The next morning found Jack seated at the breakfast bar, drinking deeply from a glass of orange juice. She'd already worked out in the gym, pushing herself in her anger against Riddick.

Every punch she'd thrown, every move she'd made, had been fuelled by his sudden arrival last night. The way he'd swanned in like everything was ok, like nothing had changed, enraged her.

How could she not be still reeling from his comeback and the emotions he'd invoked? In all the time he'd been gone she'd never once let anyone get close to her, not like she'd let him.

Yet she couldn't deny her excitement and her relief that Riddick was back, that he had returned. Even if it was seven years too late.

She had moved on, she told herself firmly with a touch of bitterness, had grown up. So what if she still saw monsters in the dark? She was a big girl now and could take of herself.

On that thought her senses tingled, a feeling of awareness sliding down her spine. She knew without turning he was there, standing in the doorway.

Inclining her head slightly she managed "hello."

Heard, no, felt him move beside her.

Grabbing one of the kitchen chairs he swung it round so he straddled it. Resting his arms on the back, he studied her until she couldn't stand it any longer.

"Can I help you?" She finally ground out.

A smirk played on his lips as he shook his head at her tone. "Sure," he rumbled "breakfast?"

A flashback from another time and place had her catching her breath. Remembering there being nothing to eat but a specialist nutritious, yet tasteless, mush dry packed in silver sachets. The question had been a running joke, always asked to invoke a laugh.

"Ok" she answered, lips all but frozen "we have cereal, toast, porridge, omelette, fry up..."She stopped, her hands shaking. Hating herself she made herself meet his eyes, "well?"

Her palms itched as his smirk grew.

"You know" he considered slowly, his eyes mocking. "A fry up sounds good."

"Is that...with everything?"

"Bring it all baby."

Jaw cracking in an attempt to keep her temper, she stood and made her way over to the fridge, Imam's words ringing in her ears;

"Make an effort Jack. He's been alone a long time and that does things to a man." About to go, he'd added "even one like him."

"So" Riddick started, breaking the silence "what've you been up to?"

Why was it that his voice soothed her like warm honey? That it made her want to, want to...

Scowling, she angrily flipped bacon into the pan.

"Star Ship Academy, for the past three years anyway."

"That's how long it takes?" he whistled, seemingly impressed. "I never learnt."

Forgetting the stove she stared at him, spatula hovering over the pan. "What, never?"

"Nah," he said lazily. "It's all instinct. You either know it or you don't."

"Bull" Jack stated flatly, turning back to the stove to start the eggs. "It's about technique and technology, not instinct."

Was this another attempt at the old days? She wondered. A discussion, verging on a heated argument? Before it had been subtly monitored by Imam, but now there was no one to buffer.

"Is that what they teach you now?

Riddick's purring voice came over her left shoulder. She hadn't even felt him coming up behind her.

"That" she shot back, determinedly flipping the eggs over, "and more."

The silence behind her stretched and grew as she cooked. Finally, in defeat, she turned – to find him studying her, leaning nonchalantly against the counter opposite.

"Problem?" She asked, arching a brow. She couldn't help but marvel at how he hadn't changed in all the years he'd been gone, and how even now he still had the power to distract her with one look. Leaning back against the counter in grey cargos, his trademark black vest and heavy duty boots, he oozed a 'don't fuck with me' persona that had her stomach tying itself in knots.

Suddenly he pushed himself off the counter towards her, an arm reaching round as he whispered in her ear, "foods burning."

Flushing, she brushed him away and hurriedly dished up feeling horribly flustered. Angry at her own reaction, she knew he was just messing with her head. Richard B. Riddick loved a good skull fuck.

Gesturing for him to sit she placed the plate before him and handed him the cutlery.

He seemed to eye the plate with some trepidation, which stung a little. She could cook – now.

Taking a forkful he tentatively tasted before digging in.

Jack snorted, unable to help herself.

"What?" He asked gruffly, forking another mouthful.

"Nothing. Just your disbelief in my culinary skills."

Riddick grinned, eyes on his plate, "no wonder after that crap you served me. I haven't eaten shite like that since the Slam."

"I didn't know the meat was off."

"Jack" he protested "it was fucking green."

Chuckling, she shook her head, "nuh uh."

He shot her a look of disbelief.

"Not all of it."

Riddick burst out laughing at this and suddenly all the tension in the room drained away, like a shadow brightened by the sun.

"You did not just say that, kid" he menaced teasingly, standing and making as if to grab her.

Laughing, she darted out of his way, instinctively heading for the stairs leading to the basement.

"Hope your goggles are still good," she shouted back at him "it's a bit bright down here."