nearer. "Very hard-"
She had no idea who he really was, but whoever she was, she quite agreed with him. This must have been an old desire to cause such an ache to rise up within her heart at the sight of him. The smell of his skin. It sparked everything that she'd lost in her amnesia. Her very soul was his. And he knew it.
His fingers found their way into the band of her pants and tugged them down fiercely as she wrestled his shirt from his shoulders. "Hmm. Not one for waiting, eh?" He was mocking her; she hated and loved him for it all at once. His eyes twinkled as if this were all some jolly joke.
"Damn you!" She screamed, jerking his face back down to her own and pressing her lips to his violently. Her tongue sought entrance to his mouth and was granted it quickly; she slipped it through his lips and touched the softness of his mouth. A low moan rumbled deep within his throat and when she drew back from the caress the smile of mischievousness had disappeared, melting into something frightening and exciting.
"Carolyn-" He crushed his mouth to hers, biting at her lips and clawing wildly at the tender flesh of her body. "Carolyn!" Her name was his war-cry, his mantra, his curse. And she knew that as much as she was his, he was hers. Every fibre of his being, every speck of blackened soul was hers to love and cherish. She yanked his jeans down brutally, fighting his fire with her own.
He slammed into her with angry pleasure and pressed her cruelly against the bruising hardness of the floorboards. As she closed her eyes to blackness, softly grunted words caught her attention.
"Welcome back, baby."
To Be Continued-
Author's Note:
Well, it was short and I thought rather sweet in a twisted "Pitch Black" humour sort of way. I'll add more chapters soon. Until then.
Miss Nightshade
By: Miss Nightshade
Disclaimer: I do not own Pitch Black. End of story. On with the fic. Unless you've left by now. Then oh well.
Chapter One: Sleeping with Ghosts
Carolyn Fry watched her daughter roll over on the bed; the baby's brilliant blue eyes shone with the exuberance of new life as she sucked on a piece of her curly black hair. "Leila." For the first time in a while the young blonde woman cooed gently with affection.
As if in response to her mother's address Leila turned her head and stared, her chubby cheeks creasing into perfect dimples. She gurgled with pleasure at the attention and flipped onto her back once more. "Shh." Carolyn hushed her, pressing a kiss to the baby's soft forehead. "Time for bed, honey."
She picked up the squirming child and placed her on her stomach in the nearby crib, pulling a pastel-coloured blanket over her. "Goodnight, sweetie." She whispered and flicked off the light-switch. Angry squealing erupted from the bedroom when the door closed but quickly subsided as the baby gave way to sleep.
Carolyn flipped on the baby monitor in the other room, listening to her daughter's quiet breathing. Sitting down on the sofa, the blonde woman leaned her head back in exhaustion, her eyes closed and memouries flooded through her mind. The only memouries she had since she'd been found on a barren planet two years ago. When the pilots of a new ship that was being tested had landed on the wasteland they had found her lying nearly dead on the ground, covered in blood and dirt, her insides hanging out and her pulse almost nonexistent.
She hadn't been conscious when they'd taken her aboard, but as she opened her eyes to the blinding light of a hospital her mind was blank. The doctors told her that due to the incredible amount of abuse her body had been put through, the large quantity of blood she'd lost and the various near-fatal wounds, her brain had all but shut down and had caused her to develop severe amnesia.
After six months on life support and masses of operations, Carolyn was able to leave sickbay. At the desk they gave her the only thing that had identified her, the tag around her neck with twelve numbers printed on it. She was Carolyn Fry, they said, captain of a wrecked ship. A captain? She couldn't believe she had ever been on a ship; her mind was empty, a heap of unreadable data and grey areas.
It wasn't until she had met Lysander that anything had seemed right. Lysander Gates. Pilot extraordinaire and the man she loved. Had loved. She'd met him on her way to the only place she could call home, the place her profile said she'd been born, Terra Cross, a peaceful planet light-years away from Andromeda Six where they'd brought her for rehabilitation. He was piloting the ship that took her there and if she hadn't walked mistakenly into the wrong room they never might have met. He had been jovial and good-natured about it; that was what had attracted her to him. Despite his light-hearted character, he was a beautiful man. Tall and slender with narrow brown eyes the colour of amber and thick black hair that kinked and curled all over his head, standing out boldly against skin paler than her own. He was fine-boned, almost effeminate, but his undeniable virility kept him that small step away. Somewhere in the murky depths of her memoury, flashes of an old story, a Shakespearian tale of love and magic broke through her thoughts at the sight of him. A Midsummer Night's Dream, that's what it was called. Staring at him standing there smiling at her, she felt like Hermia to his Lysander.
She'd fallen in love with him at first sight, and it seemed he had too. Seemed. That was the key word. Nearly three months later, when they'd been living together happily on Terra Cross in what appeared to be a perfect arrangement, she announced she was pregnant. Suddenly he changed toward her, anger bubbled up at everything she said or did until one night, he hit her. Hit her hard, hard enough to draw blood. And then he announced that they were through. He wanted no part of the baby, he shouted at her as she lay there bleeding on the floor, and packed all his things that night. He left the next morning for Andromeda Six she assumed, and it wasn't until later that she found out how wrong she had been about his feelings for her when they met.
Various woman called her weeks after he'd gone, screaming about how she had stolen their lover and how they were going to hunt her down and gut her like a fish. Needless to say, any hope she had of him returning was crushed in those moments, and she felt herself crumbling into a depressed, dog-tired life.
But the baby grew inside her, stretching her belly and giving her something to live for once more, after everything that had happened, what she could and couldn't remember; Carolyn knew one thing for sure. She was a fighter, and she'd be damned if she was going to let some Lothario-pig beat her down.
Eight months passed since the time of his departure and the child was finally born. It was sudden, frighteningly so. There hadn't been time to call for a doctor or even scream for help before she found herself lying on the floor, struggling to yield the life that fought for freedom inside her. When the baby was finally expelled, Carolyn moved lethargically to its side, gathering the screaming infant in her arms and pressing it close for warmth. It was a girl, with raven black hair and eyes that matched her own. She named her Leila, an Arabic name meaning 'black as the night' for her silky ebony mane.
Just six weeks had passed since Leila's birth; she had grown strong and healthy, her little limbs gaining the necessary baby fat. The blonde haired woman smiled at the thought of her little daughter lying asleep upstairs. She always smiled as she slept, as if she were dreaming of something delicious.
The sound of a door opening broke her from her reverie and sent her stumbling to her feet as she sought the gun she kept hidden in the small bookcase for emergencies. Somewhere deep inside the crevices of her mind, instincts to survive lashed out and took hold of her body. She crouched slightly and flattened herself against the wall, making her way quietly toward the kitchen, her movements nearly silent.
Carolyn's finger un-clicked the safety on the pistol as she inched toward the open doorway, her body tense, her heart beating like a rabbit's. She stepped carefully around the corner, pointing the gun straight in front of her. "Who's there?!" She shouted half in anger and half in terror, her arms were shaking and she felt as if she were going to vomit. "Come out!"
A dark shadow moved silently toward her from where it stood calmly at the kitchen table. "Hello, Carolyn." The voice was rough, almost gravely, but with a certain amount of seductive silk to send a chill up her spine. Like velvet raked over with a knife.
The young woman's breath caught in her throat and something somewhat like a shattered memoury scratched at the core of her brain, urging her to take hold of it and place that voice, that wonderful dangerous voice. Which belonged to a wonderful dangerous man.
"Who are you?" Her voice cracked, and she cursed herself quietly, clutching the gun tighter. The shadow moved closer yet, stepping into the light slowly. The form of a tall, muscular man emerged; brilliantly shining eyes leered at her from an attractive masculine face. Her heart almost stopped. If Lysander had been beautiful, this man was his better. Not beautiful, godlike.
"Aw. I'm hurt that you don't remember." He didn't sound hurt. The man stepped nearer to her and Carolyn found herself backing away from him, like a fawn to a lion. She gulped, her throat contracting, trying to moisten her tongue enough to speak.
"What do you want?" The question was dumb, and totally natural for a petrified human being. Her back impacted dully with the wall; unknowingly she had turned to look at him when he'd still been by the table, and she had steadily been moving toward the wall behind her.
The man closed the distance between them in one smooth movement, seizing her handgun and twisting her wrist behind her back. "You." The word was enough to make her want to scream. His lips against her neck increased that thought and a horrified shriek ripped from her throat as she struggled in his arms.
"No! Let go!" Her body twisted about wildly; his fingers clamped tighter on her forearms. The blonde woman cried out in pain and stilled her movements considerably as the sharp end of a knife pressed into her abdomen, the point making a small puncture in her flesh. Just enough to allow a slim line of blood to trickle down her hip bone.
"Shh." He murmured softly against her ear, his hot mouth tracing a moist line across her skin. "Don't fight me, Carolyn. Don't fight me." His words were low and soothing as he steered her forcefully toward the next room. She found herself losing her will to fight, just as he'd told her to and went limp in his arms. It was somehow familiar.
Flashes of rain and darkness raced across her mind as he lowered her to the floor of the living room. Inhuman howls and screams of agony tore across her brain. "Riddick-" She moaned; the name seemed so right, so real. Images of him lying atop her, his face barely inches away, his lips hanging torturously close to her own. Shouting words, wild, angry, magnificent words as he shook her. Wanted her to come with him. Somewhere. Then it was gone, as soon as she had seen it, vanishing as quickly as it had come.
Her fingers crept up his back, holding him close against her as he bit her shoulder roughly. "Oh yes-" She wanted her memouries back. She wanted to know why she was who she was. Her shirt was ripped savagely from her body, revealing nearly naked flesh.
He pulled his mouth back from his ministrations and grinned down at her wickedly. "That's right. I see you haven't forgotten me completely." He lowered his lips to hers slowly, relishing the need he saw in her eyes, and he knew was reflected in his own. "Old desires die hard-" He groaned, her legs rose up, circling his waist and drawing him nearer. "Very hard-"
She had no idea who he really was, but whoever she was, she quite agreed with him. This must have been an old desire to cause such an ache to rise up within her heart at the sight of him. The smell of his skin. It sparked everything that she'd lost in her amnesia. Her very soul was his. And he knew it.
His fingers found their way into the band of her pants and tugged them down fiercely as she wrestled his shirt from his shoulders. "Hmm. Not one for waiting, eh?" He was mocking her; she hated and loved him for it all at once. His eyes twinkled as if this were all some jolly joke.
"Damn you!" She screamed, jerking his face back down to her own and pressing her lips to his violently. Her tongue sought entrance to his mouth and was granted it quickly; she slipped it through his lips and touched the softness of his mouth. A low moan rumbled deep within his throat and when she drew back from the caress the smile of mischievousness had disappeared, melting into something frightening and exciting.
"Carolyn-" He crushed his mouth to hers, biting at her lips and clawing wildly at the tender flesh of her body. "Carolyn!" Her name was his war-cry, his mantra, his curse. And she knew that as much as she was his, he was hers. Every fibre of his being, every speck of blackened soul was hers to love and cherish. She yanked his jeans down brutally, fighting his fire with her own.
He slammed into her with angry pleasure and pressed her cruelly against the bruising hardness of the floorboards. As she closed her eyes to blackness, softly grunted words caught her attention.
"Welcome back, baby."
To Be Continued-
Author's Note:
Well, it was short and I thought rather sweet in a twisted "Pitch Black" humour sort of way. I'll add more chapters soon. Until then.
Miss Nightshade