Story Rating : M/R+
Chapter Rating : T/PG
Story Warning : Graphic Violence, Harsh Language, Gore, Murder, Sex, and Controversial Subject Matter.
Chapter Warning : Impending Death, Really Minor Fluff
Pairing : Riddick/Jack
Disclaimer : I do not own the Characters or Events of Pitch Black. If I did, the sequel would have forced them to invent a new rating system.
Feedback : I love reviews, but I ask those that decide to press the little purple button to please provide me with something besides praise and a demand for an update.
FitMama – I thank you for your praise and for your eloquent review. Hopefully I will be able to post all thirty chapters for you to read.
Note : This story shall follow a bit of an irregular pattern of Long and Short Chapters.
Ghost of You
Waiting
Time: Ten Years Ago
There was no light save for the dull mix of unmarked buttons lining the control panel and the soft glow of a navigational screen more than two decades out of date. The decision to cut the lights went unspoken and without explanation.
No one complained.
No one argued.
The yellow dotted gage for the air tanks hummed at half full. He'd set the recycling unit to use the lowest breathable mix, but this was only prolonging the inevitable.
He knew the older units, knew that they only operated at a fifty percent efficiency rate. Such a low yield would have been fine, if water were their only concern.
They had plenty of water, all stored in salvaged canteens and containers, enough to last several weeks. With the recycling unit it would last far longer than air, longer than the food.
Canned vegetables of indeterminable origin mixed with several dozen boxes of freeze dried rations equaled plenty to keep all three of them alive for at least three months. It was enough, roughly, to maintain ten people for a period of two and a half weeks which was, in turn, how long they had been drifting.
It was exactly twenty-four hours and thirty-nine minutes since the skiff had drifted into the area of space designated as the Sol Trak shipping lane. There had been no sign of any ship, sleeper or star-jumper, since their arrival. The skiff's sensors, though old, had been able to pick up traces of an ion trail nearly four months old, evidence of the last ship that had passed through.
"We're going to die, aren't we?"
Riddick turned his head, looking over at the girl.
Strapped in to the co-pilot's seat, she had her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if they were the only thing anchoring her to the world. Her gaze was pointed straight ahead staring past the window at the inky blackness of empty space and the faint pinpricks of stars as they drifted lethargically past.
She looked just like she had sitting back in the cargo container listening to the arguments over the darkness on that planet. He knew she could be no older than thirteen, maybe fourteen, to pass herself off as a boy. Her fair skin was smudged with dirt and there was a bit of a bruise accompanied by a small cut on her forehead, the only injury she'd sustained.
Riddick took in the lack of hair on her head, noticing a few strands that she had missed in the process of mimicking him.
She turned her head, slowly, to look at him. There was no fear in her round eyes and no tears. Just a hollow acceptance of what was to come.
There was no hint of hope in them anymore.
"What color are your eyes?" Riddick asked abruptly. She gave him a startled look that at any other time would have made him laugh. The confusion in her expression was genuine, clearing that hollow look from her gaze if only for a moment. "I can't see normal colors, kid."
"Oh," she said softly, bowing her head slightly but keeping her eyes on him. "They're green."
Riddick nodded slightly, acknowledging the fact. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes against the relative silence that followed.
The skiff's engines hummed in tune to the electrical inner workings of the instrument panel.
Somewhere behind them the holy man was snoring almost inaudibly.
The recycling unit gurgled.
"What color were yours?"
He turned his head, slowly, to look at the girl. She was looking downwards towards an invisible speck on the metal floor beneath her seat. One hand fiddled with the peeling sole of her right sneaker. After a moment she raised her head and met his gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching into the faint echo of a smile.
"They were brown," Riddick answered in a simple even tone.
He glanced down at his leg and the bandage there. He'd stitched the injury himself, as neither of his current company knew how.
The girl had watched him do it, eyes wide in morbid fascination. She didn't balk at the sight of blood like the holy man and it had been clear by the faint glint of curiosity in her eyes that she wanted to learn how. Riddick hadn't explained, but he had done it slowly so she could work it out on her own if she wanted to.
As a result the stitches had come out neater than usual.
He looked back up, catching sight of his reflection in the glass. The small cut on the side of his head was cleaned out and scabbed over, no bandage necessary, same with the nick on his ear and the slice on his chest.
After a moment he cast his eyes back over to the girl. She was watching him now, a wary gleam in her eyes now.
"What's your real name?"
"Audrey," she answered with only a second's worth of hesitation. In that single moment, he saw the brief expression of distaste that crossed her face.
"You don't like that name," Riddick observed and she shrugged as if it didn't matter, though of course it did.
"Not like I had a choice," she muttered in a dull tone, hanging her head once more. "Social Services picked it."
He tilted his head, ignoring the pain in his leg as he shifted to lean towards the girl, frowning.
The seat creaked.
She snapped her head up at the sound, locking eyes with him.
"You're an orphan?" Riddick asked, frown deepening even more as he spoke.
The girl nodded, slowly, hesitantly.
She waited, eyes expecting more words, but he could think of nothing more to say. After a few moments, she yawned, hugging her knees closer. Her breath was forming clouds in the thin air.
The skiff was growing colder.
Riddick glanced down at the gage for the heating unit. It hadceased its feeble operationssometime during their stunted conversation.
Unclipping his harness, he quickly stood, almost forgetting about his leg until the pain hit him sharply. Gritting his teeth, he made his way into the back of the skiff.
The holy man was sleeping in the auxiliary seats, curled up inside his robes.
Riddick ignored him and bent down over the supplies that had been brought on board before the disastrous cycle of that nightmare planet had set in. There were ten blankets, bundled up tight under one of the seats. He grabbed out four of them and examined the ties that kept them bound up.
They were too thin, so he picked up a third set, tossing one pair onto the seat next to the holy man before moving back up to the cockpit. He handed the rest to the girl, whose eyes went wide in surprise.
She smiled faintly, but frowned when he sat back down without taking one.
"Don't you want one?" she asked of him, holding out what she perceived to be a spare.
"Don't need one yet," he told her bluntly. "They're too thin anyways."
She looked down at them, fingering the edge of one. Her frown deepened as she pulled them open to see if he was right. Riddick watched as she wrapped them around herself as securely as she could.
She threw him another faint smile after a moment.
"Better than nothing," she commented softly. "Thank you."
"Shouldn't thank me," Riddick muttered, closing his eyes. "Wasn't planning on coming back."
The silence that followed this confession was brief, but long enough to instill discomfort.
"I know," the girl whispered after a moment.
"You know," he repeated, unable to keep the snarling edge out of his voice as he opened his eyes to frown at her.
Riddick expected an accusing, even hateful glare. Instead he saw what looked like guilt painted on her face.
It was a moment before he realized she was crying. She was so quiet about it that he almost missed the first few tears falling onto her cheeks.
But he could smell the salt.
He stood again, stepping out and over to her seat, picking her up with almost no effort, blankets and all. She choked out a startled gasp, tensing in his arms as he sat back down in the pilot's chair. He kept himself from moving after that, holding her loosely so she could move away if she wanted to.
She blinked at him, then suddenly just buried her face against his shirt. She was shaking now, silent sobs racking her body.
Riddick shifted, bringing a hand up to the back of her head. He brushed his fingers over the curve of her scalp, nearly able to cover it beneath the span of his palm. The short fuzz adorning her head felt soft against the callused pads of his fingers.
She hiccupped, sobs subsiding somewhat. Her own hand found a fold in his torn shirt, fisting it as she sniffed back more tears.
He kept his hand against the back of her head, raising his eyes up to stare at his reflection in the window.
A few minutes later the girl's breathing started to slow as she fell into the rhythm of sleep. Riddick looked down at her, then pulled one of the blankets up over her arms.
Her face was still pressed against his chest.
The side of his mouth twitched into an echo of a smile as he closed his eyes.