Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Black or the Chronicles of Riddick which are the creative and legal property of David Twohy. Any constructive criticism is welcome.

.

Reflections

Chapter Two - Echoes of the Past

.

.

The flaxen haired woman pulled her hand from the mirror, brows knitting together in annoyance. A shard of glass glinted in the early morning light as blood started to blossom in her palm.

"Damn." The harsh whisper breaking the silence of the bathroom, bringing her hand to her mouth she sucked the glass out, spitting it into the sink. She watched as the blood began to pool in the small cut, slowly flooding across her hand. A lump caught in her throat as a sick feeling made her stomach churn. The edges of her vision started to blur, her head light. A piercing scream made her ears ache. Blood, too much blood. Red soaked into her vision and it was all she could see…

A shiver trickled down her spine as the cool air blew through the open window, cooling the droplets on her skin. Wiping her hand hurriedly on her towel, she snatched a bandaid from the broken cabinet and awkwardly applied the adhesive gauze, the smeared blood stopping it from sticking properly. She wrapped the towel quickly around her to fight off the cold and scurried out into the warmth of her bedroom.

The living quarters she had been assigned when she was released from the hospital were modest, but big enough that she had enough space to move and spread out. With as little as she had, she had never really settled in. The bareness of it, lack of things… no history. It made it hard for her feel like it was her home. In three easy steps and she was in front of the two drawers where her clothes were kept. She let go of the towel with a sickly shiver; the damp material falling heavily around her feet, and slid on her underwear. Hand on the knob she pulled open the other drawer and retrieved a pair of beige cotton slacks and a loose pale pink shirt.

After dressing, she sauntered slowly passed her window, pausing briefly to look out at the early morning sky as she made her way back to the bathroom, in search of her hair brush. Pulling the bristles through wavy blonde hair, she looked in the mirror to check her appearance.

Her eyes gradually made their way to her face. "Who are you?" she asked herself as she searched deep blue eyes that were underlined with dark smudges. This morning, like all the rest, her reflection gazed silently back. Eyes focusing on the broken glass, she sighed. 'Another mirror to be fixed and another 7 years back luck.'

Giving an indignant snort, she automatically returned her brush to the shelf where she always kept it and ran her fingers along the dark circles under her eyes. "Well," she muttered. "At least if you're keeping secrets, you can't be telling me lies."

She let her hand drop from her face and turned to locate a hair-tie. Grabbing it, she pulled the elastic around her fingers, and effortlessly gathered her shoulder-length hair and forced the band around the thick tress into a messy bun. Finished she refocused on her reflection once again examining the lines of her tired face.

"This is as good as it's going to get." Squaring her shoulders, she dared, or was it hoped her mirror would tell her otherwise. She stood for a moment yearning for answers. When she received no response from the woman looking back at her, she sighed, and walked out of the room, turning off the light on her way out the door.

As the light disappeared, she blinked to refocus her eyes in the grey of early morning. She stilled suddenly, standing frozen in the middle of the room. For a split second she saw a brief flash of a dark shape behind her eyelids and an ear-piecing screech that sent shivers down her spine. Gasping as her eyes flickered open, she quickly closed them to try and draw the image back to the forefront of her mind.

She frowned in concentration and blocked out the noise as she tried to distinguish the shape. All she could make out was a faint outline of a person. Everything about him was a blur except the eyes. Oh the eyes! They made her gasp as breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped. She saw piercing silver eyes which seemed to be looking into hers. They were asking, begging her to remember. To remember who they belonged to. They were the only distinctive feature that she could make out of the person's face.

She blinked to rid herself of the coloured circles obstructing her vision and the silver eyes that seemed to loom transparently in front of her. Hesitantly she extended her arm to swat at the hallucination to clear it from her head.

She drew her arm back quickly as if burnt and side-stepped from the bedroom into the living room. Picking up her pace she ran to the door. She quickly snatched her bag and keys from the hooks by the door and swung it open with such force she practically fell out into the hall. In one decisive move she slammed the door closed and locked it. Unable to take her eyes off the portal, she inched away until her back hit the wall with a small thump. Sighing in relief she slumped against it. "Okay, okay, you're all right. Breathe, remember to breathe." Taking a deep breath she held it in, and then slowly exhaled keeping her lips pursed. "Just, calm down."

.

"Hey Jack, how you feelin'?" Riddick asked as he walked in the door.

She looked up suddenly at the sound of the intruder, and stared at him in shock. When her brain registered who it was, she started yelling. "Don't call me Jack, it's not my name!"

Adjusting his muscular shoulders he leant on the doorframe with an air of indifference. "Well that's just too bad kid, because I ain't callin' you anythin' else."

"Oh piss off would ya! Just let me die in peace, it's not like you care." Her rant turned to a whisper. "If you…you wouldn't have…."

Riddick pushed himself out of the doorway, and trundled further into the room, arms crossed over his broad chest. "I wouldn't of what? What wouldn't I have done Jack? You'd better not be talkin' about that shit again, 'bout me leavin' you! I don't want to hear it."

"Well what if I am. You don't care, you don't care! You never fucking cared! If you cared, you wouldn't have left. You wouldn't have left me with Imam, alone! I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be with YOU!" Drawing back a little, she whispered, "I… I wanted… to… to stay with you."

"Jack…" He sighed as his anger turned to weariness and he shuffled tiredly towards her bed

"No, no. Don't call me that, don't call me that, it's not my name. Jack's gone, Jack's dead, Jack's…" She yelled. Her voice cracked, as she started sobbing; great heaving sobs that racked her body.

Striding over to the bed Riddick pulled her forcefully into his chest. She held still, her tears wetting his shirt. Taking a deep breath, he could feel her tightening her muscles ready for an attack. Shoving her hands against his chest as hard as she could, she pushed back on his arms, but he held on, he had to hold on.

Thumping his chest she started screaming; "Let go, let go! Get off, get the fuck off me! I don't want it, I don't want it. I hate you, I HATE Jack. Jack's gone…" Finally, exhausted, her movements slowed and her efforts diminished. "… Jack's weak… she's weak…weak." A big deep breath and her movement stop, as she slumped into his chest. "I'm not… I don't wanna… I don't wanna be weak, Jack's weak."

The doctor stood in the threshold of the door, tranquiliser in hand. Riddick turned his head to glare, silently telling him to leave it alone, to stay out of it. Pulling her in a bit tighter he started to rock unconsciously, instinctively trying to calm her down.

In a low voice Riddick shushed her, and tried to get her to understand. "Jack… Jack, she was never weak. Even in her fear, she stayed strong. Even knowing it was more than likely she'd die, she stayed strong. You're not weak. Kyra's weak, runnin' away from herself, fightin' who she is. You, you're better than that Jackie."

She took heaving breaths to calm her sobs, as anger seeped out of her body. Sliding his hands over her back to her arms, he could feel the slight scaring that was still there. The Necro doctor said it'd be a few more days before it was gone. Riddick knew there wouldn't be a trace left of what had happened, at least not physically anyway, but mentally, that was another story. His dreams were a testament to that.

Gently, Riddick pushed her toward the mattress to lay her body down, but her nails dug into his shoulders, trying to stop him from leaving her. "Shhh… it's okay kid, just go to sleep. I'll come back. I won't leave you alone, alright now go to sleep, you'll be fine."

Laying her down, he straightened and took a few steps backwards, turning he edged his way to the door. The doctor advanced toward the bed ready to inject Jack with the tranquiliser. With a slight gestured to a second doctor to come in and help hold her down. Letting out an enraged grunt she struggled with them, feebly. Having sedated her, they stood on either side of the bed and rolled Jack's limp body onto her stomach. Twisting his head to give her one more look, Riddick walked out the door.