Chapter 2
Jack awoke groggily, her eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying herself to sleep. She groaned and rolled over, staring at the glowing green numbers on her alarm clock. She still had three hours before the damn thing would go off. Fuck. She sighed and threw the covers off, standing on tired, achy legs.
She sat on the counter and threw a slice of bread into the toaster and washed a knife to spread cream cheese with. No need for plates – she just grabbed the toast out of the air as it popped and juggled it between hands until it was cool enough to handle. A smattering of cream cheese, and then it was gone. She brushed the crumbs off her hands and into the sink and slid off the counter to her feet, shuffling into the living room.
Once her wraps and gloves were secure, she went at it against the punching bag. The harder she punched, the more her emotions melted away and, finally dissipated after two hours of beating up a nameless, expressionless, inhuman punching bag that was holding its stuffing in with duct tape. Struggling to get her breathing under control, she headed to the shower and twisted the knob to start the water. It never got hotter than warm, but she didn't need hot water. She didn't shave, didn't waste time, didn't use any of that smelly stuff. Just like a guy's shower. Had to play the part and all. The faster her shower, the less time she had to deal with a female body, and the sooner she could get back to the existence she'd become comfortable with, that had saved her life.
She dressed quickly, pulling a ratty baseball cap over her short hair. Her dirty boots followed, and then her coveralls. It was going to be a cold one today. She grabbed her toolbox and locked the door behind her, shoving her free hand into the deep pockets of her coveralls, thankful she'd sprung for the more expensive quilted one.
Marty paid her well, but it only barely covered her apartment, utilities, and food. She had to walk to work. She didn't mind, except on cold days like this. She hunkered down into her navy coveralls, preparing herself for the wind hiding behind the corner. Bracing herself, she rounded the corner and ran into something hard, feeling herself reel backwards a few steps.
"Jesus," she gasped. "Excuse you."
"My sincerest apologies." She froze, having to force herself to look up.
"Get the fuck away from me," she spat, shoving past him and into that damn wind.
"I've spent two years tracking you down, Jack," he called after her. She felt him following her and sped up.
"You've wasted two years tracking down the wrong Jack," she retorted. "How many Jacks are there in the charted world, huh?"
"So how was Mena?"
"Never been there," she replied without skipping a beat. How the hell did he know she'd been there? Everything about this guy said it was really him, except his eyes. That and the hair. Almost shaved, but enough to be visible, and a full goatee. It couldn't be him. She didn't know how he knew where she'd been, and she wasn't about to let him find out he was right. Creep. "Leave me alone," she finished.
"Jesus, Jack." She shook her head and walked even faster, her breath coming in short clouds of fog. Just a few more steps until she was at the garage, and all would be well. Shit. He followed her through the door.
"Marty, get this guy off my back," she ordered, dropping her toolbox on the ground. Marty looked up from under the hood of a vehicle and scowled.
"You messin' with my crew?" He asked, standing up. He looked over at Jack and then back at the man barging into the garage. "Don't be messin' with my guys or you'll have to deal with all of us," Marty warned. Jack smirked and opened her toolbox, fitting together a socket wrench, her forearm throbbing at the memory of the tool. She cringed at the man's laugh.
"I might be messin' with your crew, but I ain't messin' with any of your guys," the man stated, a playful grin sliding across his features. It didn't look natural. Didn't fit him.
"How do you figure?" Jeff asked, taking a stance beside Jack. Three pairs of eyes stared back at the man so sure of himself, ready to go at it. He raised a finger to point at Jack.
"Jack's not a guy," he said simply.
"Like hell," Marty spat. "You blind or something?" The sound of the socket wrench bouncing off a metal toolbox made three pairs of eyes focus on Jack.
"Well, let's see here," the man said. "She's got no shaving shadow on her face, awfully small for a guy, even if she is pretty built." He cocked his head to the side. "Bet she never takes a shower in there, either, huh?" She could feel Marty and Jeff staring at her, no, through her.
"He's fuckin' crazy," was all she could think to say. "Asshole followed me to a bar last night and started in with this shit."
"Jack?" Jeff asked.
"Yeah, I laid into him. Roughed him up a little, but evidently he didn't get the picture."
"You wanna tell me what the hell's—"
"He thinks I'm some girl he knows, tracked down," she interrupted Marty, "And now he's following me all over town. Better back off, you motherfucker," she warned.
"You're looking a little flushed, Jacqueline," the man smiled. "Is it bikinis or a thong today?"
"Boxerbriefs, you flying ignoramus," she spat.
"Jack," Marty's voice broke into her thoughts. She glanced over her shoulder at him. His eyebrow was cocked. "You got something to tell us?"
"You're gonna believe him over me?" she asked, incredulous. "I've busted my ass here for six fucking months, ten hours a day, and you're gonna believe this motherfucker, who just walked into this garage yesterday and tried to steal your crew, and then followed me to a fucking bar and pulled this shit there? Jesus fucking Christ, guys. This is me." They just looked at her. She sighed and flopped onto the bench behind her. "You guys know me." She shook her head. "He doesn't."
"You haven't changed a bit, Jack," was all the man said. She stared up at him before lurching from her seat and hurling herself at him, managing to make contact between her fist and his jaw before Jeff got a hold of her, tearing her away from him.
"Fuck you!" she yelled, struggling against Jeff's hold on her. "You don't know shit about me. Fuck off!"
"Leave," Marty said, wrenching the door open and shoving the man toward it. "Get the fuck out and don't come back." The man held up his hands and turned. The door was slammed, and Jeff let go of Jack, letting her fall to a heap in the floor. She bit the tears back, letting them think her breath was heaving from the physical exertion.
"Jack?" Jeff asked.
"I'm fine," she lied. "Just let me catch my breath."
"We still would have hired you," Marty said gently.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she demanded between gasps of breath.
"You know how it is here," he said, "all equal and everything." She stared up at him.
"Great," she laughed. She stood and brushed herself off, wavering on her feet just a bit. "You actually believe that lying son of a bitch?" Marty's eyes gave him away. She looked back at Jeff. "You too?" He nodded slightly. She shook her head. "Just fucking great." She grabbed the socket wrench she dropped from its resting place under a stationary toolbox and placed it in her own. "Fucking great," she mumbled. She slammed the drawer shut, and then the lid, and heaved it off the ground.
"You still work here, Jack," Marty said, glancing at her toolbox.
"I can't work with people who don't believe me," she spat back, scowling. She brushed past him toward the door.
"Jack, please," Jeff pleaded quietly. She stopped, her back still facing them. "We can't do this without you." She shook her head with a silent snicker.
"You did fine before I got here, Jeff. You'll deal."
"Please stay," Marty said quickly. "At least for a while." She shook her head and took another step. "He's probably still out there." She stopped again. "Let's get to work, Jack. Got a huge list of shit to get done today. You pulled three on your own. Bigger than yesterday." She turned to him. He smiled slightly. Jeff smiled down at her as well. She scowled back up at him.
"Wipe that smartass grin off your face, you shitfaced motherfucker," she spat. His smile fell, but that sympathetic look in his eyes didn't fade. She shook her head and threw her toolbox to the floor and knelt to dig through it. She started at Marty's hand on her shoulder.
"Do you know him?" She sighed. No use now.
"I thought I did." He waited, his hand still making her nervous. Physical contact was something she'd gotten used to not encountering. "Not who I thought he was."
"Who did you think it was?" Jeff asked, sitting on the bench next to where she was crouching.
"No one," she mumbled. They didn't leave soon enough for her taste, and she threw the anger into her work. The hours passed, and she didn't stop, didn't slow down, didn't take a break. If the engine had been in the car she was working on, she wouldn't have noticed Jeff peering down at her. Her eyebrow rose, the scowl still remaining on her face.
"Smoke?" he asked. She nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. She followed him out the back door, snapping up her coveralls. They lit up and leaned against the wall, not looking at each other. She snickered out of nowhere, and Jeff looked over at her, startled. She was staring down at her hand, turning the cigarette over between her fingers, just looking at it, feeling him looking at her.
"Cracks me up," she said quietly.
"What does?" Jeff asked.
"Meat's illegal, but cigarettes aren't." He laughed and shook his head.
"Crazy place, huh?" She nodded, falling silent again. He just watched her, taking her in, in light of this new revelation. Thinking now about it, she was too pretty to be a guy. But without makeup and masses of hair, she pulled off guyness believably.
"You would have treated me differently," she said finally, not looking over at him. His eyebrow rose. "If you'd known I was a girl." He looked away, back out into the distance.
"I suppose, maybe," he said quietly. "But you never gave us the chance, now, did you?" She smiled.
"Thank God for that." He smiled back at her and dropped his cigarette, snuffing it out under his shoe.
"Nice to meet you, Jacqueline," he said. She rolled her eyes.
"You've known me all along, and if you call me that again, I'll rip off your nuts and shove them down your throat." He laughed and pulled the door open. She was thankful he didn't bother holding it open for her to go in first. She would have slugged him for that.
***
"I'm out, Jack," Marty called. She wiggled a foot from under the car, signaling that she heard him.
"Jeff still here?" she asked, pausing in her work to hear his answer.
"No, he left a while ago. Said he kicked your foot to let you know, but you didn't answer." She snickered.
"So that's what that was for, huh? I thought he just tripped over me." Marty laughed.
"You know Jeff."
"Yeah, I know Jeff," she repeated with a heavy sigh.
"Look, Jack," Marty started. She rolled out from under the car to look at him. "I want you to stay." She smiled weakly, letting her eyes fall to a spot of grease on the garage floor. "You're a damn good mechanic, regardless." She nodded slightly. "I mean it, Jack." She looked up at him. "I need you."
"Sure you want to keep me?" He smiled.
"Hell, I'll even put in a shower just for you." Her eyebrow rose. "Private changing stall and door and everything." She smiled.
"You don't have to do that," she countered.
"I know." He nodded, tossing a rag into a bin. "You deserve it though."
"I don't want special treatment, Marty," she insisted, her face serious.
"So consider it a bonus." She snickered and shook her head, waving him out the door as she rolled herself back under her current project. She sighed and started back in. She had a long ways to go on this piece of junk, and it had to be ready by nine the following morning. Overtime was nice, though.
She was about an hour away from being done, assuming nothing catastrophic was hiding under the hood, when the lights went out.
"Son of a bitch," she muttered, rolling out from under the car and smacking into her toolbox. "Ow, fuck," she groaned, rubbing her head. "That'll leave a mark." She pulled open a drawer and fumbled around, searching for her flashlight. It clicked on, and she dropped it with a shaky gasp. She backed up, doing the crab walk, until she hit the wall, sinking to the floor. The flashlight cast an eerie glow in the room, barely enough to see what was happening.
The intruder was dressed in all black, looming over her, a ski mask hiding all but the eyes. Unreadable chocolate orbs staring down at her. She stood slowly, clutching a hammer behind her back, shaking so badly she had to clutch it tightly enough to whiten her knuckles. She just stared. She jumped as the intruder moved his arm, pressing herself closer to the wall as the fingers grasped the mask and pulled it off. The hammer dropped to the floor with a loud clang.
"I thought maybe you didn't recognize me before," he said calmly.
"Get away from me," she stammered. He looked down at the hammer behind her feet.
"Now, what were you planning on doing with that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side slightly.
"Get the fuck away from me," she repeated, trembling so hard she couldn't move away from him. He took two steps closer to her, watching her press closer to the wall. With each step he took toward her, she tried to back up further, not really going anywhere, but feeling like she was. She was plastered against the wall, and he was inches away from her, not touching, but she still felt him. Too close for comfort. She shivered. He leaned forward, his hands on either side of her head, and she whimpered, a pathetic squeaking sound that gave away her fear.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered. Her eyebrow twitched downward slightly. She was visibly quivering.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice trembling as badly as she was. He blinked.
"I don't know, Jack." She shuddered violently. He shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm doing here." He let his nose touch hers, but she jerked away quickly, turning her head to the side. He sighed and turned her chin toward him. She fought, but he won. "C'mon, Jack." She looked like she was about ready to cry. "You know I could never hurt you." Another pathetic whimper. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. She couldn't pull back anywhere, so she just stood there, willing him to let her go. "It's me," he whispered. His breath fanned out over her face, making her lips tingle, raising goose bumps all over her skin.
"This is a dream," she whispered, scrunching her eyes shut. "This is not happening, Jack. You smacked your head when the lights went out. You're still lying in the floor, conked out, dreaming all this up. This is not—" She was cut off by his lips on hers. Her eyes slammed open and reality hit her like an anvil falling off a ten-story scaffolding: this is not a dream. She wrenched her lips from his and darted under his arm, running toward the door. Almost there, Jack, she pushed, just a few more steps and…
"Hungh!" His arms went around her waist, pulling her to the floor. She landed on her back under him. She let out a scream, and he clamped his hand over her mouth. She struggled against him, but she was pinned under his weight, one hand holding her arms above her head, the other still clamped over her mouth. He shook his head, giving her a look that sent chills up her spine. She shuddered against him.
"Don't. Scream," he commanded in two distinct sentences. She nodded, her eyes wide, and he removed his hand, keeping it hovering over her just in case. "Now, I'm gonna let you up," he said slowly, "and you're not going to run, right?" She nodded. He hoisted himself off the ground, pulling her to her feet. She jerked her arm out of his grasp and backed up a few steps.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly. He rubbed his head, closing his eyes before he pinched the bridge of his nose. She bolted again, but he caught her with one arm, trapping her against his chest between solid arms.
"You said you weren't going to run," he quipped, looking down at her. Her hands pressed against his chest, trying to throw herself backward out of his grasp, and finally giving up. "You're making this a lot harder than I anticipated, Jack," he noted.
"How the hell do you know my name?" she demanded. His eyebrow rose.
"Close your eyes." She just stared up at him.
"I'm not doing shit until you—"
"Close your eyes," he repeated more firmly. She jumped, and then complied. "Five senses, Jack." She shivered again. "Taste."
"Bile." He smiled.
"Feel."
"In what sense?" she asked. "Emotional? Scared shitless. Tactile? Trapped."
"Trapped isn't tactile, but okay," he granted. "See?"
"Nothing," she stated. "You made me close my eyes. Unless you want me to say the inside of my eyelids."
"Okay, how about hear?"
"My heart pounding in my ears, the generator buzzing, and a train going by."
"Smell." She paused, shaking her head. "Smell, Jack, smell. What do you smell?" She shook her head again, weakening. He leaned in close to her ear. "Smell," he repeated.
"I don't smell anything."
"Bullshit," he countered. "Jack, what do you smell?" She shook her head. "Olfactory tells you more than sight and hearing combined. Smell for me, Jack." She shook her head, and he waited. He knew she would break soon, but timing was everything. Just as she started to let go, he whispered directly into her ear, letting his lips graze the soft skin of her cheek, "Smell."
"Riddick," she whispered. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and pulled her tighter against him, sinking to the floor, making her kneel over him. He cradled her head just under his chin.
"God, I missed you Jack," he whispered, feeling her sob against him. He let his hold on her loosen, and she stayed pressed against him. His fingers trailed up and down her back, finally coming to rest behind her neck, his hand wrapping around either side. She shook her head against him.
"You shouldn't have come here," she whispered, her words broken between gasps and sobs.
"I had to," he replied.
"Why?"
"I need you." She pulled back, wiping her tears away clumsily with the back of her hand.
"Mechanics aren't hard to come by," she pointed out.
"I know," he said quietly. "But I need you." She shook her head, her lip quivering. He let his hand wander up the side of her neck and come to rest on her cheek, brushing the stream of tears dry before letting his lips settle there. Her eyes closed at the contact, letting another stream free down the other cheek. He moved to stop the trickle with another kiss. She shook her head, standing.
"I can't leave here," she stated, pausing as though she couldn't decide whether or not to say his name. He just looked up at her, waiting for her explanation. "Marty's building me a shower. All for me. Just me," she whispered the last two sentences as though it was the greatest revelation in the world – the answer to all the questions of life. His laughter rumbled through the garage, echoing.
"Well, that's a shitty excuse," he said, standing. She shook her head.
"I can't leave," she insisted.
"Not even for me?" Her eyes snapped up to his.
"Not even for me," she said, turning his statement. His eyebrow rose at that. She took a breath and paused, pondering. He just waited. "Ever since you left, I—" She paused, watching him switch his weight to the other foot. "Riddick, I—" His ears tingled at the sound of his name on her lips. She looked startled, just by uttering it. She sighed and broke her gaze from his, glancing around the shop. "I've built a life for myself here," she finally finished. He nodded.
"I can see that." She shook her head.
"I can't just throw all of it away." His cheek twitched. "Not to say that, um, going off with you or whatever would be throwing it away, but," she said quickly, then stopping abruptly with a heavy sigh. "I've changed." He nodded. "You've done fine without me for seven and a half years. You don't need me, Riddick." She paused, waiting for him to look at her. "And I don't need you any more, either." His eyes closed, his head turning slightly, as though she'd slapped him. She just watched him, waiting for his response.
"I can't make you leave, Jack," he said, lowering himself to the bumper of the car behind him. "And I can't make you believe that I've missed you as much as I have." He shook his head. "Hell, it took me six years to make myself believe that." A tear slipped silently down her cheek. "I need you, Jack. I don't know why, but I need you."
"Convince me."
"How?" he asked, standing suddenly. "How the hell can I convince you when you won't give me the chance to?" She just stared at him, her eyebrow arched. He sighed. "Give me one week." Confusion spread over her features. "Give me one week to convince you."
"How do you plan to do that?"
"Come with me for one week, and if you're not convinced, come back here and live this life you've built for yourself." She inhaled sharply, her eyes falling to the floor.
"I need to think about it," she said quietly. He swallowed. "Where will you be?"
"Port 6, Dock A19," he answered. She nodded.
"If I'm not there by tomorrow at midnight, leave without me," she instructed. He nodded and watched her go. He kicked the flashlight, sending it spinning into the wall, where the bulb shattered, and he was left standing there. In the dark.