Stalemate

Chapter Seven

Kyra gazes out at the stars, fiddling with the small knife. She keeps running scenarios in her head, but most of them end with her knifed in the back by either an anonymous killer or Riddick. Neither sounds remotely appealing.

Her stomach rumbles, breaking through her cluttered mind. She glances over at the clock, does a quick calculation and determines it's been almost twelve hours since she's eaten.

Her sigh is deafening in the quiet room. Her eyes twitch from lack of sleep, and she rubs them, trying to stay awake. But she's not superhuman, she can't stay awake for more than another twenty-four hours, if she's lucky.

Deciding to fix her stomach issue, Kyra finds the food hall and storage quickly, and uses the water reservoir and microwave to make strange purple pasta.

Hesitantly, she takes a bite of the pasta and its odd consistency, but it's not as bad as she originally thought.

Out of pity or faded friendship, Kyra makes another bowl for Riddick. It takes her another few minutes of sitting at the counter to even decide to give him the food.

When she enters the room, she notices he hasn't moved in over an hour since their last confrontation. His head is bowed, and she thinks he's sleeping.

"Wait."

Kyra spins around. "I thought you were asleep," she explains defensively. She holds up the second bowl as evidence, "I brought food."

"You're gonna have to feed me," he tells her, "Unless you wanna unchain me."

Kyra sets her dish down on a small metal table, and places the clean spoon in his bowl. Her steps are slow and cautious, and she takes her time.

Sitting on the hard floor, Kyra takes a spoonful of the pasta, raising it above the dish. As she moves the spoon to his mouth, she briefly wonders if he'll bite her fingers.

She likes her fingers, and doesn't really want to see them mangled or missing. She stops at his lips, the tip of the spoon touching them.

He opens his mouth and envelopes the spoon and then retracts, chewing slowly.

"More," He urges her, jerking his chin to the bowl.

"Here," this time she shoves the spoon in his mouth quickly, sloshing the thick soup-like substance.

After swallowing, he chuckles. "I'm not gonna kill you, Jack. And I'm not gonna bite you. Unless you ask nice."

Rolling her eyes, Kyra holds up another spoonful. "Fuck off. And it's Kyra."

He nods sagely. "Right." He chews and swallows again. "You make a decision yet?"

She scowls vividly. "No. See, I don't really like trusting people who try to kill me." She jams the spoon in his mouth again.

This time, instead of pulling back, Riddick engulfs part of her hand, his tongue swiping the pad of her thumb.

Yanking her hand away, Kyra drops the spoon, and it clatters loudly on the metal grating. "What the fuck?" She rasps, the bowl tipping out of her palm.

"Didn't bite, did I?" He challenges innocuously.

Kyra exhales and picks up the spoon and bowl, setting it in front of her. She rises to her knees and wipes her hand on her pants roughly. He is playing her, as usual. Trying to test her resistance and goad her responses.

Because if he knows enough, he can take her apart effortlessly.

"Why do you really want to help me?" She asks point-blank. This little skirmish of a dance is wearing her down, and she wants the cold, hard truth. Even if it hurts.

"I'm all about saving the world from evil bastards. For the puppies and Christmas, obviously," he derides, keeping a straight face save for a tell-tale twist of his lips.

"Stop it," Kyra demands angrily, "Do you think this a game?"

Then he gives her his most honest answer, "Not for you."

Kyra sighs, standing up. "This whole idea is stupid. I can't trust you! You're a killer. You killed before the crash, and I know you didn't stop there. Maybe I could have justified it five years ago, but now…You're just a fuckin' dog, Riddick. A dog that needs to be put down."

A tinny snap cracks loudly and he lunges at her, slamming her into the doorjamb painfully. An involuntary gasp escapes from her as his arm jams between her legs, lifting her up, and her back scrapes the metal frame.

The ease of his attack and the timing tickles her mind. "You knew," she manages, even with his hand around her throat. Again.

He knows exactly what she means. "Of course I did."

Her breathing comes in jagged pants, and she shifts uncomfortably, her feet swinging uselessly. His eyes are still closed, and for the first time Kyra wonders how powerful he really is. She wonders if all everyone has ever seen is only a glimpse, a mere flicker of what he can really do.

"I am a killer, can't deny that," he hisses in her ear, "but what does that make you, Jack?"

Her stomach clenches and her heart pounds. "What I do," she tells him, her voice tight, "is a thousand kilometers apart from what you do, Riddick."

Except there is really only a thin line, a hairsbreadth of a difference between them. She's teetering on the edge, and it's only a matter of time before she falls.

And They both know it.

"You may not trust me, but what've ya got to lose?" He pushes her, the last straw on camel's back.

He's right. She's lost any semblance of friendship or family. She doesn't have anyone else but him. A sick and twisted fairytale—just her, Riddick and endless black space.

And that's the bitter, cold truth that freezes her to the bone.

Something wet prickles her cheek and she moves to wipe the offending moisture away, but his hand catches hers first.

"There's something dripping on my face," she explains irritably.

He releases her suddenly, and she has to catch herself from falling to her knees. Quickly, Kyra rubs at her face, leaving red patches behind.

If he has known the whole time, she thinks, watching him. If he has known that he could simply snap the metal, then why didn't he hurt or kill her when he had the chance? Why play the stupid mind games? Why even bother letting her go this far?

"Are you crying?" He asks with a hint of incredulity as he backs away, giving her room to move.

She snorts. "Funny," she retorts, "but no. There's oil or moisture collecting on the door. I should check that out, before it does any damage."

"Not gonna try and chain me back again?" He questions, tilting his head, hands folded cross his muscled chest.

"You'll just get out anyway," she replies dryly. Reaching into the deep pocket of her worn cargo pants, she pulls out his goggles. "Here." She can't trust his reasons, she figures, but she knows he won't kill her.

At least, not yet. And it's a chance she'll have to take.

"Stay here, and bequiet," she tells him before going into the control room.

With quick, efficient movements, Kyra punches in the number sequence she has now committed to memory.

In the small screen, a woman with cherry-red hair greets her. "Hello. Please state your identification."

"Name's Kyra Smith," she says clearly, "And I have Richard B. Riddick. Bring the money and meet me on UV 6, station three."

(A/N: yay, longer chapter! Thanks to everyone for their reviews and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'll try and update as soon as I can)