Author's Note: Okay, that's the last time I promise something I can't deliver. Truth is, I've had most of this written since before I uploaded the last chapter, but I couldn't finish it because I've been working like a maniac. Thanks for your patience, all. And for those of you wondering about 'No One Around': same deal. Plus, my muse has been dragging her feet when it comes to that one, so...

R&R!

Jak: Yeah, I realize my ff is riddled with an excess of typos. Not to mention, my spelling is atrocious. If it wasn't for spell check... hell, I don't think I'd even attempt something like this. If I can find time, I'll go back through and eliminate as many mistakes as I can from the previous chaps.

Thanks for your enthusiastic reviews, all. Everyone has been wonderful. I look forward to more!

Chapter Fourteen

"How interesting," said Mother, approvingly.

Uncle left, then returned with a medical kit. Mother re-chained Kyra. Uncle and Father each prepared a syringe, filling them with a clear fluid. "Smaller dose this time." Father explained, "We only need you out for an hour or so. Plenty of time to move you into the main hold."

They weren't easy with the needles, sticking them into their victim's arms as if they meant to run them right through. The drug took effect all most immediately.

It was like coming out of cryo sleep. You know time has past, but you can't feel it. Kyra had felt her head droop, and then suddenly pop up again. She was in a cage now. Perfect.

It was a quaint little space. Not enough room to stand, and not enough room to lay down.

Riddick's cage was only a foot away. He sat with his back to one corner, on top of a small crate, his arms and legs chained apart; it was strangely reminiscent of the way he'd been held in the reckage of the HG after Zeek had been killed.

He was staring at her. She didn't say anything. She stretched the best she could, cracking her neck and popping her shoulders. Her 'parents' hadn't thought it necessary to keep her chained.

She looked back at Riddick when she heard a rumble begin deep in his throat. He wanted to say something, but was holding himself back. "Spit it out," she told him.

"That chip... The guy you-"

"Hey, don't even think on it, all right? It's not you, so it's none of your busness." It made her feel hollow to say it. No, Riddick, it's not you. She thought, some how, if he knew he would pity her. He'd be nicer, fake. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel obligated to do something about it.

"Right. Not me."

"Right. Forget about it."

"So how come you never mentioned these guys before?" He asked, his tone almost accusatory.

"Hmm, lets see," she leaned against the bars, "How did the formal introductions go? Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict, murderer. Jack B. Badd. Girl, runaway. That was about as close as we got to spilling our guts over the past, wasn't it?" She hugged her knees close to her chest, "It didn't matter back then, where we came from."

He shifted slightly, "Guess not." He cleared his throat, "So what'd they do to you? Experiments?"

"Hell, I donno. Never quite caught wind of their over all hypothesis. The other girls and I had twelve hour week days. They had these four men, each in their own cell. They'd all be about your age now, the oldest maybe five years your senior. Parents'd rotate us girls individually, locking us up with one man for three hours before we were swapped to another one." She heard the slight slack in Riddick's restraints pull taunt. She smiled, "Take it easy. None of them ever hurt us. Most of the time they didn't even talk to us."

"So what was the point?"

"Like I said, never did figure that one out."

"They were Furyans..."

"Seems so. And I'm a friggin' Hellcastian. It doesn't mean anything." She tilted her chin towards the floor, "It doesn't matter where you come from. Only where you go.

"For years that was all they filled my head with. You're a Hellcastian, that means you're supposed to act like this, to act like that. I don't buy into that sort of crap, never did. Eventually I got plain out sick of it. Had to get away and be myself." She reached around to where her dirk should have been. The absence of it's firm density disheartened her. She mourned he loss of her weapons more than she did the loss of her dignity.

Arrogant lines of superiority creased at the corners of his eyes. "You bound what little chest you had, changed your name, became a boy, found your self a pair of goggles, and shaved your head."

She shot him a glare.

"All I'm saying is, you were free and still had a tough time letting the real you out. It was months before I even got a glimpse. Jack wasn't you."

"If she was she wouldn't be dead."

"You're not Kyra either."

She scrambled to her knees, and grasping the bars tight to her chest jutted her jaw forward slightly. If he thought he was qualified to psychoanalyze her, he was sadly mistaken. "How do you know?" she asked evenly. She shook her head, letting out a disgruntled grunt. "You don't know shit," she said quietly.

"Like I said, I got a glimpse. And what I saw was no merc."

"Yeah? Well, you can't see everything, now can you?" she snapped.

"What is your name? Your first one? The one your mother gave you." She didn't answer. "You're real mother."

"You know what, Riddick?" she said crisply, almost cutting off his last words, "If we're going to play twenty questions, how about we start with you?" She squirmed a little, settling herself on he cage floor. "There are some things I want to know, too. I don't care where your name came from or what your family was like, but I do wanna know this: Do you remember the first thing you said to me when I caught you leaving?"

When he didn't respond right away she continued, "Let me remind you of the scene first, maybe that'll jog your memory. Imam's place, four hours before sun up. I couldn't sleep. I knew something was wrong. You made me go to bed early."

And I made you jump in the shower first, to get the blood off. The blood of another child.

He didn't need her to paint him a picture, he could recall it all perfectly. He'd lost no time battling with himself over the decision. He knew he had to go that night. It was a horrifying feeling. He was pushing away the only person who had ever seen beyond the 'psychopathic' killer to the man inside. But he had to leave, before she was the one sitting at some prison shrink's desk being informed that she was so psychologically unstable that integration with the rest of the prison's population was dangerous for everyone. He didn't want her to be subjected to taunts of 'monster', 'maniac', 'machine'. He didn't know what sort of a life she'd have with out him, but he could plainly see what she would have if he stuck around.

"I don't even know what woke me up..."

I do. He couldn't resist seeing her one last time. In a way, he was saying good bye. But if he hadn't gone into her room for that moment, if he hadn't bent next to her, if he hadn't put his hand out, she wouldn't have stirred from her peaceful slumber to catch him. He didn't touch her. His fingers hovered over her hand for an instant before he whirled around and left, bounding silently down the stairs. Maybe his shadow fell across her face, disturbing the steady stream of moon light, or maybe she felt the sudden appearance then retraction of his body heat.

"... But I left my bed. Then I was at the landing, and you were at the bottom, only feet from the door."

His heart fell when he heard the soft steps of her bare feet on the wood floor. He froze, unsure what to do. He wanted to keep walking, but that was the coward's way out. He had to face her.

"You turned, taking me in with those cold, gray eyes," there was no admiration in her description, "Me in my flimsy little night shirt, and you dressed to run. You remember what you said?" She glowered at him expectantly.

"'I'll be right back,'" he admitted.

"I can't believe you thought I was that stupid. You thought you could lie straight to my face!"

Before the words had even escaped his lips he knew she wouldn't buy it, so he closed his mouth, swallowing down protests and excuses.

"Then, when it sunk in that you couldn't get rid of me that easily, you asked me to come with you."

"Not my fault you said no."

Kyra was flabbergasted, "Yes, yes it is!"

He smiled ever so slightly, reversing the grimace that was threatening to take hold. He shook his head slowly, "Can't blame this one on me."

She did her best to gulp down her venimence, "You're just a big, bad, fucking liar. Was there anything you said that was true? Anything?"

"No," he said, skewering them both on the dark sarcasm, "None of it."

Unexpectedly, she laughed. It was laced with real enjoyment, which made Riddick shiver. She stopped suddenly, and offered no explanation. A dreary silence followed. Within minutes, she started up again.

"What?" he grunted, though he was less than eager to join in the joke.

"The irony of ironies," she said with a vicious smile. "Mercs. They saved you. You owe your life to the people you hate most. You owe your life to me."

The confidence she placed in the validity of those words made him frown. A frown which deepened into an all out scowl when he connected hate and me. "Then we're even," he said through subconsciously clenched teeth.

She laughed again, but with less conviction, "We'll never be even." We'll always owe each other something. Some debts can never be repaid.