AN: This one's a bit on the sappy side. I'd like to say that the next one will be better, but I haven't finished it yet, so I'm not sure if it will be. I blame being stuck in lecture all day. Lol.


It would make a lot of sense, if he was. You've got admit that much, Jack. And it would explain a lot more. But if he's sub-species, why isn't he immune to the drugs, like Dom was in prison? Why wouldn't his body be able to break it down before it could effect his brain too?

Too many questions, too long a night. Her headache was returning, and she'd been walking for too long when they finally reached the house. Either Conte's skull was stone thick or he just didn't let on that he knew she was getting slower and weaker by the minute.

In the silence she'd been remembering things. Things about times in her life that had been better. As the two of them trudged through the streets of the city she let her mind wander, remembering the pleasant things, the simple things...

Dinner time. Fourteen year old Jack's favorite time of the day. She'd helped Imam prepare the food, putting off her homework as long as possible. Besides, she got to talk to her father figure during that time, absorbing the wisdom he so generously imparted upon her. Perhaps a little too generously for her liking at times, but she realized that his intentions were always good. That was more than she'd been able to say about the majority of the people she'd known in her short lifetime.

Riddick had just gotten home from work. And as usual, was starving for a good home cooked meal. He swaggered into the kitchen, moving as silently as a shadow, gracefully taking his seat. The wooden chair didn't even creak under his large frame. So of course, when Jack turned from the stove to check and see if she'd remembered the cups while setting the table, she was startled half out of her wits to see him there.

She gasped almost silently, but quickly attempted to cover it up the same way she always did when he managed to scare the crap out of her. "Holy shit, Riddick! What the fuck are you doing sneaking around like a Goddamn..."

"Criminal?" he finished for her, chuckling as he picked up his spoon and attempted to stick it in the nearest dish of delicious, steaming hot, oak table top...

Just before he'd been able to pinch himself a tasty morsel Jack had swiftly pulled the dish out from under his descending silverware, leaving his spoon nothing to land on but the glossy finish of the wood underneath.

Another display of the same quickness and she'd laid a slap on the back of his hand for good measure. "No eating until after prayer, Richard."

"And no swearing at the people within our home, Jacqueline," Imam reminded her upon returning to the kitchen. He'd left Jack to make the final preparations for their dinner, giving him a chance to take his growing number of medications in private. "Allah knows I can't cure either of you of the foul language you learned growing up, but I will not tolerate its use in regards to another human being. You may curse..."

"The universe, the Empire, mercs, homework, even Allah himself, but not each other..." Jack and Riddick recited together, finishing his sentence in perfect stereo.

Imam nodded, smiling a bit as he slowly moved to take his seat. "Now that we've taken care of that little matter, yet again, let us sit down and give thanks to Allah for this meal."

Jack sat down in her seat next to Riddick just in time to hear him mutter under his breath, "Bout fuckin' time."

She clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle, bowing her head as Imam gave thanks to Allah in Arabic.

It had become normal for the two of them to needle each other. Even more common was their tendency to behave like two children living in the same household, watching each others' backs as they skirted around the rules and structure that Imam attempted to impose upon them. Rivalry defiantly had its place in their complicated relationship. Whether it was anything akin to sibling rivalry was yet to be determined. From Jack's perspective, Riddick was her best friend. As well as her mentor, hero, obsession...

"Allah be praised eternally," Imam finished in the common language, so they would know they were allowed to begin eating.

Jack glanced over at Riddick as he immediately reached for the closest thing edible, a roll, and devoured it like a man half-starved. As he tried to grab himself another one, she cleared her throat, causing him to pause mid-reach as she kicked him subtly under the table.

Slowly he turned to look at her, threateningly, the effect not dulled in the least by the goggles he was wearing. He raised one eyebrow as if to say 'what the hell do you want?'.

She smirked at him pleasantly, for Imam's benefit. "Please pass the Goddamn bread, Riddick."

He turned again, very deliberate in picking up one of the hot rolls and tossing it in her direction. Jack caught it with both hands, thanking him disingenuously.

"You're welcome, Jackie girl." A pause followed as he reached deep into the pocket of his cargos, and brought out his car keys, smacking them down on the table beside her plate. "Now get me a fucking beer. They're in the trunk, and no shirking on the ice this time."

She groaned, not even bothering to look at Imam. She knew HE wouldn't bail her out, even if alcohol supposedly wasn't allowed inside the apartment. The holy man tended to be rather forgiving of at least a few of Riddick's short comings, in order to make life with other people as comfortable as possible for the typically anti-social ex-con.

And as she exited the kitchen, she heard clearly Riddick's loud assertion of, "And while you're out of the house, Jack, make sure you tell someone to go fuck themselves for me."

She smirked, calling back over her shoulder just as loudly, "Come on out with me, and I will, Dick!"


After Jack returned with Riddick's beer and a glass filled with ice, the meal resumed. An easy silence hung over the three of them. Imam often suffered from headaches in the evenings, and neither of his 'foster children' were mean spirited enough to wish to be an added thorn in his side at all times. So when they both stuck a fork in the last piece of meat at the exact same instant in time, a glare was all that was exchanged between them.

Her eyes never leaving Riddick's face, Jack slowly picked up her butter knife, raising it in mock-threatening fashion as she struggled hard to keep her features locked in a look of dead seriousness. She wasn't sure if Riddick was fighting the same battle as he slowly raised his serrated steak knife in response, but for the briefest second she thought for sure she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up.

Not to be outdone, Jack put down her butter knife and reached for her shiv, cocking an eyebrow as she held it just under the table, so only Riddick would be able to see that she had it.

"Top that," she mouthed, silently snickering to herself as he shrugged, putting down his steak knife.

Convinced she'd won, Jack prepared to claim her beefy prize. But before she got the chance Big Evil very calmly made a bigger shiv appear seemingly out of nowhere. He easily twirled it within his grip, flipping it over the back of his hand and then catching it as if he'd been born doing it. The razor-sharp edge glinted in the soft kitchen light and she wondered just how the hell he managed to get that kind of balance...

Jack reluctantly withdrew her fork, admitting defeat. For the time being she was out of tricks to play.

"Children, what have I told you about bringing weapons to the table?" Imam warned, no anger or surprise apparent in his voice.

Jack could only gape at him. How the hell had he known? Some sort of x-ray holy man vision?

Riddick only smirked. "What, this?" He brought his shiv into plain view. "I wouldn't call THAT a weapon. Just figured I needed something sharper to cut this meat, since everything else around here is as dull as a fucking spoon."

Quickly he sliced the piece in question into two equal portions and took one half, leaving the other for Jack.

Imam sighed, throwing his hands to the sky and looking up as though perhaps Allah Himself would understand the constant strife and mayhem that these two 'infidels' he'd adopted as his family brought into his life. "What am I to do with them? None of the other charges you placed in my care were so...difficult."

Riddick snorted, the only sign that he was even listening. His full concentration seemed to be on finishing his meal. "I'm difficult. Ever seen Jack drop her angel act, Holy Man?"

Imam eyed him. "I wonder where in the world she could've possibly gotten it from. Just look at her role model."

Jack cracked up, but attempted to smother her laughter with her napkin. Imam's nearly accusatory gaze slowly turned to her. "You have no room to laugh, young lady. When it's time for me to live in the assisted living center I will have to make arrangements for you. And since you so enjoy heckling our convict, I believe I'll marry the two of you. Then, while he's providing for you AND making sure you continue your education, you can pick and tease to your heart's content without driving anyone else up a wall. You'd make perfect lifetime companions."

Jack took on her best imitation of Riddick's smug look. "Ah, you wouldn't have me marry Riddick, Imam. You'd miss me too much."

Imam smiled at last. "I suppose you're right, child." He too returned his attention to his dinner, assuming the discussion had come to an end.

Jack, however, let her grin grow a little broader, her jade eyes positively glowing with mischief. "Besides, you wouldn't be able to stomach thinking about what he'd be doing to me on the honeymoon."

Imam hardly blinked at her brash comment, chuckling because he'd expected it from her, but Riddick choked on his beer. Some even sprayed out of his nose, much to Jack's amusement. In fact, she positively fell out of her chair laughing, hardly able to laugh and breathe at the same time.

Even Imam couldn't help but guffaw at the former sociopath's indignant reaction, especially after Riddick had gotten up and promptly marched his ex-convict ass out of earshot.

Eventually Jack got enough control over herself that she was able to right her chair and sit back down in it. She looked at Imam, and striking her most proper 'lady at the dinner table' pose, she asked him, "What do you suppose HE was thinking about right before I made that rather obvious reference to..."

"Jaack," Imam warned softly. "Don't make me send you to bed without dessert, child."

A short pause passed between them as they each drifted into their own thoughts, before Jack voiced the inevitable smartass response of, "Can I pick which bed you send me to?"

Imam smiled, shaking his head. He loved the girl's spunk, but sometimes... "Allah, no. I'd be unsuitable as a parent if I allowed such indiscretions to occur under my roof. Besides, I believe you've terrorized Mr. Riddick enough for one night, Jacqueline. I won't have you driving him back to murderous tendencies after he's made so much progress. As you were so astute in pointing out earlier, I would miss you, terribly."

Those had been the good old days. And that was just one of dozens of memories she had stored away for the hard times. Hard times like these.

As she and Conte approached the door of Shella's gingerbread house, Jack was strongly reminded of the story of Hansel and Gretel. She had a really bad feeling about going back into the lion's den and was starting to think that just maybe it wasn't such a fantastic idea.

Bet Old Horny would try to cook and eat us. The bitch.

Then again, looking at Conte from under his arm, Jack really couldn't blame any woman for wanting to eat him.

She was a bit tempted herself, as a matter of fact.

"What?" he asked, smiling dully when he noticed her staring up at him.

She stopped walking, and so did he. "I was just thinking that you're incredibly good looking, like Rick. And that Shella, is a whore."

He smirked at the compliment. "Thanks, but why do I get the feeling like I'm about to become a pawn in your chess game with this woman, Jack?"

"No, Dom, nothing like that. I'd never think of you as a pawn," she assured him, her brow creased with concern that he might think that.

Conte shrugged. "Yeah, that's good I guess. But you should know that if you're serious about playing the game, you should use every resource you've got, babe. That's rule number one."

After bearing in mind what he'd said for a long moment, Jack considered him with a great deal of mock-seriousness, cocking her head a bit to the side. "How does being a knight strike you, Dom?"

He smirked. "For you, baby, I'd be anything.

"Anything but the queen..."