Disclaimer: Pitch Black and all its' characters are not mine. We all know this sad fact of life. Just like we all know the only thing we have to gain is our own enjoyment.

Chapter 2

So, it's my day off, and I get this call from work. Seems some guys got in a fight at the bar, nothing really special about that, but it escalated into a full out brawl. That's what happens when I don't work on Fridays. I told Bear I needed to work the weekends, because the other bouncer has shit-for-brains, and as long as he doesn't have to move his ass off of that stool he loves so much, a nuke could go off and he would just smile and tip back the beers. Maybe now Bear'll listen to me. Of course, I'm sure the fact that I make twice as much as that dumb shit had almost everything to do with it, but if this keeps up, I'll be working the weekends in no time. All the best fights are on the weekends. But I get this call, and apparently after Bear brought out the shotgun and fired off a few rounds, most of the drunks took off. Just the two guys that started everything are left. And one of them claims to know me. Sure, honey, easy to claim when my name is well-known here. I'm one of the few women in this town that can walk the streets alone without getting trouble most days. So I just laugh at Bear and say, "sure, he knows the self-proclaimed Ice Queen, right." And Bear's voice gets all funny and low, like he's whispering or some shit, and he says that this guy was calling me Jack. If it's a merc, I'm thinking I have a little time to make him disappear. Someone else would probably do it anyway, but why let someone else have the fun? I tell Bear I'll be there, and Bear says to hurry 'cause the guy got beat up pretty bad. Like I give a shit. I am Jack, hear me snort in total lack of caring.

So I walk down there, watching for any new faces, and I walk into the bar. My dipshit fellow bouncer is sitting on that fucking stool, nursing a broken nose. I walk up to him and straighten it real quick, before he has any idea what I was going to do. Nope, didn't enjoy any of his curses aimed at me. Maybe I could've gotten away with re-breaking it just so I could set it again. I find Bear pacing behind the bar like it's his last stand or something, and I patiently remind him that this shit wouldn't have happened if I had been here. He glares at me, which he only does when he really doesn't want to admit I'm right, and jabs the shotgun in the direction of the guy that supposedly knows me. So I take a look, knowing that if he is a merc, then I'll tell Bear I'm taking it outside, and that'll be the end of it as far as anybody'll ever know. But no, it's not a merc, it's Riddick. He's sitting in a corner booth, on the table, and bleeding everywhere. Apparently the other guy had already been hauled off to a clinic. So I stand there like a moron, not really believing it's him. I mean, if mercs, the blood hounds of the fuckin' human race, couldn't find me, then how in the name of all that is wicked and sinful did he? He stands up and walks over to me, and he at least has the grace to look a little sheepish. Fuckin' right, bring shit to my life, my place of employment no less, and damn right you're gonna feel a little sorry about it. Or I'da stabbed him once more for the hell of it. I can't, like, hug him or anything, or the whole Ice Queen thing is blown, so I wink at him where no one will see it and proceed to bitch him the fuck out. Sure, we were leaving the bar as I did it, but I'm sure everyone heard enough to know that I was not a happy frost queen of the sexless biotches. About a block away from my place I fall back so we're walking side by side, and I finally look at him. He's still the same. How in the hell does he manage to look just as big at 20 as he did when I was 13? Shit, can I learn that trick?

I wait until my door is closed before letting out the sigh I've been carrying since I first realized it was him, and I take a good look. He's been roughed up pretty good, so it had to be quite a few of them on the other side's team to actually do this much damage. Nothing I can't stitch up, though, thank God. I am a bouncer, so of course I have a small clinic in my bathroom, which makes his eyebrow hit the ceiling. The word bouncer is all I need to say, and he grunts like it makes all the sense in the world. Wait, it does, nevermind. So he sits down on my toilet, and I pull out a towel from the hallway closet, setting it back on the sink. I grab everything I think I'll need from the cabinet under the sink, and I tell him I'll be in the living room. He nods and I wait out on the couch. Now, don't laugh when I tell you that besides the coffee table that hold my laptop, the couch is the only thing in the living room. At least I have a couch, because my last two places didn't. Dude, it's just me, and I'm not the kind to entertain. Why the hell would I need a couch?! It was free, so whatever, bite me.

He walks out in the towel, and I'm doing good. I haven't seen how Adonis he is, my tongue isn't hanging out like one of those cartoons where the guy turns into a wolf and is howling over some hot babe, and I am not acknowledging his knowing smirk. Fuck. Whatever, guess I won't be with the charitable giving of the painkillers, now will I? You don't piss off the person who has the drugs, duh. So I sit down and start stitching. Thankfully I have to look at what I'm doing, so I have an excuse to be quiet. Just stitch and bandage. I have to move several times because he has knife cuts on all sides, and I'm not moving my laptop off the table for no one. He can sit on the couch and be thankful. When I finally get done (were there any knives he managed to miss?) I pick up all the garbage and head into the kitchen, grabbing the OJ on the way out. I hand it to him and lean against the wall opposite the couch, waiting patiently. I can be very patient, and I think it actually surprises him. I'm not the impulsive little kid any more, dumb ass. If I have to face harsh realities, then so do you.