Chapter 3
She hadn't said a thing all day. Marty and Jeff kept sending looks between them, silently asking if either knew anything, and neither did. Something had happened, and it wasn't just the knowledge of her gender. Something serious had happened, but neither knew how to – or even if they should – ask. Jeff cleared his throat.
"I'm fine, Jeff," Jack answered quickly, as though she'd read their minds. "Leave it alone." He nodded and went back to work. Those were the only six words she said for the rest of the day.
Marty cornered her on her way out, sitting on the bench next to her.
"Something up?" She shook her head. "Sure?" A nod. "Well, you know you can talk to us if something happened right?" She nodded again. He shrugged and got up to leave. She watched him, as though everything was in slow motion. Once the garage was empty, she sighed and leaned her forehead against her locker.
"God damn it," she whispered. Her eyes found the clock. Only four hours to decide. "Fuck."
She took her time getting home, and didn't bother eating. She wasn't hungry anyway. She just wrapped and gloved up again and went at it. This time, though, the punching bag didn't seem as cathartic. The harder she punched, this time, the angrier she got. What gave him the right to come here and fuck her life up anyway?
She slumped to the floor and grasped the bag with all her strength. With a final punch, one that cracked her knuckles and jammed her wrist, she stood and headed into the bathroom.
An hour later, she was still staring at her reflection. Who was she, really? She recognized the green hair, pale skin, and short, dark blond hair, but other than that, she didn't know who the mirror was reflecting. Had she really changed that much since… her eyes fell to the sink, focusing on a drop of toothpaste hardened to the ceramic. Since Riddick? Had his leaving her really had that much of an effect on her? She shook her head and turned the shower on, catching a glimpse of herself as she disrobed. The marks from her chest wrap were bright red. Her forearm and side of her forehead were still bruised from mishaps at work. She made herself look away, not wanting to see that side of herself, making the connected emotions wash down the drain, along with the dirt and grime left over from work.
***
Shit, shit, shit.
It was 11:58, and there was still no sign of her. He'd made sure to synchronize his onboard clocks with the watchtower, which was the official time of this region of Kallipolis. He snorted. He should have known she'd be here. His panic resurfaced as another minute turned over. Sixty seconds left and he'd have to follow her order to leave. God, he hated orders. He ran his tongue over dry lips.
Fuck. Midnight. A chime rang somewhere, and his spirits fell. He rubbed a hand over his head and swore aloud. Maybe he should give her the whole minute making up midnight; wait until 12:01, when midnight was technically over.
***
She'd intended to go for a walk – it was no accident she was walking around by herself in the middle of the night. It was, however, not part of her plan to end up here. The docking bay. How in the hell?
She glanced up at the watchtower. 12:02. Riddick would be gone by now. On the runway at least. She sighed.
"Can I help you, Mister?" She turned quickly, stifling a gasp. She smiled and sighed.
"Which way is Port 6?" He looked at her with a quizzical expression.
"You're standing in the middle of it." Her lips formed a silent oh before she let herself glance around.
"Any ships on the runway? I don't hear any," she noted.
"No, we've got one on standby, just waiting for the captain's request for permission, but this time of night, we don't run scheduled flights." She nodded. "He'll just ask when he's ready, we'll grant permission, and he'll be off." She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"It wouldn't happen to be Dock A19 on standby, would it?" His eyebrows arched upward.
"Yes, sir."
"Son of a bitch."
"Something wrong?" he asked. She shook her head.
"No," she sighed. "Thanks for the information." He nodded and headed back in the direction he was originally heading. She took off her baseball cap and ran her fingers through her short, tangled locks, scratching her scalp before replacing the hat and walking toward port A, swearing with each step. What the hell am I doing?
"Didn't think you were going to show." She stopped in her tracks, not turning.
"Didn't think you were supposed to still be here," she returned. He chuckled behind her, then walked past her toward his ship. She just stood where she was and watched him.
"Had to take a leak," he explained. "Figured I'd save space on my own ride and take advantage of the lovely facilities provided on the ground."
"Liar," she mumbled. He stopped.
"You would know, wouldn't you?"
"What the fuck do you want from me?" He turned around, letting his eyes flit over her.
"A chance." She was taken aback by that answer. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it sure wasn't that. Such an ambiguous answer, too.
"At what?" she pressed. He seemed to mull that over, taking a breath and then stopping suddenly, his answer poised but unfired.
"Making things right," he finally said.
"What makes you think things, whatever things you're referring to, went wrong in the first place?"
"Because you hate me," he said quietly.
"I didn't think you cared what people felt about you," she stated firmly. His eyebrow rose.
"Most people I don't."
"So why me?" His eyebrow rose. "Why do you care whether or not I hate you, huh?"
"Because you're Jack," he responded. She shook her head. "You're my Jack." Her eyes glinted at the possession he implied.
"I'm no one's Jack but my own," she gritted. He smiled, only slightly, leaning back against the wall behind him.
"So, Jack," he started, pausing to lick his lips, "are you going to let yourself come with me?" He waited, but no answer came. "You got this far." He nodded toward the watchtower. "Plannin' on turning back now?"
"I didn't mean to come here," she said quickly. He snickered.
"Then how did you get here? Get lost?"
"No," she defended, "I was just taking a walk and ended up here." His eyes held hers as he leaned forward, pushing himself off the wall to walk closer to her.
"Isn't it funny how things just work out sometimes?" He towered over her, just peering down at those angry green eyes. She let her eyes fall away from his, focusing on the ground to her left.
"Why didn't you leave at midnight?" she asked, her voice small and timid.
"I was waiting."
"For what?"
"You." She shook her head. He lifted his arm, his fingers grasping the bill of her cap and pulling it away from her head. She didn't move, so he let his hands run through her hair. "I was waiting for you," he whispered.
"I told you—"
"And I didn't listen," he interrupted. He let his index finger slide under her chin and pull it toward him, forcing her to look at him. "I don't take orders well, Jack, you know that." She pulled her face from his grip, averting his eyes again. "I'd be here until you came to make sure I was gone." She nodded.
"I figured."
"Then why did you show up?" he asked.
"I don't know," she whispered. He sighed, his breath ruffling the hair falling down her forehead.
"Let me convince you, then." Her eyes closed. "You wanted me to convince you that I need you, now's your chance to be convinced." She shook her head slightly, fighting with herself over whether to stay or run like hell to get out of this mess. "Please, Jack." Her eyes opened slowly. "It's just one week."
"I didn't bring anything with me," she stammered. He smiled.
"I can wait." Her eyes met his and she nodded slowly. "Make it fast," he finished. Her eyebrow rose.
"Thought you could wait," she smarted. He grinned.
"Yeah, but the tower might get pissed. I've been on standby for three hours now. Might cancel me, and then you'd have to give me more than a week." She nodded, and was gone. He stared after, a part of him regretting not going with her, just to make sure she returned. He shook his head. This had to be her choice. He couldn't make himself force this on her.