A/N: Another week, another chapter. I think I've fixed the formatting problem, althoughit looks a bit weird.Sorry, I can't figure out how toput a break or a line in the page to signify a scene change. Anyone got an idea how to do it? won't let me use any of my symbols - not the equals sign or thelittle wavy thing or an asterix, or anything. Grrr.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, you rock my sox! And Lex, I hope you're reading this… If anyone wants to know, the disclaimer's in the first chapter, and the story is rated 'T' due to heavy swearing and suggested violence. There will be a chapter or so where Riddick gets very violent, but that's not for a bit, so I'll warn you when we get closer. Enjoy this chap! Cheers.

ooo

The steel and concrete gates of Vorzel Public Secondary School were a grim warning of what awaited pupils inside. Slightly rusted and covered in dust and graffiti, they were silent testament to the anger of the students and the tiny trickle of government funding that kept the school open. That funding went to more important things that the upkeep of the gates and general cleanliness. It went to alarm systems and bulletproof glass in the windows.

Riddick stared up at these gates, wondering what possessed Imam to send Jack to this place. Even to his eyes, it didn't look like a place you wanted to send your kids. It looked like a federal penitentiary. The building was dull and squat, devoid of any ornamentation or vegetation, save for a bit of moss behind the twisted pole that had once been a basketball hoop. Barely anyone still knew how to play basketball, but the hoop had other, more creative uses now.

Just then a harsh clanging echoed across the quad, and Riddick very nearly broke and ran right there. Certainly he made it a few crouched steps before his common sense got a hold of him. None of the other parents were fleeing. They hadn't even noticed his aborted escape attempt. Instead, their bored gazes rested on the steady file of uniformed kids issuing from the battered double doors of the school.

Realizing it wasn't an alarm, Riddick straightened and watched as the kids formed up in a series of rows, presided over by a few harsh-looking teachers. One of the parents stepped forward and called out, "Stephanie Kristoffsen!"

A small blonde girl in the plain gray uniform of the school stepped out of one of the far lines and walked forward. The teacher nearest her row followed, a clipboard in hand. Riddick watched in fascination as Stephanie's mother signed her out on the clipboard, then led the girl quickly away.

The group of parents and children slowly dwindled, Riddick felt comfortable enough to slip into the queue behind a rather wide woman with frizzy ginger hair. Carefully, he tugged at the hood of his battered sweatshirt so it covered most of his head and shadowed his face. After the ginger-haired lady had dragged 'Joseph Severn' away, it was Riddick's turn.

"Kyra Fry." He called out – not as loud as the ginger lady had bawled, but just enough to carry over to a line towards his right. A figure straightened from the mass and jogged over to the gate.

The uniform of the school was traditional – skirt, jumper, kneesocks – all in stone gray. Jack wore hers with battered boots and a ragged sweatshirt not unlike Riddick's own. Paired with the barely inch-long hair sprouting from her scalp and the tails of her white shirt peeking out from under her jumper, she looked like bad news. But the smile barely masked on her face belied the tough exterior, and she twitched with contained energy.

"Ri-Rick!" she called out – catching herself carefully.

Riddick flashed her a grin – knowing she couldn't see a wink behind his goggles. "Yeah, I'm Rick Fry, her brother."

The teacher in charge of the clipboard peered over her bifocals. "Where's the nice black chap who usually picks her up?"

Riddick frowned. "He's at a conference off planet, so I'll be picking J-Kyra up for a few days." When the bifocaled teacher didn't look convinced, he added, "I've already talked to Principal Peewimple."

"It's Payworth." The teacher corrected absently. "All right, I just need you to sign here that you're responsible for her from now until you sign her in tomorrow morning."

Riddick quickly scribbled off an improvised signature. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Did you know that Kyra got in another fight today? That's the –"

"I know." Riddick placed a heavy hand on the back of Jack's neck. "Believe me, it's going to be dealt with." Tightening his fingers until Jack squirmed, he propelled her out the gates.

When they were out of sight around the corner, Riddick released her. Jack stumbled away from his grip, rubbing her neck and shifting her grimy messenger back to her other shoulder. "Jesus, Riddick! I didn't do it, okay? I tried to tell them –" she jabbed a finger in the direction of the school, "but they didn't believe me. I swear I'm not lying though – those guys really did jump me. The knife wasn't mine either, the short guy had it –"

"Wait." Riddick held up a hand. "Are you telling me you got jumped by a bunch of guys and one of them had a knife?" He frowned when he noticed a plaster across the bridge of her nose – if that was from a knife, it was to close to her face for his comfort.

Jack sighed desperately. "Look, I know it sounds like I made it up, but I didn't. There really were four of them and they-"

"Four guys?" Riddick asked. "Why are you in this school?"

"I swear I…wait, you mean you believe me?"

Riddick allowed himself a small grin. "You think I'd take the word of those dumb shits over yours? Jack, you underestimate yourself. If you say you were jumped by four guys with knives, then you were. If it was pigs with wings, I'd believe you over a thousand scientists telling me differently. Rabid mushrooms, and I'd get my vaccinations. I was just bullshitting back there Jack, I figured if they thought you would get it worse at home, they'd leave off punishing you at school."

Jack reddened slightly and scuffed one boot in the dust. "Yeah. I should have thought of that."

Riddick grinned and thumped her on the back. "Well that's why I'm the teacher and you're the pupil, right?"

For a brief second, Jack grinned back at him, but then her face morphed into another, older but still with short hair. Carolyn stared back at him from Jack's eyes, and Riddick's heart constricted. She smiled, but then her expression changed to accusing, and then she was Johns, saying "You were going to abandon her weren't you? Abandon her to those creatures. And now when you have to leave her so the mercs or the police don't get you, you can't. You won't. You're going to be the death of her yet, Richard B. Riddick. You'll be the death –"

"Riddick?" Jack's worried voice broke into the tirade of his thoughts. "You cool?"

For a second he stood still, then pulled up his hood again. "Yeah. Hey, you wanna…er, get some ice cream?"

ooo

Jack and Riddick took a table in the ice cream parlor – the waiter seated them in the far back corner behind a marble statue and a tasseled curtain. Jack wasn't sure if it was because the waiter wanted their grungy selves as far away from the normal populace as possible, or if Riddick had asked for them to be seated somewhere he could hide. Speaking of the man, he was sitting to her right – back to the wall, as always – with his hood pulled all the way up, and arms tensely crossed over his chest. He looked about as comfortable in the spindly gilded chair as a little boy in a nursing home.

Come to think of it, she didn't feel too excited either. Ice cream was okay – the synthetic powdered stuff they served in shops like this tasted like cotton candy mixed with paste, though it was edible – but she knew where she belonged, and it wasn't here. Just look at her and Riddick, hidden away from the 'decent' customers, slouching warily in their dark sweatshirts and dusty boots. They would look more natural in a back alley somewhere, or behind bars – but in a dainty ice cream parlor? The walls were pink, for pete's sake!

But it was a chance to spend some time with Riddick, and Jack was willing to put up with fancy-schmancy families and crystal chandeliers for that. After their escape from The Planet (as she termed it – none of the survivors had really felt like finding out any more than they already knew), Jack had thought things would be different between her and Riddick. But it had been painfully awkward – he was dealing with the loss of Carolyn in his own way, as Jack had in hers. There were years, and oceans of empty space between them – not to mention a foot or so in height. Riddick spent a lot of time in his room, and went out most nights – Jack had almost felt grateful when school had started.

Almost. She hadn't thought of any repercussions when she had chopped her hair off. She hadn't even considered wearing the shiny patent leather shoes the other girls wore. She hadn't remembered that Jack was a boy's name. Well, this had all come back to her real quickly when she stepped through those gates.

She didn't fit anywhere in this pleasant life Imam had constructed for her. She was like Riddick, she needed to roam, she needed danger, she needed to hide from society. And here they were, looking like fools in a prissy little ice cream parlor. But Riddick must like ice cream, and she wanted to stay with him. So she would sit here, and not complain. She would enjoy this. She would even smile. Ice cream wasn't so bad. Really.

ooo

Riddick shifted again, struggling not to tell the waiter where exactly he could shove his raised eyebrows and heated sniffing. He felt like an idiot sitting on this ridiculous chair, which hardly looked like it could stand his weight. He didn't belong here. He belonged in smoky bars and dark back alleys. Not bright sparkly ice cream parlors.

But he was sure Jack would like it. He had seen an old movie on a vid player once, where some bald rich guy had taken a short-haired girl and a pretty lady to a fancy ice cream parlor. They had all been smiling and having a good old time. Of course, they had also been dancing around and singing. It looked like something happy families did. Ate ice cream, that is – not the random singing.

But here, the bald guy and the short-haired kid were not rich, there was no pretty lady, and the waiters were snooty. Riddick wondered what the waiter would say if he asked to make a call on the house comm. and asked the waiter to bring it to him. Probably tell him to use his own fucking comm. and get out.

He was seriously regretting this idea, but Jack was smiling, and so he felt guilty. He really hadn't had a chance to talk to the girl, and this seemed like something Imam would do. Take her out somewhere and have a nice chat. All kids liked ice cream – Riddick knew that. He wondered if that taste was something you grew out of as you got older, or if the new synthetic flavors were just particularly bad. Or maybe he was just weird.

He figured that now would be a good time to talk to her about the fights she was getting in, or how school had been. Maybe he should ask if she'd met any guys at her school? But something kept him silent – nervousness probably. He didn't do kids. Didn't really like them. Avoided them mostly. Jack was different. He could relate to her. She wasn't a kid, she was…well, Jack. So why was he having trouble talking to her?

Just when the awkward silence was too much to bear, the waiter finally returned with their orders. Now Riddick had an excuse for staying silent – it was impolite to talk with your mouth full. He just had to keep shoveling this disgusting synthetic crap into his mouth, and he would be freed of his conversational duties.

Jack seemed to have adopted the same theory, and was quickly making a dent in her pichuberry ice cream. He glanced over at her, and was surprised to see her looking vaguely sick. Maybe she was eating too quickly? Maybe the ice cream was bad? Maybe it was poisoned? Yes, it must be poisoned. He should get her out of the restaurant then, and back to the house.

"Jack?" he asked, voice loud in the silence that surrounded their table, cut off from the tinkly muzak that covered the rest of the room.

She looked up, mouth full of the cold treat, and smiled sickly at him. "Mm?"

"You wanna leave?"

She was still for a moment, then delicately spit her mouthful of ice cream back into the dish. "You don't mind?"

Riddick blinked. She thinks this is for me? "No. This sucks."

The look of relief on her face told him that he had made his first 'parenting' mistake. Ice cream equals bad. "I don't even like ice cream, really."

He grinned, and tossed a bit of money on the table – no tip. "Neither do I. Let's beat it."

She smiled back, and stuffed her hands deep into her sweatshirt pockets, mirroring his stance as they sauntered out. "So what now?"

He knew Imam would probably shoot him for it, but it couldn't be worse than ice cream, right? Ah, to hell with it. He deserved a drink. "You got any homework tonight?"

ooo

A/N: Well? Like? Hate?

Quick shout-out to my reviewers – TotallyRiddickObsessed, Snowgurl54, nj, Satanic Versus, and Arche De Katz. Thanks for the feedback, lads!