AN: Riddick will be frustratingly out of character in this chapter and several of the following chapters. The question is, can Jack save him?


"All the King's horses, and all the King's men," Jack whispered almost angrily under her breath, trying to once again NOT be surprised that a room in Riddick's house was chock-full of things like fake Ming vases, decorative elves, and a bed completely covered in pink fluffy pillows.

"This'll be your room Jack. I'm not gonna lie to you, Shella will probably get a little upset if you don't dust every week and keep the bed made," Riddick droned on, just as he'd been doing during the entire tour of the far too large house.

Far too large because the commentary about it had dragged on for the better part of an hour.

Funny, Jack didn't remember Riddick being much of a talker.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll keep it nice and tidy for the little lady," Jack grumbled, deciding to cut Riddick off before he got up another head of steam on all the pleasant decorating memories he'd shared with his 'darling Shelly'.

"I know you will Jack," he said pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. That same dreamy smile she'd had to put up with since they'd arrived at the house still plastered on his face. Jack was beginning to wonder if it had been pasted there with industrial strength superglue.

He stood there with his Tupperware bottle of red sports drink still in hand, watching as she carelessly tossed the numerous pillows haphazardly to the floor, making room to empty her bag on the bed. In all honesty Jack had absolutely no intention of keeping things neat or tidy in HER room. She would have at least one messy place in Riddick's three ring circus of a home to call sanctuary. In a week she'd have it whipped into a pit almost as comfortable as the one she'd had in Imam's house.

Jack smiled sadly upon thinking that, drawing a picture of herself, Imam, and Riddick out of her pack. It was a photo taken of them shortly after they'd reached New Mecca, just outside of the capital city where they were to live.

The sun rise made a glorious background, so beautiful and uncannily symbolic. This was truly her favorite memory. A picture of their small family standing on the edge of a new desert, in the dawn of a new life. She'd had so much hope back then, had been so grateful to just be alive.

"What've you got there?" Riddick asked softly, near her ear.

She jumped, having not heard his approach. So, apparently Big Evil could still sneak around a little bit if he really tried hard.

"You gotta stop doin' that to me," Jack scolded, having nearly dropped her precious item and thus was clutching it to her chest. "Don't you remember anything from Slam? Don't sneak up on people who're paranoid!"

He chuckled real low in his chest. "Sorry Jackie, I didn't know you fit the description of paranoid."

She didn't respond, too confused to even try. Why did bickering with him like that seem so familiar? Had he changed or not? Was he Riddick or not? Why was she getting the strangest feeling like things weren't all they seemed here?

"Riddick, is this the part when you tell me that you've been playing a monster joke on me since I got here, and you haven't really turned into Mr. Rogers on me?" she whispered without turning around, hopeful that it was all a prank to get her back for...the last time...

"What do you mean?" he asked sincerely, back to using that tone of voice that was so foreign, so strange to her.

He sounded so fake, like a counterfeit Riddick. There had been a time when he'd hated people who sounded like that just as much as she did.

Jack hugged the picture to herself, the one of her, Imam, and all that was left of the beast she'd once loved. The beast she still loved...

"Never mind," she whispered. "I think I'd better get some sleep now, it's been a long day..."

She really wasn't tired at all, but she barely held out until Riddick had closed her bedroom door behind him before she threw herself down on the bed and began to sob as quietly as she could.

What had she expected? To find him here as alone and as torn apart as she'd remained after he'd left?

Honestly, yes.

It had been comforting to think that maybe he'd missed her, maybe he'd take her into his arms like he used to when the nightmares were real bad. Like he did on the skiff, when she became delirious with fever before they were rescued by a cargo hauler.

How had the rest of her rhyme gone? Even though she'd said it to herself so many times as a child, and as a young adult on the run, some of the words were missing. She couldn't recall them on a whim.

She looked at the picture, of how the sunlight had so perfectly outlined her hero's old badass pose. Slowly with her finger she traced along his arm and his face, a single tear falling on the plastic frame protecting her memory from harm. God what she wouldn't give to live in that picture, protected from the world by something as simple as a picture frame.

"All the King's horses, and all the king's men..." she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she laid down with her cheek resting on the picture frame. "But you'd better suck it up Jackie girl, cause if ya slip...you know what'll happen to you..."


She'd fallen asleep with the light on, glaring down right in her eyes since she was lying on her back. That much she was used to. It was the reason why she'd never been to a sleepover in her life. So often she slept with the light on, it had become almost natural. Unfortunately most teenaged girls she knew didn't agree.

Like to see them sleep in the dark after nearly getting picked to pieces by a giant hammerhead chicken.

What was really strange when she woke up was the sight of flowered wallpaper on the walls and the fancy frills all over everything. Imam was a simple man who lived in a simple home. All the excess made Jack a little sick to her stomach, especially when she thought about the fact that Riddick allowed it, seemed to welcome it. That wasn't HER Riddick, that wasn't what The Beast in him would've wanted.

"Nothing big, nothing flashy, you want to survive out there you can't be drawing unnecessary attention to yourself kid. Don't do anything to make it easier for them to pick you out of a crowd than it already is, cause if they're good, they'll see ya. Every time."

That was the voice of true reason, a voice she might never hear again. How long had it been before he left? Did he really stop talking to her for weeks? Or had it been months previous to the morning she woke up to go talk to him, to apologize, only to find him gone?

Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she slowly faded back into the same old pattern.

Cry, sleep, wake up, miss Riddick, go eat ice cream.

Might have to throw some Tylenol in with the ice cream tonight. Oh yeah, then there was the fact that there simply wasn't any ice cream in the house. No booze either.

"Nooo," she groaned softly. "I've entered the inner circles of hell! Fuck you Shella, I swear you're Old Horny herself! And yes, the duel meaning does apply you Riddick stealing bitch!"

And speak of the she-devil, it was at that moment that Jack heard a garage door opening in the near vicinity. She was surprised, she'd thought she'd been asleep for several hours and it was the middle of Nehca's night. However, when she checked the chrono on her wrist it turned out to have only been about an hour since she'd dozed off.

Jack sighed, her letting her arm flop back down on the still-made bed. Now what? Would she go down and meet the wicked witch, or should she stay put and feign being asleep?

Who am I? Richard B. Riddick gone soft, or Jack B. Badd? Pfft, puleeze! Jack B. Badd scared of some crack ho stripper turned Mrs. Brady? I don't think so!

Jack forced herself to get up. It was time to make her claim as the new woman of the house. Because if Shella thought she was going to give Riddick up without a fight, then 'Shelly' sure as hell didn't know Jack!