Chapter 4
"Riddick?" He opened his eyes, wondering where his feet were. She repeated his name quietly. He muttered something indecipherable, coughing so hard his lungs rattled. She pried his fingers from hers.
"You okay?" he asked, voice thick and gruffy. Another coughing fit racked his body, and he finished with a pitiful wheeze, groaning painfully.
"You need to cover up," she commanded. "Vaccinations are kicking in. Decon shit, too." He coughed again, finally getting something loose and hacking it across the room into the hallway. Growling ensued.
"Still out there, I guess." She nodded, pulling the covers tighter around her chin, stifling a yawn. "Who hit you?" he asked, eyeing the bruise surfacing on her cheek. She shrugged, closing her eyes.
"No telling. My feet are still down there, right?" He made a show of searching for them and nodded, a wry smile interrupted by another coughing convulsion. "Seriously. Get in bed and cover up." He stood on shaky, numb legs and stumbled over to his bed, flopping down, moving again to search for the small canister of booze Twosy had dropped off earlier. "You don't want that," she warned, cringing as she sat up.
"Like hell I don't."
"You'll cough harder." He shrugged his response. Her eyebrow rose as he took a long swig, barely choking it down before he coughed again, holding his stomach as he doubled over. "I told you."
"What the fuck did they do?" he asked, struggling to form words over his coughs, finally sighing and collapsing back onto the pillow.
"It's the mixture. They're not supposed to give us all of them at once, especially not with the decon gas, but they do anyway." She shrugged. "It's easier than keeping track of who needs what." He grunted. "You know," she started, pausing for a long while before continuing. "I never thought they'd put someone in here with me." Another violent cough.
"Christ." She smiled weakly.
"It only lasts a couple days," she offered. "Depending. You should live." He snickered.
"Well, I should hope so," he wheezed.
"Just stay warm and drink a lot of water. Makes it easier to cough up." He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Is Riddick your real name?" His eyes opened slowly, focusing on her for a while before answering.
"I don't know. Hell, I don't even know if I was ever given one to start with," he said with a shrug.
"Really?" No answer. "What happened?" No answer. She cringed as he coughed again. "Here," she said, biting back a groan as she stood. Her legs trembled under her, throbbing painfully with each movement. He watched her reach under her bed, in the cool spot, and pull out a medium-sized canteen, walking it over to him. She held it out, and he took it, screwing the lid off and sniffing. "It's water." He nodded, throwing it back. She reached out for nothing in particular, hovering over him. "Slowly. Drink slowly." His eyebrow rose, and she sighed. "Will you just fucking listen to me for once?" She barely got the sentence out when he hacked and wheezed some more, making her jump forward to keep him from coughing himself off the bed and onto the cold stone floor. A gravelly groan, and she pushed him back onto the bed. "Lie on your side," she commanded, helping him back under the covers, pulling them up over him.
"Don't fuss over me, Sarge," he said, suddenly laughing at how ridiculous that sentence sounded with her name.
"You can thank me later," she retorted. "Are you cold?"
"Not really." Her eyebrow rose, and he sighed. "Okay, maybe a little." She nodded and shuffled back over to her bed, pulling the heavier blanket off, throwing it over him. "What's your real name?" he asked quietly, shifting under the covers.
"You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine," she said flatly.
"I don't know mine. Richard B. Riddick is all I've ever known my name to be," he insisted. She shook her head, dropping onto her cot with a heavy sigh.
"Dakota Corbett."
"Dakota," he repeated, judging how the name fit her. "So, Dakota, where did you come from?"
"You answer first."
"I told you, I don't know."
"What's the first place you remember being?" she pressed.
"Bolaris," he said flatly. "First kill."
"Okay, so you were born, in a sense, on Bolaris. Then what?" He groaned, prompting another coughing fit. He had to admit, it was a lot easier to cough on his side, but it still hurt.
"Just hopped all over the place until someone tracked me down, and then hopped from prison to prison. Your turn," he said quietly, his throat suddenly sore.
"I was born on Helion Five. Mom was born and bred on Furia, and Dad was from Gryphon."
"What a combination," Riddick laughed. She shrugged.
"I think I turned out okay." He laughed harder, spawning yet another coughing marathon. She sighed. "Enough talking. You need to rest."
"Honestly, are you okay?" Her eyes snapped to his.
"Does it fucking look like I'm okay?" He sighed.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No." Rapid fire answer.
"What, you're gonna go talk to Twosy?" Her eyebrow rose, eyes suddenly angry. He knew he was provoking her. He wanted to. He wanted her to get so pissed off she'd stop taking it and fight back.
"Why the fuck do you care who I talk to about it? I'm sure as shit not gonna talk to you, you fucking ignoramus." He smiled.
"Turn that anger on them next time. You're letting them take advantage of you."
"If those things weren't out there right now, I'd leave and never come back here," she snapped.
"Yes you would," he said gently, watching her eyes fall away from his.
"Tell me about her," she said after a while. "What was she like?"
"Who?" She noticed his voice was tight and strained. Could have been all the coughing, but probably not.
"Jack," she whispered. He inhaled sharply, the sound of the name stinging still open wounds.
"No," he rumbled, burying his face in his pillow.
"I met her once." He lifted his head, the veins straining in his forehead. "At a port on Mena." She shook her head, recalling the incident. "She just kinda latched on to me for no apparent reason. I was running, and I guess she knew it. She followed me into a bar and snuck in the back. Just sat next to me in the booth and struck up a conversation. Big, green eyes, angelic face. Couldn't have been more than fifteen."
"She was twelve." His voice was small, and he coughed again, lightly this time, as though he were choking something back.
"I told her she didn't want to follow me. That I was dangerous and had mercs on my tail. Those green eyes just lit up, like risking everything was just her biggest turn on or something." She sighed. "She followed me back to my hotel and I couldn't say no. Stayed the night with me. I swear to fucking God, Riddick, she whispered your name in her sleep. And I hated to do it, but I left before she was awake. Good thing though," she said with a heavy sigh. "That's when they hauled me in to Butcher Bay."
"She was a strong kid," he whispered. She shifted to look at him, even though she couldn't really see him.
"She loved you, Riddick," she said softly.
"I know she did." Another violent coughing spree. He sighed.
"As soon as I heard we were getting a big fish, I knew." Her voice was strained as well. "I didn't mind too much they put you in here," she admitted with a small shrug. "You're too fragile right now to be in with another asshole." He snickered.
"I'm a lot of things, but fragile ain't one of them," he scoffed. She sat up, searching his vicinity for those silver orbs, but they were hidden. He opened his eyes when he heard her stand, watching her walk to his bed and sit next to him.
"You loved her, Riddick." He sighed, pulling the pillow over his face, but she snatched it away, beaning him and recoiling before he could take it back. Her voice was low – no possibility of the conversation echoing so someone else could hear. "Just fucking admit it already."
"Yes, okay? I did." He rubbed his eyes. "I do, Sarge. I still love her." She sighed, reaching out to squeeze his thigh before standing. "And since we're making admissions here," he started, watching her freeze. "What's your story?"
"What do you mean?" she asked quietly, returning to her bed. He didn't reply, so she inhaled sharply, letting it out slowly. "When I was ten, my parents died. I found them. Never found out who did it, but it was brutal." Her face set, eyes staring into nothingness again as the memories came flooding back. "I ran away before they could take me to a home. Lived on the streets for a while. Took up kickboxing when I was eleven." She sighed, shaking her head. "Taught me how to fight, among other things young girls learn on their own." Riddick cringed. "I took it for a year, and when I got fed up, he got bludgeoned with a rusty pipe in an alley during a thunderstorm." There was a touch of pride in her voice. "Didn't get the taste for blood until a few bodies later, when some asshole tried the same shit. Backed me into a corner in some shit hole alley. But what he didn't know was that I knew how to make a shiv." Riddick grinned. "Accidently found the sweet spot and it was all over." She sighed. "Joined up with the Army Rangers after dabbling in some hit work and you know the rest."
"So where does Anders play into this?" The room fell deadly silent. He propped himself up on an elbow, another coughing fit throwing him onto his back again.
"I have a taste for blood, he has a taste for relatives," she said quietly.
"I'm sorry," he responded.
"Go to sleep."
Riddick woke to the sound of small grunts. She is not fucking in here right now, he told himself with a groan. Her boots hit the ground with a thud.
"Sleep well?" He forced his eyes open to reveal a refreshed Sarge, big fish front in place. Her prison issue orange scrubs hung off her hips, top tossed on the bed, leaving her in a stained wifebeater. Sweat glistened off her body, chest heaving from her recent set of pull ups. "Feeling better yet?" He just groaned and rolled over. She shrugged and hoisted herself up into the rafters, pulling herself up far enough to tangle her legs around the metal bars and start her inverted situps. "We can take you to see Doc a little later. He's expecting you." Riddick mumbled something. "He checks all the new fish out once the sickness sets in, you know." Her words were broken by gasps. "Might be able to give you something, if he has anything." He turned back to watch her. She was a lot stronger than she looked fully clothed. She did a little flip and landed with another thump, stretching her arms overhead lazily. "Get your ass up, Riddick. Gotta get some food into you." He moaned, so she marched over to him and yanked the covers back.
"Get the fuck off me," he moaned, reaching for the blankets.
"Riddick, get your punk ass off that fucking bed right now." The tone in her voice made him turn, eyebrow raised angrily.
"What the fuck do you thing you're doing?" he rasped, instantly breaking into a violent cough.
"Hell, Riddick," she groaned. "Listen to yourself. You sound like shit, and there's no reasoning with a sick convict. Get yourself up, and I'll take you down to doc's." He sighed.
"I'll be fine."
"Okay," she said slowly. "I'll go get doc and have him come here and take a look at you." He turned to protest, but she was gone, so he just swore instead.