A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update! I had midterms (I got 100% on both!), and this was a really hard scene. It's almost all dialogue and character psychology, is essential to the charaters' relationship, and it had me banging my head against the wall. I'm really hoping this section jumps off the page, but (as always) flame me if you think I'm way off. (And praise me if you think I'm on!)

This section picks up right where the last one left off. Read them as if they were on the same page, no breaks.

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They had parked the skiff at a commercial hanger on the edge of the city, slipping the attendant most of what was left of their creds to compensate him for forgetting their lack of passenger manifest or ship registrations. While Imam and Jack had slept in a cheap inn, Riddick had passed the dark hours perusing the avenues and rooftops, unwilling to sleep until he knew the streets by night, until he had seen the dark corners and inhabited shadows of the city that only came alive with the fall of dusk. He had found little to be impressed by: like every city, New Mecca had its red light district, its street dwellers, its petty thugs, traffickers, and their customers; but they were consigned to a small district. Most of the city slept quietly, the streets silent but for the occasional passing of a transport or the yapping of a dog. Only twice did he see any man of familiar demeanor, a man who had perhaps spent time in a hard slam, and both had quickly disappeared from view, wary of the patrols that passed overhead.

He had met up with Imam and Jack at daybreak as the first melodic notes of the morning call to prayer dawned over the city, staying with Jack in the dimly lit restaurant below the inn and drinking serrated coffee while Imam had rushed off to the mosque. The holy man had returned triumphantly a couple hours later. "Wonderful news!" he had exclaimed elatedly, joining them at their corner booth. "I was able to meet with the ayatollah of the mosque. They had a position which they have hired me to fill, and all is cared for! They even have a house they can provide for us which we can move into immediately."

"What did you tell them?" Riddick asked warily.

"Much of the truth. That the transport vessel I had been on had crashed, that I had come here by way of a smaller ship we had found on the planet." Riddick had frowned darkly. "I mentioned Jack briefly, that the child would be living with me. They know nothing of you."

"And who did you say was flying the ship?"

Imam had frowned as well when he realized what Riddick was getting at: neither Imam nor Jack could have been the one to pilot the skiff, leaving an obvious hole in Imam's censored truth. "Fortunately, they did not ask."

Shit. Let's hope they don't either, Riddick had thought.

"Please tell me they don't know I'm a girl," Jack had cut in anxiously.

Imam had looked at her, puzzled. "No, I did not tell them. Only your name. But why is that important?"

Jack had sat back, both relieved and sullen. "It's just safer that way." She had raised her eyes to the cleric. "Don't tell them, okay?"

The directions Imam had been given led the trio to a bustling cobbled courtyard, enclosed by buildings on three sides. The address was a narrow two story house tucked into the corner, a living area and tiny kitchen on the first floor, with stairs by the entrance going up to two bedrooms and a study. The place had been unoccupied for a while: a draft of stagnant air greeted them when they opened the door, and dust coated every surface. The place was sparsely furnished with a sagging couch, a couple broken down chairs, and a rickety table, and the woodwork and beams, obviously once beautiful and ornate, were rough and splintered. But Jack had run through the house jubilantly, covering every inch of it twice as though there could be nothing better, and Imam was satisfied. That night Imam and Jack had slept on worn mats, each in a bedroom, while Riddick had bunked on the couch downstairs, listening even as he slept for the sound of hunting mercs.

Imam had reported to the mosque early the next morning and the day after, while Riddick and Jack stayed at the house. Riddick had expected the girl to be at his heels as soon as she woke, but to his surprise and relief she remained upstairs until Imam came home, only coming down briefly to grab some food at noon, as though knowing he would need his space for a couple days after so long confined in cramped quarters with them. Now that he had stopped, exhaustion from the ordeal on T-2 and traveling injured finally settled over him, and he had spent most of the first day sprawled over the couch, an arm over his eyes to block out the light. But sleep had come fitfully. Muffled sounds of voices, foot traffic, and engines from the street had drifted through the shuttered windows, foreign and unsettling, and he had kept jolting awake at every odd hum and clatter.

By the second day he had been ready to bolt. How long did he have until the mercs realized he hadn't died on T-2? Which one of the stops they'd had to make would be the one that gave him away? It wasn't that first stop that worried him; it was the two they had made after. He had kept their layovers brief, and they had made the effort to be seen together as little as possible. But it hadn't been entirely avoidable, and he knew they had drawn attention: a tall, dignified cleric and a burly, inimical man made odd traveling companions. And while Jack had continued to play a boy, Riddick knew from a few knowing looks they had been given that she had not managed to fool those with keener talents of observation. She obviously didn't belong to Imam, and was too old to be his, which left a very limited number of assumptions about what she was doing with them – none of which would have been right.

Yeah, they had caught attention. Even on planets where the illicit was common law, there was always someone willing to talk – especially if it got them a couple extra creds, and where there was a payday like his involved, mercs were always willing to throw a treat to someone who tipped them off. The only question was where they would pick up his trail. The earlier the stop, the longer it would take them to track him down. Whether he had a day on his side or a week he couldn't know, and his spine had tingled with the urge to run.

But he knew he was in no condition. Fatigue made his body thrum with a deep ache as he restlessly prowled the ground floor of the house. The muscles around his shoulders felt seared from dislocating them and all the fighting after, and his leg had started throbbing again after his jaunt the night of their arrival. With the body's processes frozen in cryosleep, recovery and healing were impossible, and it was as though only a few days had passed since their escape from the planet, rather than over three months. He could take the skiff and jump this planet, but wherever he woke up he'd still be injured, and if he woke up to trouble, he'd be fucked.

No, he needed to lay low, buy himself time to recover, and, if he was lucky, for whatever trail he had left since the crash to go cold, for at least some of the mercs to convince themselves he really was dead. This house was the safest place he would find. One week, he had calculated. One week, and then he'd be gone.

If he could keep himself in one place that long. Alone with his flight instinct, and with the melange of unfamiliar noises from the street keeping his hackles raised, he had been ready to crawl out of his skin. Unlike Jack, who seemed to have found something to occupy her upstairs, there was nothing to distract himself with down here.

Which had made him immediately question: just what the hell had she been doing up there the past two days?

He had looked up at the doorways at the top of the stairs. He didn't really want to go up and find out. He certainly didn't want to give the kid any idea that he was looking for company. She'd trail him all over the house if he gave her an opening. He wouldn't be able to peel her off him the next week if he did, he knew.

But his restlessness and curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He had found her in the study beneath one of the large open windows, surrounded by stacks of books she had pulled down from the rickety, dusty shelves. She sat indian style on the floor, hunched intensely over a book that took up her entire lap and completely oblivious to his presence, the ragged, sun-bleached curtains caught by an arid breeze drifting lazily above her head.

He had put a hand on the doorjamb and considered her with amusement. "Never figured you for a bookworm, kid," he'd smirked.

Her head had snapped up, her eyes wide and primal and her body tensed, like an animal caught in a beam of light and about to bolt. But her startled expression had dissolved almost immediately into a guarded sheepishness as she realized it was him. "I was looking for something."

He had come over and sat on the floor with one leg drawn up and the other extended out in front of him, his back against a pillar between two windows. A pile of books sat between them, and he'd picked up the first one, reading the title. Politics in the Era of the Foundation Empires. Glancing over the tomes splayed around her, he had realized they were all history books. "You find it?" he'd asked, dropping his book back on top of the stack.

"No," she had answered dejectedly. "All these books are too old."

"Then what d'you get your nose stuck to?"

Her face had brightened with the anticipation of telling him, like she had uncovered a tantalizing secret. "The Ethorian Deception," she'd begun. "See, three hundred years back, there was the Ethorian System and the Diveri System. And the Diveri system was more powerful, had more planets, had this bad ass army, and weapons in orbit around their planet, right? But the Ethorian System had more money. They had these platonium mines and gem harvesting , and sold their stuff everywhere. So the Diverians decided they wanted what Ethoria had, and thought they could take them, 'cause Ethoria had this puny little army and no planetary defense system.

"So they loaded their kick ass army onto ships, and left just a few guys on Diveri, cause no one had ever gotten past the defense system. And when they got to Ethoria, they attacked the cities. They thought that Ethoria was surrendering, even though they'd never gotten a message of surrender, 'cause no one fought back. But when they landed and got out on the ground, they realized that it was empty. There wasn't any one there."

"In the cities?" Riddick had asked, resting his head back against the column and feigning interest. He couldn't really see what was supposed to be so fascinating about this, but she was obviously caught up in the story, and at least it beat pacing like a caged animal downstairs.

"No, the entire planet."

He'd raised his head and turned to looked at her sharply. "What do you mean 'the entire planet?'"

His words had rolled harshly in his throat, as though he suspected she was fucking with him, and he'd expected her to flinch away from him. People usually did when he used that voice; but she'd only grinned with excitement, even leaning toward him as she exclaimed, "I mean the entire planet was deserted! The Ethorians caught wind that the Diverian army was coming, and knew their army wouldn't last a second against the Diverians. So they ditched. They blew the entrance to the mines to hide them and transferred info to allies or took it with them on data chips. They all ran off to other planets, and the Ethorian army took their ships and disappeared. When the Diverian army got there, they thought the mines had been destroyed, and all the systems planet-wide had been wiped."

Riddick had eyed her curiously from behind his goggles, intrigued despite himself. "Where'd the Ethorian army go?"

She had smiled like someone scheming. "Diveri. Their army sucked, but they had secretly bought this electronic pulse weapon that disrupted whatever they shot it at, right? And they took out the planetary defense system, slaughtered the soldiers that had got left behind, and took over the planet, then turned the defense system back on. So the Diveri army comes home, trying to figure out what the hell happened, and start getting shot by their own weapons. They have to surrender, and the Diveri system becomes Ethorian territory."

Riddick had leaned his head back, considering the ceiling pensively. "And all the Ethorians have to do is go home, open up the mines, and transfer the data back to their systems," he'd said slowly, savoring the pleasure of wrapping his mind around a strategy. "Hm."

"A few hundred dead to take Diveri, and a piss worth of damage to Ethoria," she'd crooned victoriously, her face vibrant with the excitement of discovery.

He had scrutinized her sidelong for a moment before taunting, "Aren't you supposed to be playing with dolls, or some shit?"

"Like hell," she'd snarled as viciously as she could, and proudly given him the finger.

"You got some nerve, kid," he'd growled hotly. His jaw had twitched with the effort of suppressing a grin, but damn if he was going to let the kid know that he was getting a kick out of messing with her, and he knew the twitch made him look angrier.

He'd expected her to be rattled at having his wrath turned towards her. But instead she'd beamed as if he'd given her a compliment. And for a strange, fleeting moment he had felt exposed, like a wall of his defenses had been revealed to be nothing more than air. He'd found himself staring at her, trying to determine whether she had really known he was baiting her, or if it was just that she trusted him so unconditionally that she feared not even his anger. But her face had been so guileless that neither possibility had unnerved him as much as it should, and the moment had passed almost without notice.

"…What were you looking for?"

Her bright expression had guttered and gone out, her face clouding with bottled turmoil, and she had looked down at the book in her lap without seeing it, her fingers worrying the fraying corner of the cover. "Meaning," she had said hesitantly.

"Meaning of what, kid?" he'd asked gruffly.

She had shrugged morosely with one shoulder. "Life, I guess. Why everything's like it is. …Why the hell I'm here," she had murmured bitterly.

Survivor's guilt, Riddick had thought. He suspected it had hit Imam first, back on the skiff, but the holyman had been keeping himself busy with prayers and now work. He'd been wondering when Jack's would kick in; about, it seemed, the same time as his exhaustion, when the momentum of running had finally stopped. She'd seemed okay yesterday evening, but he was learning this kid had a talent for keeping things to herself. It had probably hit her like a ton of bricks. So that's what she's been doing up here the past two days.

"Think you got the wrong books."

She had looked up at him with choked anguish. "What are we alive for? 'Cause we could have died too, right? Why'd we make it? What decides who lives and who dies?"

A Fucker on a power trip, Riddick had thought, but he only told her. "Ask Imam."

She had snorted, a hint of her usual spark passing over her face. "Yeah, I know what he'd say." She'd straightened, putting on a tranquil face, and had spoken with exaggerated conviction, "'Child, we are created by God so that we may know His love and help others to know that love through us. It is to love God and to love our fellow man for which we are made. Love is the greatest commandment. Love is the highest calling…'"

This time Riddick could not hold back a huff of laughter at her imitation, and he'd gibed her, "I don't know, kid, I think Imam's got himself a junior."

"I'll play with dolls first," she'd decried; but Riddick knew that even if Jack didn't idolize Imam the way she did him, she still listened to the man when he talked. Obviously.

The playfulness had fallen again from her face. "Seriously, Riddick, what are we doing here? I mean, all those people out there," she had looked over her shoulder at the window, where the sounds of people milling and late afternoon traffic had drifted in from below, then back at him, "what do they think they're living for? They're just going to die sooner or later. So what's the point?"

Shit, Riddick swore silently. Did she really expect him to answer that? He'd scrutinized her for a moment, her pained face open and expectant. Yeah, he'd realized. She did. Heavy questions for a twelve year old girl, but he supposed that if anyone had a reason to be asking them, after all she had seen on T-2 it was her. He was seriously tempted to foist her off on Imam, to tell the girl again to wait till the holyman got home and ask him. But Jack's impression of the cleric had been flawless, and he'd probably say something exactly along those lines – or, he realized, Jack's imitation might have been so impressive because she had asked him already. Great words for out here in the light and civilization; but Jack had seen something darker, a place barren of a loving and merciful God, and the holyman's answer wasn't going to cut it.

The sun had edged below the tallest of the buildings outside across the street, and the sky had been shimmering with the first hints of evening's gold. It was bright, but not blinding, and Riddick had pulled the goggles off his head with a low rumble of frustration. He'd turned and looked Jack in the eyes hard, his shine piercing in the last light of the afternoon. "I don't know if there's a point to life, but there is no fucking point to being dead. Got it?"

Somehow this had been enough. Relief had flooded her face as his words sank in, and she had smiled brilliantly. "Point taken," she'd answered.

Riddick had studied her a moment longer, concealing his curiosity behind a cool expression, before glancing at the book in her lap. "Anything else good in there?"

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A/N: See why this was such an insanely difficult scene? I'm proud of this section, and I'm still not sure I got the characterization right! Let me know what you think, please!