Chapter 12
"Hey Jack?" He cringed as he heard the loud thump, the only evidence of the contact made between her head and the undercarriage of the ship. She swore quietly.
"Yeah?"
"You okay?" he asked, tried his hardest not to chuckle. She rolled out from under the ship, a scowl on her face as she rubbed her forehead.
"Might've knocked some sense into me." She smirked up at him as he chuckled lightly. "I think so." She pulled her hand away, then stared up at him. His smile slowly morphed into concern, and her eyebrow rose. She winced as the pain shot through her head, lowering her wound to her hand again.
"Jack, you're bleeding," he said quickly, stooping to inspect the wound.
"I'm fine."
"No, really, Jack," he insisted, pulling her to her feet. "You gave yourself a nasty gash." She followed him into their ship with a huff.
"Actually," she said, "you gave me a nasty gash, if I even have one, by scaring the shit outta me."
"Swearing is unbecoming of a lady," Riddick teased.
"I'm not a fuckin' lady, then, am I?" she retorted, rewarded with a snort from the looming figure ahead of her. He sat her down on the bathroom counter and wet a rag, dabbing at the cut on her forehead. She hissed and pulled back, but he caught her around the neck, holding her still. "Shit hurts," she complained through gritted teeth.
"It's just warm water."
"Well, it hurts," she said, stifling another gasp.
"And it's about to get worse. I don't know what you hit under there, but it was dirty, whatever it was."
"No," Jack said quickly, trying to slide off the counter. "Anything but—" Riddick turned, displaying a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in his best Vanna White impression. Jack let the acting skills surface, putting on her best terrified face. Riddick just stared back at her, his expression completely blank. Her terrified face fell and she cleared her throat.
"Ass," Riddick muttered under his breath. She pouted, but he pretended not to notice.
"How bad is it, really?" she asked, trying not to jerk away as the peroxide assaulted her already pissed off nerve endings. "Shit."
"Not too bad. It's a healthy cut, but nothing I can't fix."
"Well, that's comforting," she said, pressing his fingers harder against the wound, hoping the pressure from his hand and the peroxide soaked rag would ease the sting.
"Easy," Riddick warned, removing her hand from his. She watched him peel open a butterfly bandage.
"That bad, huh?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow again, forgetting how sore it was already.
"Better safe than sorry," he said with a shrug. She sighed, sitting still again as he applied the bandage and stepped back to inspect his work. "You should be okay."
"Well, that's a relief," her eyes widening dramatically. "You know," she continued, "I was really starting to fear for my life." He scowled down at her, but she went on. "Are you sure I don't have a concussion? Maybe you should take me to the hospital to see if I have any brain damage."
"Enough, Jack," he interjected.
"Or maybe I have blood poisoning. Or tetanus."
"Jack."
" Or maybe a little space alien thingie was hiding out in the engine and planted its little offspring in my head when it smelled the blood."
"Enough!" he roared, nostrils flaring. She jumped, staring at his hands clenching and relaxing.
"Sorry," she mumbled, fidgeting with her fingers. He sighed, leaning against the wall.
"What got you so melodramatic today?" he asked gently. She shrugged.
"I was having a good day," she responded, her voice sounding smaller than it should. The sound made Riddick cringe. He didn't know what made his temper flare so suddenly.
"I'm sorry, Jack." She shook her head, not looking up from the floor. He reached out and tousled her hair, drawing his hand back quickly when she started. With a heavy sigh, he knelt down in front of her. "Look at me." She shook her head. "Jack?" He reached forward and lifted her chin with a crooked finger. He could see the tears threatening to break as her eyes met his. His brows furrowed. I
"Long day," she said with a shrug, pulling out of his grasp.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "I'm just tired." His eyebrow rose.
"Tired doesn't seem to apply here," he said, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. It just kind of gruffed instead. She shook her head.
"I just have a lot on my mind," she dismissed.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No." He nodded and stood.
"You know you can talk to me, right?" She nodded, but it didn't convince him. "About anything."
"Not anything, Riddick," she whispered. "A lot of things, but not anything." He swallowed hard and nodded, deciding it was best to just leave her alone for a while.
"If you change your mind…" She nodded, still staring down at her fingers in her lap. He rubbed his forehead and turned, leaving her to sit in the bathroom.
What the hell is wrong with me? He was sitting in the kitchen, staring down at a glass of water he'd poured and hadn't touched. It should have been funny. I should have been laughing instead of yelling at her. He sighed, reaching out to swirl the clear liquid into a tiny little whirlpool. Something's up with her. He set the glass down, watching the swirling come to a stop. Maybe I pushed it too far this morning.
"I'll be back." He looked up just in time to see her pass the kitchen entrance. The chair groaned, scraping across the floor as he stood to chase her down.
"Where are you going?"
"Out," she said quickly, pausing before starting down the steps to the cargo hold. "I'll be back later."
"Jack."
"Chill out," she insisted, a touch of anger in her voice. He stopped, watching her walk down the ramp, the confusion plastered blatantly on his features. Something's not right.
Jack sat in a dark bar, clutching the tumbler filled with warm, dark liquid tightly in a hand propped up on the counter. She sighed, rubbing her forehead tenderly, then glancing at her fingers before replacing that hand in her lap. She'd heard somewhere drinking alcohol could cause a fresh wound to start bleeding again. Better safe than sorry, she thought with a smug smirk. She sighed.
"Heavy face for a pretty girl like you." She turned to give
the man standing behind her a glare before turning back to her drink.
"Shitty pickup line, even for
a dumb fuck like you," she retorted, taking a swig, barely keeping the grimace
off her face.
"Who says it was a pickup line?" She stared at him, her eyes angry, as he sat down next to her and ordered a drink. "What happened?" he asked, pointing to the bandage on her forehead.
"I got into a fight and beat the shit out of someone that tried to pick me up," she lied. The remark was so ridiculous she had to fight to keep the sadistic smile from surfacing.
"Poor guy. Can't blame a man for having good taste," he finished, smiling at her. She didn't return it.
"Your taste is all in your mouth." That nasty smile of his didn't even start to fade. "Why don't you go get yourself a hooker?" she asked, her voice dripping with venom. "Probably be easier than messing with a bitch like myself."
"Aw, c'mon," the guy drawled. "Don't be so hard on yourself." He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she caught his wrist, twisting his arm enough to make him howl.
"What part of 'leave me the fuck alone' didn't you catch?" she demanded, her voice low and threatening. The bartender watched carefully, finger poised over the emergency button.
"Christ, lady," the guy gasped. "I was only trying to be nice." His voice caught as she twisted his arm further.
"I don't need nice right now, asshole." She leaned forward, pushing his arm into his shoulder, making the position even more painful – for him. "Leave me the fuck alone." Her head spun as she fell backward, the man who grabbed her spinning her on the way down. The wind was knocked from her as she landed on her stomach, the security guard pinning her arms behind her back. "Alright, alright," she groaned, struggling against his grip. "Let me up and I'll leave." No answer. She tried to turn her head to look at the person or people holding her down, but her head was caught in a big hand and pressed to the floor. She swore under her breath.
She sat in the small cell, staring at the ceiling, arms crossed behind her head. Evidently bar owners on Mena didn't let people stand up for themselves without calling the cops. She smirked, thinking about the asshole that was in the cell next to her. He started it, she thought to herself. What a predicament I've gotten myself into. Feet shuffling down the hall made her turn.
"I don't think anyone's going to press charges," she heard the guard say. Whoever he was talking to didn't respond. "We usually don't get calls like that," he continued. "Most people know not to mess around in bars nowadays. We take that seriously." Shit. They're talking about me. She sighed and leaned back on the bumpy cot. "Miss Wells?" She turned, her stomach suddenly falling through the floor. Riddick appeared over the man's shoulder. Definitely in trouble now. The guard opened the door, and she sat up slowly. "You ride's here," the guard said, nodding toward Riddick.
"Now." Riddick's voice was low, making her gulp. She was sure the guard knew she was scared of this man. Fucker doesn't care. She stood, walking through the barred doors to follow Riddick down the hall.
"You'll have to fill out the papers at the front desk," the guard called. Riddick waved his acknowledgement, but his steps didn't slow. Jack was having trouble keeping up with him. This is not good.
He didn't say a thing as he signed the papers, and the walk back to the ship was equally as silent. With a heavy hand on the back of her neck, he steered her into the kitchen and sat her down in a chair, placing a glass of water in front of her, his arm hovering over her shoulder as he leaned forward. She didn't touch the glass, instead watching him sit down across from her, folding his hands on the table in front of him. He just stared at her. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Feel better now?" Her eyebrow rose, but she didn't answer. She wasn't sure if he was asking if she felt better now that she was home or if she felt better after her little tirade at the bar. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" Her eyes fell, focusing on the water in front of her. She felt his eyes on her, but couldn't think of anything to say. His voice was too calm to be trusted. "You know what I had to risk to go down there and bail you out, don't you?" Mostly demand, partly question. She didn't move. "Jack." She jumped slightly at the sound of her name. It seemed foreign on his lips. Her hand shook as she reached for the water, her mouth suddenly desert-dry. He caught her wrist a few inches away, letting her arm hover over the table. Her eyes met his angrily. His were surprisingly soft. "Are you okay?" She jerked her hand away from his and stood, storming out of the room. She heard him follow, but slammed her bedroom door in his face before he could invade her room. "Jack, open the fucking door." She flopped down onto her bed with a heavy sigh and curled up into a ball, the room suddenly spinning. Not a good sign. "Jack, please," she heard him plead from the other side of the steel wall. She let her eyes close and hoped she could imagine the situation away. "Don't make me get the drill out again," he warned. She stifled a giggle. "I don't want to have to make you fix this goddamn door again." She jumped to a sitting position as she heard his shoulder contact the door. He's gonna get in her one way or another, she thought. He was just about to slam up against the door again when he heard the lock turn, and he barely caught his balance before the door opened and she walked away. "Will you just talk to me?"
"Leave me alone."
"Jack."
"If I have to leave this ship again to get away from you, I will, and you know it." She didn't know why she said that, but it was out before she could stop it, and she instantly regretted it. She might as well have slapped him. She'd never seen him look hurt before, and if that's what this expression was, she'd rather jump off a cliff than to have to see it again.
"Do what you want to, Jack," he growled. "You're going to anyway." She figured he'd turn and storm out, but he stayed, just staring down at her.
"Don't scold me, Riddick."
"Someone sure has to," he retorted. "You keep pulling shit like this and—"
"And what? You'll kick me out?" she yelled back at him. "I know you better than that. Jesus Christ, Riddick. He started it."
"And you finished it," he said quietly. "You pushed it too far this time."
"This time?" She stood quickly, the room spinning harder. "When have I ever gotten in trouble before?"
"Do you know what I risked to bail you out?" he yelled back at her. "This place is crawling with mercs and you made me go out there and risk getting caught just to get you out of jail. You don't belong there, Jack."
"It's always about you," she spat. "The risks you take for me, the things you do for me, the places you go for me. What about me?" He just stared back at her. "Fuck you." She flounced back onto the bed, dropping her head into her hands. "I've taken plenty of risks for you and never complained about it."
"Jack—"
"Get out." She lifted her head to glare at him.
"Jack, I'm—"
"OUT!" He stared at her for a moment, the sentence he was about to say forgotten, before he turned to go, closing the door silently behind him.