Title: The Past's Dark Touch
Pairing: None, Riddickcentric
Summary: Riddick's thoughts after the skiff takes off.
Disclaimer: I do not own Jack, Riddick, Iman, Fry etc. If I did Riddick would be my personal sex slave ;).
Status: Complete
His mind wandered back to Carolyn as he set a course that would take them back to the shipping lanes. She had carried out the ultimate sacrifice; she had died for them. She had risked her life for the trio of survivors, and in the end she had been dragged into a merciless void of savage monsters. Riddick didn't fool himself. He knew she was no saint, she proved it when she so willingly tried to purge all the passengers, like so much cargo, to save her own ass. But people changed; she changed, and in the end she had found her redemption, through sacrifice. Riddick only hoped that his redemption wouldn't come at a price so high.
He gingerly rose from his seat and limped over to a cabinet in the back of the skiff. On his way he caught a glimpse of Jack asleep in the co pilots seat and Iman on a cot further back in the rear of the skiff. He moved quietly as not to wake them.
He reached in the cabinet and pulled out a med-kit. Blowing the dust from it, he opened the ancient medical kit. Inside were the barest of supplies, surgical needles and thread, antiseptics and minor anesthetics. Shit, he thought as he hobbled back to the pilots seat, med-kit in hand. This'll just have to do.
Riddick laid the kit down and cautiously lowered himself in to the chair. He wasn't a stranger to pain, never had been. He had even had a few that came close to it, but he had forgotten how much it hurt.
For the first time since he boarded the skiff, he really inspected the damage that the predators had caused him. On his upper thigh there was a deep gash; the bleeding had stopped but the flesh had turned an angry red; the first signs of infection.
Riddick scoffed, softly to himself, Surprised the fucking thing doesn't have to come off. He said referring to the mud and alien gunk that had been caked into the wound. He dreaded having to clean and stitch this wound. It would take all his concentration to take the pain while he sowed it closed, and the anesthetics we minor ones; they merely dulled the pain at best. He reached for the bottle of antiseptic and opened it.
He turned hearing Jack stir beside him.
"Riddick?" She began quietly, eyeing his mangled thigh.
"What is it, kid?"
"Do you need any help with that?" The girl inquired, moving forward in her seat.
Riddick sat back, bottle still in hand. He stared intently at the eager girl. Besides Carolyn and the holy man, she was the only other person that had any type of faith in him. She believed him to be her hero, her savior. He was non of those things though, no, he was just a man, an extremely fucked up man, but just a man non-the-less. And yet Jack had shaved her head and donned a pair of black goggles just like his to imitate him. She worshipped the ground that he walked on; all in an attempt to be like him. If they hadn't been in the situation that they were in now he would have found that amusing. Somebody actually wanted to be like him. He though, each would distinctly clear in his mind. He knew underneath though, that Jack was just a scared little girl, whose veneer had crumbled around her. He knew a little bit about that, all his life had been on big front to survive. Yeah, he knew where the girl was coming from; they were alike the pair. Both hiding behind a charade, to keep people at arms length.
Riddick roused himself, flashing a momentary grin Jacks way, "Yeah, kid, I could use some help." He mumbled, handing Jack the bottle of antiseptic.
Jack climbed out the co-pilots seat and knelt by Riddick's left thigh, and carefully began to clean his wound.
He laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He didn't know what was going to happen to them, the skiff could very well end up as their tomb, but he hoped, for Iman, and Jacks sake that someone would come along and find them...