Chapter 2: It Will Live to Leave
Disclaimer: If I owned Firefly or Pitch Black, I would have everything in the world, which is impossible. No one can have unrelenting beauty, a great dog, and their favorite movies and TV shows in one lifetime. And I am nothing if not fair.
To change one's life: Start immediately. Do it flamboyantly. No exceptions.
William James
"So you're telling me that we've got a maniac in our midst," Wash began jokingly and then continued more seriously, "Is this whole debacle going to end in a bloodbath or should we be comfortable with him in chains?"
Johns scratched the stubble on his chin, deciding whether or not to like the man before him, seeing within him a person equal parts laughter and sobriety.
He was a good man, a crafty one, and surely no one could say that he wasn't completely wrapped up in his Amazonian wife.
Zoe, who'd been listening straight-faced and quiet as Johns warned the remaining passengers about Riddick, spoke up, "I'd like to see him, if you don't mind. I'd like to make my own assessment."
After a moment of internal debate, Johns concluded that the woman had a look about her that communicated discrete competency and controlled reserve. He could stand to let someone who could potentially slow down Riddick get a peek at the man.
He began to walk in the direction of his wayward prisoner, calling over his shoulder to the two, "Well, come on. Don't need to clean up or nothin'. He's used to filth."
"I hope he's referring to our clothes, not our characters," Wash whispered as he and Zoe cut across the desert behind the self-proclaimed officer.
Zoe had not decided how truthful the man was yet. Oh, he certainly kept that silver-tongue in his mouth honed and at the ready, but the measure of a man couldn't be decided through his words.
Her almond eyes crinkled attractively even as her mouth remained firm and straight as she replied, "Either way, he's probably referring to you."
He took her hand, a gesture as comfortable as laying in a bath after a long day and broken in after their eight years of marriage, and said, "My filth never bothered you before and I refuse to believe he's the first person who tipped you off to it."
Afterward, the only sounds heard were those of boots on twisted metal in the corpse of the ship. It had been a reliable hull and Wash still couldn't figure out how she could've given out on them.
An old girl like that, she was consistent. He would know.
Finally, they stepped into a shadowed place, a cage whose animal resided in the center. His eyes were obscured by goggles, but his face was alert.
His shoulders were so relaxed that Zoe almost winced, knowing how tense he had to be to resort to misdirection.
His voice, an oddly compelling middle ground between a growl and a purr, spoke, "Brought me toys, Johns? You know better. A woman and a man, married by the smell of it. Woman's a fighter and the man…," he bared his teeth, "…the man wants to get laid."
Zoe took a bold step forward and in a flash she could feel his eyes, probably as piercing as she imagined, on her.
"I wanted to see the threat myself. Let him know that I don't take kindly to people who want to kill me," she said, the steel plaiting her spine making its appearance without pomp or circumstance.
"You given me a reason to hurt you?" Riddick asked after a moment of careful observation.
He radiated a certain quickness, despite his size. She knew his body was waiting for the opportunity and his mind was cranking out plans. Riddick seemed to her the kind of man who had no mercy, but wouldn't strike unless someone got in his way.
Zoe lifted her chin, regally responded, "I haven't given you a reason to try."
His laughter had deep grooves in it, steep dips which reached far into his belly and pushed out thunder. It was mocking, it was appreciative, and it was benevolent.
The hair on Wash's neck stood in response and he curled his hand around his wife's, "Well, introductions have been fun, but this insatiable man is ready to help find the water."
Chuckles followed them out of the makeshift cell and he said to his wife, "I get the impression that he's a scholar and a gentleman, what about you?"
Her lips tipped up briefly, but then a frown formed as she said, "He's smart. Johns is too cocky."
Wash snorted and said, "According to Riddick, he's not the only one."
Taking a shallow breath, Zoe commented, "And he's not far off the mark. But he's biding his time and I get the feelin' it won't be long before that time comes."
The sunshine washed out most of disturbance of the abrupt meeting, but the convict's presence lingered. Zoe's words held an undeniable truth that neither was willing to share with the survivors.
And then it occurred to Wash.
He bit down a grin until he had it just about suppressed. But it spilled out into his voice as he mentioned casually, "Wait 'till River gets a load of him."
Zoe stopped in her tracks as her mind ran through all sorts of scenarios.
"As long as we're there when it happens, I can't see the problem."
But he knew she saw a storm brewing.
Kindred, she thought in reference to the land. Stripped bare and shining—just as she had been for years. Everything it was could not be hidden. She, too, was defined by the absence of; the topography was remarkable because it was empty and in that emptiness, it was prolific.
She was filled up and out with her surroundings: the lamentations of the dead, the desires of the living, and her sense of self could be distorted in the midst of too much chaos.
River felt more herself than usual in her current environment. Firefly was her home and her sanctuary without a doubt. The ship took her into its arms and shrouded her with humming warmth and little secret nooks.
But here, there no was no Simon watching her with his worried eyes and his ready syringes. The pressure to be insane prompted her breaks and her strange fervor to dance with weaponry. There was no Mal wondering when she'd finally crack and ruin the operation (being, in his eyes, everything). There was no Kaylee sweet as sunshine, but wary as an alley cat when out of her comfort zone.
There was no role to play in the dysfunctional family she proudly called her own and, in that, there was freedom.
Zoe and Wash kept her at a respectable distance while making themselves available to her and she enjoyed the relationship.
She concentrated until she could feel them in her head all cozy and near. She skipped her way back to the impromptu camp made out of wreckage, kicking up dirt in transparent splashes and generally pleased despite the impending doom they would soon be facing.
Life was a series of merciless events and euphoria had to be snatched up greedily and fearlessly, and River saw the moment too clearly to resist: the brilliance of three suns, dust skirting her ankles, her skin tanning by the minute, and her sheer pink dress reflecting the light.
Nothing could have been more perfect or more brief.
"River," Zoe greeted as she reached them, giving her the acknowledgement she would never ask for, "Any luck?"
"I found an elephant graveyard," and after spying the look on Wash's face added, "Literally. The skeletons are sleeping in the desert, drying ivory bone and old lace. They were gobbled up by…something loud and high, flying beasts. There is too much noise to hear anything else. The spirits of the dead mostly wail, not give helpful information."
She sighed deeply, her moment having passed and the weight of their lives having returned.
"Alright, so you found the remains of big dead mammals eaten alive by huge winged predators and we're…next?" Wash asked dryly, not very surprised at the dawning sense of familiarity considering he'd had his pterosaur take down his triceratops countless times.
"Do you know a way out?" Zoe prompted.
Zoe wanted to keep their eyes on the goal, which was invariably getting off the deathtrap they'd been stranded on.
River gave a chilling giggle, a momentary lapse in her somewhat-clarity, "There's no way out of hell," and watching the young blonde pilot walking from what she sensed was man in a makeshift cage.
Suddenly interested, she switched gears, pointing toward the confused shaken pilot, "Ask her."
Zoe and Wash tensed upon realizing exactly where she was headed and exactly how much she was disregarding their thoughts on the matter. But they couldn't expose themselves to any scrutiny whatsoever. As long as River was discrete and didn't make a big deal out of being hell-bent to get into the convict's cage, they'd allow it. For now, they'd have to distract the Hunter-Gratzner's pilot from wondering what kind of girl it took to want to meet a murderer.
He's insane…dangerous…menacing…what a dick, Carolyn was thinking just as a slender-limbed girl in an airy pink dress floated by. She'd seen her briefly after the crash and felt the sting of almost having killed an innocent. Long brown hair, doe eyes, and delicate wrists that she'd almost caused to burn up in the atmosphere in what would have been a very painful, very horrible death.
The people she'd just left walked up to her mid-wince.
Wash guessed what was on her mind and ended up half-right, "Met our resident psycho?"
"He's infuriating," Fry answered shortly, "But I bet he can help get us the fuck off this thing."
Zoe agreed, "He certainly could. I've known a lot of criminals, and he's more the self-serving type than the massacre-without-a-reason type."
"Still," Wash chimed in skeptically, "I wouldn't call him a lamb."
"That's name's reserved," Zoe replied stoically before turning her attention to Fry and holding out a confident hand, "Zoe Washburne."
Clasping Zoe's hand, she said, "Carolyn Fry. I know we're all trying to find an escape," and she gestured ahead of them and into the distance with her chin, "There's some sort of settlement or camp out there, abandoned. The two of you want to come with me to explore?"
Wash took the hand that had released his wife's and smiled, "Hoban Washburne. Call me Wash. The two of us, we're all about adventure, especially when there are bullets and near-dear experiences."
Fry smiled briefly, "We've come to the right place then."
Carolyn studied the couple as they walked, squinting at the sand turned bright and brilliant by the great illumination. They were a funny pair. A woman who walked like a soldier and a man in a Hawaiian shirt.
"Don't get us, huh?" Wash asked easily, "She's like a knife and I'm more of a spatula, I know, but there's some pretty serious chemistry here."
Zoe flashed her white teeth in a smile and explained, "I'm attracted to bad analogies."
"I also don't get," Fry began carefully, "the girl you were with. Is she your niece?"
Wash and Zoe exchanged a look that said, in the span of three seconds, let's improvise.
Half-truths it is, Serenity's pilot cheered in his head, something I'm good at.
Zoe intertwined her fingers behind her back fearlessly and said, "No. She's the sister of one of our crew members who wanted to visit a friend. We told our captain we'd drop her off on our way to Venus, the resort planet."
Which notably wasn't saying: No. She's the traumatized tortured sister of the doctor who broke her out of a highly illegal, highly dangerous government program. We decided to take a break from our life of occasional crime and promised to drop River off to visit one of our friends, a Companion. Oh, and she's a fugitive constantly on the run for her life. We're on a second honeymoon, the two of us, because the first one took place on a ship captained by a man who couldn't bear to look at our ring fingers for a few months.
Wash felt that his beloved spouse had removed the fun parts, but for the sake of their relative safety, he approved.
Softening under the cool but amiable demeanor of the soldier and the goofy smile of her husband, Fry relaxed her tense muscles and looked into the warrior's eyes, "This couldn't have been on your itinerary."
The incorrigible pilot raised his brows and pursed his lips jokingly, "I'd say it's right on schedule, considering our luck."
Carolyn had one last question and couldn't resist plowing ahead.
"You mentioned Riddick after I came out of his pseudo-prison. You have to know that that's where your crew member's sister was going. So why are we walking toward the camp when you could be dragging her away from there?"
Another exchange of glances.
Wash spoke, "River's got a sense for danger and how to avoid it if it becomes a threat."
Or, he didn't add, she's a sneak who knew we didn't want her meeting him and alone and jumped at the opportunity once he realized the convict existed and their feelings about it.
Or, he didn't add, she annihilates true threats.
Riddick, eyes full of light; Riddick, darkeye, they'd called him in the pits of Butcher Bay.
The Riddick between then and now was twice as deadly and better equipped to handle the situation he'd found himself in. Namely, he was chained to a bar and needed only the correct amount of time to pop his joints out of socket and slip out, silent as a lynx.
He calculated his odds and was already taking off the cuffs when he stilled and sensed someone coming closer with a smell of burning leaves and purity and chimes.
Something familiar and foreign all at once, catching on the frayed threads of memory he'd shoved, submissive and mute, onto its back and into the heavy recesses of his mind.
She smelled like smoke and absolution and he moved quickly into the shadows to size up the one who'd almost ruined his escape.
Cautious steps caught his attention and held it as the swirling sheer material of a dress shone in the patches of sunlight filtering into the room. Slim limbs in the midst of flimsy fabric and lean Achilles heels which tapered into feet which heard the ground, unobstructed by any shoes.
He was unable to feel trepidation, but there was something in him that wanted to know what she'd do, what she'd say, and how she'd respond to the place he was supposed be.
The tips of her mahogany hair lifted as she walked to the center of the room, where he'd been kept. Her feet firmly planted on the floor, she lifted her arms, stopping once and looking crucified and then once more when she'd stretched until her arms hung high and her wrists hung limp.
The position he'd been in seconds before.
Closing her eyes, she said, "I can hear you. Your mind, there's a great big lock on it."
He swept up from behind her in the time it took to blink, leaning in to scent her more effectively.
"No one in here but you and me, so I'm thinking you're talking about me. And you know what? It's not nice to enter someone's head without permission. And it's not polite to forget to introduce yourself."
"River," she said, "Riddick the soon-to-be fugitive, how much does freedom sting?" she asked, gesturing to her shoulders as if she could feel the ache in his.
He trailed his calloused thumb over the point of her shoulder and she flash-backed to her nail treading a path over the animal bone. He was fast, silent, amused, curious, and bemused.
And underneath that, there was a breathtaking fury.
And underneath that, there was emptiness.
She felt sated and wanted his answer. Charismatic. He held the power to sway if he so chose. He had to understand that she wasn't normal now. He had to realize that she knew things. And they were things that people would and had killed for, and they were things that he could covet and try to take.
But he didn't.
"It's sweet," he told her, "Like a razor the jugular. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that kind of sweetness, would you?"
A beat and then, "A pen."
"Hmm," he deliberated, "Ran into something worse than me out there?"
She answered, "Worse than either of us, Ares," and she turned in a circle, slow and measured in her leisurely movements. She didn't mean to do anything except to see his face, and she didn't mean for him to interpret her actions any differently from how she intended them.
"You gotta lotta nerve, River," he said once her eyes met his goggles, "But, lucky for you, I'm in a good mood."
She traced the bottom set of lashes with the tip of her index finger and bit the inside of her mouth, "Did it hurt?"
"You gotta lotta nerve," he repeated, smirking, and he moved past her body and into the sun.
He didn't. He wasn't blind to her difference, but he had decided they were of no interest to him. He wanted out, he got himself out, and she was just the girl who knew when and how.
"You hunt," she whispered in the dark room, "For answers, memories, purpose. Escape. But your prey is right here, and it will equip you with a knife to save it when you return."
He was long gone and all she could think was that if he existed, there was hope for her. He lived in a world where he had been imprisoned and escaped and imprisoned and escaped and he would never give up.
His will had forced fate's hand to give him this chance on planet M6-117.
Riddick possessed a will to survive which had eclipsed everything that had ever attempted to subdue or control him; she could see it. She knew it in the way he had blocked the worst memories—not consciously, but blocked all the same.
The glimpses she' gleaned struck a chord in her, choked her up.
Scalpels in his eyes and unpolluted pain, the distinct taste of blood as he traded cigarettes he'd nicked from a guard for a procedure in order to endure his time among the shiners, grotesque humanoids born with the ability to see in the dark in one of the prisons to which he's been banished.
They were the same creatures that had quickly recognized Riddick as a threat, a big one, and the one way to survive them would have been getting the surgery. To do that, he'd trusted a stranger with his eyes, his priceless tools.
He had taken the gamble, and it had worked.
She didn't know what to make of him except that she wanted to understand. Wanted to empathize. Wanted to confirm what she thought might be under his eyewear.
She followed the path he'd taken outside and recognized the shapes of her companions and the lady pilot returning from somewhere, most likely the camp she'd spotted near the graveyard.
River hadn't decided on the blonde yet. Fry was an exceptionally smart woman with a self-preservation instinct a mile long. River could respect that, absolutely. She'd injured and maimed and killed to escape her captivity and those blue hands, the color of heartache and torture.
Of turned cheeks and endless abyss.
But Fry would have sacrificed them all for no reason other than not wanting to die and that was something River couldn't accept.
For now, she'd keep her mouth shut to the survivors. She planned to tell Zoe and Wash as soon as she got them alone; she was learning that trust meant divulging information and it was a hard-earned lesson.
When they got close enough, she simply said, "He's gone."
"He what?" asked Johns, gritting his teeth and feeling the ecstasy rushing through his veins fighting against his rapidly rising temper.
"He escaped," Fry repeated, her even voice serrated, "Gone. Vamoose. He's out there. What are you going to do about it?"
"The first thing I'm going to do is finish my wine," Johns said and he gulped it down.
"Then," he threw the glass onto the chunk of ship he stood upon while ignoring Paris' protests, "I'm going to smash my glass."
Sweeping past her, he finished, "And now I'm going to track that prick's sneaky ass down and nail it to the floor."
"You think we should try to find any anger management books back at the research camp?" Wash suggested, pointing in the direction they had recently come from.
"He soars above rationality, no strings attached to pull him down to reason," River explained, "Let the wings dissolve first. Let Icarus plummet."
Wash opened his mouth and then shut it, his teeth clicking audibly, "I lost that one. I lost that one bad."
River had long since figured out his game and encouraged it, his special link to her, and so she said, "I would call it a…tactical retreat."
And she proclaimed victory in her head as said man's mouth kicked up high on both sides and Zoe gave her a smile for her efforts, being very familiar with humoring her him.
Before any response could be made—including the confusion that Fry was obviously experiencing—Shazza, Zeke, Jack, and the Chrislams made their way over.
Zeke was a blunt sort of man who communicated plainly and thoughtlessly, "The murderer's out?"
River knew to be quiet for the conversations that required a gentle touch between her group and the outsiders. She was aware of how easily she could put someone on their guard.
Plus, Wash had nudged her with his shoulder as she opened her mouth to respond.
"Yes," Zoe said smoothly, drawing attention away from the subtle interaction between her crew, "About half an hour ago. He's made no attack on any of us yet, though we should remain alert."
Shazza took a step closer to them, a capable looking woman with the same direct nature as her husband, "Should we expect an attack?"
"Not as far as I can tell," Zoe said, "He's looking for a way off this rock like the rest of us. And unless that escape includes killing us, he's not interested."
"How comforting," Paris piped in, having walked up right after they'd begun talking, "Living on a madman's whims."
"It's better than not living at all," the oldest and most respected Chrislam said, "We should rejoice in the present. We have legs, we have strength, and we have the tools to survive."
"That's the spirit," cried Wash, watching Paris roll his money-hungry eyes with great amusement, "Rejoice in the now, not the imminent and terrifying soon-to-come!"
"What we should be more worried about is what's coming," warned Fry and everyone's gaze turned toward her, "We headed up to that old base we'd spotted after landing. Scientists and miners had set up camp there and built the place. According to their data, an eclipse is about to knock out the light of the three suns for a month and getting off will be practically impossible."
"Is that the only problem?" asked the holy man, spying something in her expression that did not bode well.
"For now, yes," admitted Fry, "But the situation has gone from bad to worse and I don't know what to expect. The best thing to do right now is to keep doing what we're doing. We should go looking for water. And someone needs to bury the dead. Who can stomach it?"
Zeke stepped up instantly, "I intend to pull my weight around here and it needs to be done. Go find us water."
Fry nodded, "I'll catch up to Johns. Let's head out."
In the noise it took to disperse, Zoe nabbed the chance to murmur into River's ear, "We'll talk soon about, among other things, discretion."
"Acceptable," she deigned.
When Zoe gave her a look, she giggled and watched the seconds it took for Serenity's second-in-command to comprehend her teasing.
Riddick's hand drifted over the desk of a long-dead researcher. Their lives had ended violently on a planet with nothing to offer for the sake of mining. And for the discovery of the very animals that had slaughtered them.
The planet was registered as M6-117, but what was its true name to its former inhabitants?
Written in loopy cursive was one word: Hades.
His chuckle rang out low and loud in the darkness.
Perfect.
1. Wash is alive. Hurrah! But for real. It's my party and I'll resurrect my favorite deceased characters if I want to. And, oh, I want to. When I thought of writing this crossover (swayed by the ultimate and delicious pairing of a messed-up girl and a messed-up man), I knew that I couldn't have River be stranded without some the crew or with anyone but the dynamic duo that is a simple (ass-kicking) pilot and his simple (crazy beautiful, crazy strong) wife. They also seem like the sort to give River the distance she needs to cope. Watching the show, I always got the sense that the constant worrying and expectation sometimes prompted her breakdowns.
It's so easy to get comfortable in a role when people expect you in it.
2. Not to say that River doesn't have issues and isn't affected by them. Because that's not even remotely true. Honestly, she's still standing and trying to live her life and I find that amazing. Strange bird, that one, but she's resilient.
Which is why I really think she'd admire Riddick's strength. She really values the will to live because it is so present in her and she struggles with living even as she wants it. I mean, he was born with an umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, alone and in a goddamn dumpster, because some idiot decided genocide would be a good counter to a prophecy foretelling his death at the hands of a Furyan male. Good job on that one, Necromonger.
3. Johns is a bit of an asshole in this chapter because in the middle of a huge high and being interrupted with bad news is enough to make any addict a little nasty. He can be nice and charming when Fry catches up to him. He might have calmed down by then.
4. I also think the fact that Riddick has repressed his memories of who he is, he can really identify with River's confusion over what she is. And in life, it's rare to find someone who can truly empathize with your situation. It's profound and it's scary and I want this story to be treated like that. Both Riddick and River are trying to figure things the hell out. River's a young woman now whose sanity she continues to piece together after having thousands if not millions of dead people constantly screaming in her head. Riddick keeps getting thrown into prisons for something he may or may not have done wrong (not that we ever really know what that is). There's gotta be a good reason he's an anarchist after having served in the military, alright?
5. And when they first met, I wanted it to be soft and understated. This is an exercise in writing for me. At first, I thought I needed abundant amounts of darkness and chilling and haunting and horror. And I love and want those things. But that's not the beginning and end of who these characters are and what they're capable of. So I've stop underestimating them.
And, also, if Riddick hadn't of been in such a damn good place mentally after having escaped from Johns' cuffs, he might have gotten more aggressive with River. He's a survivalist first, after all. But River looks fairly harmless, so I went for, to me, a funner route than violence.
Can't show your hand too soon or you lose the game by rushing it.
6. Oh, and messing with the timeline of the plot, as of now, is only happening to better assimilate the additions to the PB-verse.
