The Chariot. Back in the Circle of Stars.
It was five kilometers to the space port. He set a hard pace, as much to limit the time she had to change her mind than anything else. They moved mostly in silence, Kyra guiding them around the cameras, Riddick pulling her into the shadows to avoid the few passing vehicles.
The journey was surprisingly uneventful. Riddick had half expected to fight his way through. If people really were trying to get to him through her, strange that they wouldn't have someone around to notice her running through deserted streets in the middle of night. But maybe she really didn't need to leave; maybe all the mercs had given up. Maybe between the two of them, they'd killed off the stragglers today.
He thought about mentioning that. Decided not to.
He kept a hand on her. Unreasonably worried that something would swoop out of the darkness, rip her away. Or that she'd change her mind, bolt away from him in these streets she clearly knew well. He didn't like that notion. He tried not to hold too hard.
He carried that special bag of tricks she'd been collecting, too. She'd given him a sharp look when he had shouldered it, but did not protest. Hopefully, she thought it was just gallantry, didn't think of it as . . . collateral. He really did not know what he would do if she changed her mind; whether he would accept that with quiet regret, or just throw her over his shoulder; deal with the emotional fall out later.
And it felt good to have a hand on her. If he drew her into a few more alleys than was strictly speaking necessary, holding her against him until he was sure some potential danger had passed, well, that was just an excess of caution, he told himself. It felt very good to feel her relax against him. Except in one alley, where she stiffened and seemed to fight pulling away. Made him feel like there was someone who needed killing. Finally, she shook it off and drew him down the street. Another thing to ask about. Later.
They got to the ship fast. Riddick walked around it, checking it carefully to see if anyone had touched it. It was built to avoid surveillance, creating obvious places to place a tracking device; places that were easy to check. Originally a courier ship, it was sleek, armed, and overpowered, with a small living space in case the messenger needed a safe place to wait for a return message. With enough shielding that you didn't have to go into cryo-sleep if you didn't want too. He'd killed the messenger for it, faked its destruction. Felt almost like family.
Kyra followed him slowly, feeling increasingly uneasy. She was boarding a ship with a man she'd attached to at the tail end of a nightmare; a man she remembered more from dreams than from the past. A man as strong as a bull . . . a brother with a bull's head . . . who had, it is estimated, killed more than several small states ever managed, without regret, without compunction. A man that the gods cared about. They wanted him to reach his destiny. They wanted her to help. This did not bode well for not slipping further down that homicidal slide.
Plus, getting into ships hadn't been a great idea in the past or in her dreams. She placed her palms on this one, trying to get used to the idea. She realized that the ship looked like a dragon, languid under the moon. Dragons ate the sun. She'd woken from so many dreams of dragons and monsters, ripping her apart. Something twisted inside of her. Why'd I ever go and become the sun anyway? Let this cup pass from me . . .
Riddick smelled her fear again, came around fast, hand on a weapon. He was surprised to find her alone, seemingly unthreatened. He watched for a moment, before coming up behind her softly, snaking an arm around her waist. "Hey, kid, what's wrong?" he asked into her ear. Weird that she seemed more afraid of his ship than of him.
She leaned back against him again, with that easily acceptance of his presence he had forgotten people could have. "I was born in a ship like this," she said, finally. "My mother died in childbirth, still strapped in the pilot's chair."
He pulled her closer. Remembering how little he really knew her. He never thought to ask about her parents. Assumed they were not in the picture.
"She left me. My foster mother left me. You . . . " There was an odd tension in her now. He could almost feel her close her eyes, could almost feel her fighting to keep talking.
Speech won at last. "Are you planning on leaving me with another holy man?"
Not at all what he was expecting. He kept his answer light. "No. Maybe a convent . . ." Why would you want to be a breeder of sinners anyway?
She twisted around to face him, and his breath actually caught when he saw that she had tears in her eyes.
"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," she said.
"It is," he said flatly.
She shook her head. "They are trying to get to you through me. I don't think that'll stop just because I'm with you."
She did not seem inclined to move. He sighed. Her sudden passivity reminded him uncomfortably of the very dream that drove him out of the cave; a dream of a bruised girl and a collapsing tower.
He took off his goggles, gathered her face in his hands, gently, almost glad of the excuse. "Kid, you aren't making sense. You stay, they'll kill you. Or worse. You really want to die for me?"
She seemed to fall into his eyes. "I would," she said softly.
"One rule. Don't die for me," he said, harsher than he intended, his grip tightening involuntarily. He fought the urge to take her bodily into the ship. That seemed wrong. Lots of things were wrong seeming today. But one way or another, he wasn't going to leave her behind this time.
She blinked back tears, breaking his gaze. He let her go, and, watching her carefully, offered her a hand. She took it automatically, as she had so many times before, and let him lead her up the ramp.
Ten of Swords. Dissolution.
They strapped into the cockpit seats, like they had many times before, once upon a time, and lifted off without incident. Which raised the question of where to go. Taking her back to the cave felt wrong, somehow. Incestuous.
Damn it, he had been trying hard not to think of that word. Riddick set a nearly random course, turned to talk to the girl who had left her life for him. But she was dead asleep.
He exhaled noisily. Not many people would sleep so easily with him around. He almost wished she was one of them right now. They had things to talk about, now that she was committed. Like how she got those bruises. Like what the hell Toombs was talking about.
He probably should turn off the artificial gravity, put them both in cryo. He did not want to. He thought longingly of his bed; of carrying her there; her warm body next to his . . .
He must have dozed off, because he was back in the dripping woods, the corpses hanging from the trees again. He seemed to be the only living animal.
Until he came upon a tree that broke his heart. Kyra, nearly dead, hanging by her neck from a dying tree, slowly choking. He cut her down, eased her to the ground.
She smiled up at him, tried to speak. It came out a croak. "Be the better killer" she managed. And then she died.
He stumbled back into the dying tree, and it fell with a crash. Not for me. He thought numbly. His legs gave out, and he sat abruptly, into the shards of the dead tree, which resolved itself a throne. Kyra's body was at his feet. He still wanted to gather her up in his arms but he could not reach her across the growing distance.
Then he was walking over corpses scattered on a beach. Knowing what was coming. Lying face down, impaled by swords savagely stabbed through her body. A hand outstretched. He knelt down in the blood stained sands and stroked her hair. The swords dissolved. He rolled her over and her eyes opened. "It's all about time," she said. And then she died. He rocked back into the bloody sands, as seabirds screamed.
Then he was walking through a palace, and found her body, still on a slab of sacrificial stone, the hilt of a sword grasped in her delicate hands. He touched her face, felt the warmth draining away. He pulled the sword from her fingers, and her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a heartbreaking intimacy. She was dying for him, again. He then she'd died for him the other two times, and he had no fucking idea what to do about it. A part of him swore that this would never happen. If he got another chance, he'd never let her out of his sight again, never let the bastards touch her.
Kyra woke up from vague dreams of her own of giant birds screaming around a tower. She waited for memory to return. Ship. Right. A moment's panic when she realized she was strapped against something. Then she remembered that she'd strapped herself in herself. She wanted to be here. Or at least, it was the best of bad options. She opened her eyes.
Riddick was in the seat next to her, asleep, but not peacefully. A sleep full of bad dreams. Without thinking she reached for his face, to wake him up. "Hey," she said, gently.
Her hand was pulled away and down in what would be a bone shattering move if completed. Last instant, it wasn't. Instead, somehow, he was out of his own restraints and on his knees in front of her, head buried into her neck, arms around her. His heart beat echoing through her body. She'd forgotten how fast he could move when he was motivated.
She stroked his head awkwardly with her left hand; it was only partially pinned. He had the rest of her pinned firmly. Damn . . . she was thrust back, again, into the memory of Set's arms, making her slightly hysterical. She forced herself to breath normally. Riddick was not Set, was not an ancient hero, not a half human monster stalking the darkness underneath civilization. But he is, some traitorous part of her said. He was a man the gods believed could save the universe. Good holy dead Balder, how did this happen to me?
He pulled back – a bit -- at last. Looking too hard at her, breathing breaths that shuddered too much. Leaving one arm around her, he caressed her cheeks and neck, feeling her pulse under his hands. She swallowed, pricklingly aware of his touch, the intensity of his gaze. "What's wrong?" she asked. Embarrassed by the inadequacy of the question.
"Bad dreams," he said shortly, in a tone that brooked no questions. He left his hand on her throat, soothed by the strength of her heartbeat. Feeling her life under his hands.
He dreamed I died, she thought, utterly sure. And it broke his heart. The gods are fucking with him too. But if they are, why do they need me?
Then she understood. She'd stupidly given herself to the gods. She'd rolled over when the pretty woman was nice to her. He'd have told them all to fuck off. That's why. He would have given them nothing. She had cooperated, been co-opted, been easily seduced. These guardians of the gates had nothing he wanted. Except – and the Magician's words rang through her head -- "you are the only thing in the universe that matters to him, even a little bit" – except her. She was the only hostage he'd given to fortune. And since he cared about her, they could manipulate him. Using her.
If she told him that, he would never fight for them. He might fight them for her. He would loose.
And all of Helios – everything under the sun -- would be destroyed. Zombie warriors, marching through the city that took her in, healed her wounds, asked almost nothing of her in return. Innocents dead. Children dead. Damn.
She remembered the boy coming out of the sea. "There aren't always good choices," he'd said. She swallowed, decided to think about that later. Decide what to tell him later. "So . . . where are we going?"
Riddick started to say "no where," when he remembered the course setting. Back to the empire. Interesting. But it made sense. Try to reconnect with any survivors of the old unit. They might be able to help him – them – start over. And any survivors might need help. Funny he'd never thought of that before.
"Thought we'd check in on some old friends," he said.
You have friends? Or are these people you are going to kill? Felt bad about thinking that. "What's with this sudden sentimentality?"
He just looked at her. Shrugged. Still not breaking the odd embrace. He was overwhelmingly glad she was not struggling, that she still accepted his arms around her, despite the instinctive response that almost shattered her bones. Despite what ever the fuck had left those bruises.
After a long time, she asked softly, "Why did you come back?"
There was another long pause. "I heard things I didn't like. You're something like family. I wanted --" He broke off. More to say, but he couldn't bear it.
After an eternity, she broke the silence. "You're something like family too. My big brother. Or something."
She decided to risk something. Something that might crowd out these crazed feelings cascading through her. Something she'd wanted to do for a long time. Thought he might go for it, the fascinated way he kept looking at her.
She kissed him shyly on the cheek.
Nice, he thought. He had been wanting to loose the residual sibling crap. It was no longer useful, and was confusing him. Plus, he remembered reading about strawberries. If you are hanging on the edge of a cliff with more armed men than you can kill above and more wolves than you can kill below, and you have an opportunity eat strawberries, eat the strawberries. He could die. She could die. He'd fight hell itself for her, if he thought he had a chance of winning, but life was fragile. Carpe Jugulum. Carpe Diem.
As undemandingly as he could, he kissed her closed lips, then leaned away slightly, watching her. Smelling her reaction. Feeling her heart beat accelerate.
She gazed at him for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him back. Still shy, but exploratory. They explored kissing for a while. She tasted like apples.
He finally pulled back. "You up for this?" he asked, unsure of the etiquette of bedding someone under the circumstances. Be a long trip if he was wrong.
She blushed, but shot back with a modicum of defiance "Are you?" Her hand was on his neck, and there was nothing ambiguous about that hand, nothing ambiguous about that heart beat.
He didn't rise to the bait, but he did stand up. Then he gently unstrapped her from the chair and, at last, gave into the urge to swing her up into his arms. She laughed delightedly as he carried her to the little cabin.