Jack woke with a start, shooting upward with wide eyes. There was not light for her to see and, with dawning horror and a galloping heart, she began to panic. Her breath ripped and pulled frantically between her lips, drying her mouth uncomfortably. It wasn't until she noted a strange, yet familiar, sensation did her nerves begin to calm. Jack was warm. There was no biting cold or heavy restraints and confusion swept through her. She wasn't dead because she had already died and she was sure that you couldn't hop from Hell to Heaven; that wasn't how it worked. Eternal suffering was eternal, the after-life didn't flip on a whim… did it? More so, Heaven probably didn't have beds. She recognized the feel of sheets against her bare skin and noted the plushness of the mattress below her. Where was she? How did she get here?
Tentatively, she scooted down, using her feet to feel for the end of the bed.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The rumble that filled the dark room made Jack freeze. Memories of After flooded back to her, wreaking havoc to her thoughts. So he had been there. She hadn't imagined his shining eyes in the dark, but what did that mean? Were they both dead? She didn't understand. "Your legs aint gonna' work right, kid." She cocked her head as he spoke, listening for what direction it came from and turned her head as she pinpointed it a little to her right.
"M-my legs?" she croaked, her voice rough with disuse. She sounded slow, if she could be frank with herself, but she wasn't quite getting it. What was wrong with her legs. They felt okay, some pins and needles, but they didn't seem any less than Before.
"Got some new legs, Jack," he chuckled lightly, but the timbre underneath made her slightly uneasy. "Gotta' break 'em in. Gotta' break a lot of things in."
"New legs?" she whispered out again, her voice clearing slightly. He sighed and she felt the edge of the bed dip as hot hair blew gently against her cheek. She turned her head slowly to face his breath and felt her nose brush against his. It was just so damn dark. She wished she could see his face, she wanted to watch his smirk when he spoke to her, wanted to take him in. She thought briefly that this might have been another way for Hell to torture her, but dismissed it when she felt his fingertips brush idly up her limp arms.
"New body," he replied. "Soft like baby skin. No scars, no marks… no muscle. You even gotta new smell- better." Something soft brushed against her throat and she assumed it was his nose when she heard him inhale, heat radiating off of him when he leaned close to her. Her body's reaction was instantaneous. Goosebumps erupted over her flesh, radiating from the small point of contact outward and she inhaled deeply, his own scent enveloping her nose. She recalled cartoons in Imam's living room, where the smell of food often gathered together in the shape of a hand, beckoning the character the way his smell called to her now, but it was easy to ignore. What with the news and all.
"H-how?" she gasped, disbelief rushing throughout her body like shivers on a cold night. It didn't make sense. She didn't even have a real body. She was dead. Her real body was probably rotted away to bones by now. The realization was surreal, knowing that she was separate from herself and still, for the most part, herself.
"You think I'd let you rot there 'cause you tried to play hero?" he asked. It was a reprimand, she could feel it, though his voice was still soft and his nose was still buried in her throat. His plush delivery did nothing to stop her hackles from rising, however, and she froze, her teeth locking together.
"Try is a little short, don't you think, Riddick?" she bit out, yanking herself back from him harshly. "Considering the way things were going before I 'played hero', I'm pretty sure I saved your life." There was silence and, for reasons clearly portrayed in his past behavior, Jack grew anxious, even fearful. As much as she had swore to herself Before that she knew more about him than any other person would-could - the truth was a stark contrast. Despite fighting together to remain alive on multiple occasions, she knew very close to nothing about him and, no matter how easy it was to get a rise out of him with his flaring temper, she didn't know what was too far, but she couldn't help herself. She had died for him, suffered through… After for him and, no matter if he rescued her, a little gratitude would have been a nice.
A little sympathy even.
"You wouldn't of had to save my life if you hadn't run off with them in the first place," Riddick finally said, his voice heated and Jack felt his hot hand close around her ankle, pulling her back toward him sharply and she yelped, her back hitting the mattress. She could feel his heat appear above and she imagined him hovering over her, the muscle of his arms bulging as he supported himself. Of course, there was no way to confirm this because she couldn't see. She didn't like it. Jack had never been afraid of the dark Before, she welcomed it even, using the blackness to imagine him watching over her until that hope faded. Then it was perfect to skulk through, hiding herself from those that would hurt her. Or those she would hurt. Now however, (she supposed she could call it after After) the dark reminded her of high pitched screams and unwelcome voices.
"What was I supposed to do, Riddick?" She argued. "Burn to a crisp? Can we get a little fucking light in here?!"
"Couldn't stick around to make sure I was really dead, Kyra?" He said, sarcastically, his voice dripping in it. "Couldn't see my body to the ground before you hopped on to the next big thing that could protect you?" Jack inhaled sharply, rage pulsing through her with each strong heartbeat in her ears. She couldn't even dwell on the fact that her heartbeat confirmed her life, she was seething so much. Her hands shot upward and cemented her earlier assumption that he was holding himself above her. She pushed as hard as she could, but he wouldn't budge. She felt the weakness in her arms and knew he hadn't been lying when he said she had a lot to break in. There was no force there, no muscle, no anything. She was weak and, somehow, that enraged her further.
"Typical that you would see it that way," she hissed, her voice ragged from her continued efforts to get him the fuck off. "I don't need anyone's protection. WILL YOU TURN ON THE FUCKING LIGHTS?!" Her arms shot forward as his chest disappeared and then she was blinded by brightness, her eyes burning from it. They were unaccustomed to it and tears gathered, threatening to brim over. Riddick stood tall and looming by a steel door, far more ornamental than she had expected with the little ships he tended to harbor in. His tan skin and black ensemble stood in sharp contrast to the pale gray of everything around them, not that she paid the surroundings much mind. She was an animal trying to decide fight or flight. His face was empty, but his body quivered with a rage she was not used to seeing directed at her. She had been privy to disinterest, annoyance, maybe a little anger, but never the fury that shook his body now.
"You do," he growled. "That's what you do. You hop from big fucker to big fucker. First me, then the mercs, then me again, and then the fuckin' necros because you can't make it without someone there to watch your ass." He was stalking toward her now and Jack wanted to argue, wanted to shove the accusations he was spewing up his tight little ass, but her tongue wouldn't unstick from the roof of her mouth and he was on a roll. His heavy boots made no noise on the floor as he pushed toward her, leaning over the bed where they were nose to nose, her reflection on his goggle staring back at her, wide eyed.. "Let me save you the trouble for next time you think of skippin' out for a better baddie:
I'm the biggest fucker you're ever gonna' find."
Fans self.* I like to think that that was an argument they would have right away. I feel like Jack has a way of pushing out traumatic things, so her breakdown about After would be just a bit delayed. Don't worry, it's coming.
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