Sneezefic by Liberty Belle

She hated blackouts. She always had.

The events after the crash of the Hunter-Gratzner had only cemented her niggling fears of the dark, but Jack told herself that they weren't the only reason. Every time thunder crashed and the room went dark, she felt for certain that things in the shadows would come after her. Like wolves to a lamb, or like those hatchet-faced demons to any trace of blood, the darkness would be on her, it would swallow her up.

Okay... so maybe the events on that planet were the whole reason; there was no shame in admitting it.

Jack lay awake in her bed, hands clasped together at the base of her skull. She would not go looking for Riddick, she informed herself sternly, eyes moving in small, quick glances as she scanned the darkness. She would not go fumbling through the contents of her room for any sign of a candle, or a flashlight, or anything at all that would cut the sudden, clinging darkness all around her.

And to her surprise, it worked; she lay in nervous silence, sweating in fear, but she did not get up... she did not go searching... she did not yell out in fear.

Until the thunder crashed again.

It was like a shotgun crack at her ear, shaking the very walls with its intensity, and startling from her lips a terrified cry into the dark. Jack was trembling and gasping as she fell from her bed, groping along the bare floor before shooting like a hare for the door. She pulled it open to the yawning blackness of the hallway beyond, pinballing her way down the narrow corridor, hands raised to the level of her face. She was unprepared when she struck an unforeseen presence in the darkness, staggering backward and bracing herself for the expected crash to the floor.

But an invisible hand snapped for her arm, closing tightly around her bicep and anchoring her before she could fall. By the strength of its grasp alone did that hand pull her upright, steadying her on her feet in silence.

Two eyes winked to life in front of her, mercurial as a cat caught in a beam of moonlight.

"Don't run," Riddick said, his voice blending almost inaudibly with the still-fading peal of thunder. Jack could have cried with relief if she would have let herself cry at all, instead stumbling away until her back struck the wall. The white pinpoints of his pupils vanished for a split second as he blinked.

Jack protested, "I... I wasn't running."

"You were fleeing."

"The storm. It just scared me."

"It wasn't the storm you were afraid of, it was the dark." He fell silent, letting her stew in the truth for a few seconds before he pressed her into a familiar line of questioning.

"Who's in the dark, Jack?"

"You are," she replied after a moment's lag, hanging her head in mild shame.

"And who do you know that can kick my ass?"

"Nobody."

His head tilted as he drove home his point, but she couldn't see the gesture.

"Therefore. What do you fear in the dark?"

She didn't answer, and in two seconds she could feel his breath against her cheek, making her thirteen-year-old heart beat like the wings of a caged dove. His voice, deep and soft and everything that her world had begun to revolve around, repeated, "I said... what do you fear in the dark?"

Jack replied, with an edge of fierceness and certainty, "Nothing," and felt him withdraw. What she wanted to add was: when you're around, but as so many other things, it went unsaid. Like a great cat patrolling the edges of its territory, Riddick turned back through the darkness so familiar to him, prowling away from her in silence. Her eyes were at last beginning to adjust, and with her hands flattened along the wall she tried to follow after him, needing a sense of nearness.

Riddick reached the window that overlooked Edge City, throwing wide the dingy curtains and letting the dingier moonlight shine into their sparse living room. Shuttles and hover-taxis glided the skyways beyond the reinforced glass, their running lights helping to ease the stark blackness of the room. The city never slept, and even in the midst of the storm there was a surging pulse of life only meters from their staring faces. Her companion even had to shade his eyes for a few seconds, squinting as he adjusted to the glare.

"Happy now?" he asked, but had no need to. He knew she would be... he knew all the qualities of her fear. Coming up alongside, Jack placed her fingertips on the cold glass and watched the air traffic glide past like luminous stingrays.

"Thanks."

He made a noise that sounded almost like a short snort of acknowledgement, but a second later turned his massive back towards her, muscles beginning to clench visibly beneath the black tanktop. When he suddenly sneezed, roaring as loudly as the thunder itself, Jack almost gave the same cry of surprise.

"EhhHHHHRRRRRRRRUUSSSHHH!"

Three months since their escape in the little skiff... three months that she'd spent slowly weaving herself into his life, so that he couldn't just cast her aside. Three months... and this was the first time she could remember him sneezing. She was sure she would have remembered it.

"Holy shit," she blurted, laughter catching her by surprise as Riddick slowly straightened up.

"...the fuck?," he muttered, looking down into his broad hands as if barely believing what had happened.

"Are you okay?" she grinned.

A throaty sound was his response, brief as always, as his arms relaxed to his sides. No acknowledgement beyond that, no mention of what might have brought it on. Jack let it slide, returning her attention to the window.

"How long do you think the power will stay off?" she wondered, her mind--as always--racing ahead to the next potential light, the next potential darkness.

"What do you fear in the dark, Jack?" he asked her, plain as day, in that dark chocolate voice.

She remained silent for only a beat before her eyes flashed up to his profile, brutish and yet handsome, a stoic hero and a killer of men.

"Nothing," she said, and for the moment she meant it. "Nothing at all."

*******

Rebel raiders had seized the Edge City power station, said reports off the wire. The damage from the explosives alone would require several million dollars in repair, and several days of non-stop labor to complete. In other news, Monsoon had set in, and it looked like the storms wouldn't be going anywhere soon. Good news always had to come with bad.

For Riddick, although he had no real passion for his work, the raid on the power station was as good as news got. It meant that there would be construction work galore, probably for several months, and these days, work was survival for both himself and the kid.

Jack took it better than he'd expected, though the unrelenting darkness was a visible strain on her. He heard her gasping awake in the middle of the night, whenever thunder struck. Sometimes he would linger in her doorway, only when he knew she could not see him, and watch her toss restlessly in her bed.

He didn't care about her, he told himself, he just didn't like to turn his back on her trust.

There were no public schools in Edge City--few families dared dwell there. For this reason, Jack educated herself at a computer terminal for most of the day, pulling in extra cash by doing hack work and low-level programming in-between distance-learning classes. Without power, however, she was resigned to unhappily pacing the boundaries of their apartment, cursing the darkness as the wind howled outside, and unabatingly anxious until Riddick eventually came home, sopping wet and not wanting to discuss his workday.

It went on that way for almost a week.

On Saturday morning, close to noon, Riddick shuffled from his bedroom, squinting into the shadowy depths of the living room. Sunlight had been unable to make a dent in the gloom of the storm, and for that he was grateful, preferring dimness to the agony of daylight. Jack had busied herself in the kitchen, stirring the appliances to life under the newly-regenerated power, and as he stood there he squinted at her in stone-faced wonder.

...She was cooking.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked, dragging the padded stool away from the kitchen counter and settling his heavy frame. Her answer was to slide a plate across to him, letting it bump to a halt against his folded arms.

"Making breakfast."

"You don't cook..."

"I can cook," she protested, turning back to the stove and stirring... something.

"Without killing me?" He wrinkled his nose distractedly before making a pass at it with one hand, continuing to track her movements in the kitchen. Jack turned around again, frying pan in hand, and shoveled out a heaping serving of something lumpy and bright yellow.

"Eat it," she encouraged, dishing some onto her own plate and then dumping the pan into the sink. Apparently she wasn't finished; toast was removed from the little oven above the stove, and offered to him with equal portions of jelly and butter. Having never actually been served breakfast before, Riddick was hesitant.

"What is it supposed to be?"

"They're eggs."

He picked up his fork, dwarfing the utensil in his large hand as he poked at the steaming yellow mass.

"...Jesus, Jack... the eggs of what...?" She was already eating her own, and so he could only assume that they were safe for consumption. In spite of the weirdly enticing smell, however, he had no appetite. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh, come on, that's such a lame excuse..."

"I mean it," he purred, passing under his nose with his knuckles. "It looks fine, I'm just not hungry."

Her forehead dimpled with a slight look of concern as she chewed. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know, I just..." he sat still a moment, face turned in profile as if he'd heard something down the hall and was straining to listen. His expression flinched into a grimace, and suddenly he heaved himself away from the counter, bracing a hand on the wall as he released a thunderous, "HEHHHISSSHHH!"

Jack dropped her fork alongside her plate, hopping down from her own stool as she rounded the counter towards him. Riddick was fast recovering himself, a hand still clamped about his nose and mouth.

"Uh--bless you?"

"Shit..." He sniffled, looked to the kitchen, looked back again, then slowly tilted back his head as his expression gathered with irritation.

"Riddick?"

"Eh---HHEEEEEIIISSSSH!" The force of the explosion almost threw him forward, the bracing tension of one arm the only thing that kept him upright. With a growl he straightened, muttering, "...Holy fuck."

"Wh... what's the matter?" Jack flustered, hesitating near his side. Again the convict looked into his hands as if the answer might be there, but finding only one dry and one slightly damp palm.

"Better not be what I think..."

"Which is?"

Riddick sniffed again, purposeful, and calmly pinched shut his nose between two fingers. He was talking only to himself as he muttered his thoughts aloud, "...All that time in the rain..."

"You're sick?"

"I'll be fine," he dismissed, starting to retreat back towards the den of his room.

"B-but if you're sick you should take something, right? Get some medicine?"

His broad back vanished into the darkness, the shadows slithering over him wholly, concealing him from her sight.

"I'll be fine," was the deep rumble of his voice, the last thing she heard before the hissing close of his door.

*******

Riddick's room was total blackness, and Jack had never seen it in daylight. His windows were covered over with metal shutters, and it was set far back, where none of the flat's other, ambient light could penetrate. He had wrapped himself in the darkness that she hated so much. She was strangely jealous of his room.

She stood awkwardly in the hallway outside his door, a tray in both hands, and leaned forward to tab the intercom button with her forehead. It chimed softly, followed by the softly hissy sound of silence on the wall's opposite side.

"Go away," Riddick mumbled without anger, purring the words like he might issue a murmur to a lover.

"I... I brought you some soup."

"I'm not hungry."

"Riddick... you have to eat something."

"I said... I..." The microphone was not particularly sensitive, but even so Jack heard clearly the uncharacteristically weak catch of his voice, a wavering sound of breathing, and then a thunderous sneeze that caused a painful squeal of feedback. "HHEEEHIIISSSHHH!"

Jack recoiled with a wince from the painful squeal of the speaker, waiting until it had died into a faint whistle before boldly re-approaching the door. She said again, a little fearful, "...You have to eat."

"Go away," softer than before, like he was fading away.

In retrospect, Riddick should have known better than to lock an electronic door against a budding hacker; she had the mechanism sprung in under two minutes.

"You're treading on thin ice, kid," the convict muttered as she finally entered, his body collapsed across the bed in a mess of blankets and sheets. Jack could see very little in the narrow light of the doorway, but the white spots where balled up tissues had been tossed still caught her eye. The plaguing Saturday morning sniffles had become almost incessant sneezing by Sunday night, until in an attempt to assert some control Riddick had confined himself to his bedroom, and continued his suffering there. It was obvious that colds didn't manage to pull the big man down all that often, but when they did, they did it hard.

Jack set the tray of soup and sundries on his nightstand, unable to take her eyes off him. It was like looking a tiger sprawled there, every inch of his body defined by muscle. He was clothed from the waist down in sheets, but his back was bare but for shadows, a terrain of sinew and skin. Even at thirteen she felt the pit of her stomach knot up with want.

"Riddick..."

He didn't answer, purposely ignoring her.

"Riddick," Jack leaned forward, her palms flattening to his shoulders with a whispery sound of skin against skin.

It happened too quickly for her mind to register the events, but in a sudden flash of movement the big man had her by the wrists, his mouth pursed as his eyes shone with that quicksilver gleam. He wouldn't hurt her--she knew that too well to be truly afraid--but it still made her shriek in alarm. What would he say? Would he rage at her for constantly ignoring his warnings?

The convict glared hard at her... then suddenly closed his eyes. He was perfectly still like that for almost half a minute, frowning, then caught a quick little breath through his nose, shattering his calm. His chest expanded deeply as he hauled in a breath...

Having a sudden idea of just what his reaction was going to be, Jack extracted herself quickly from his grasp, standing aside just as he wrenched over his own lap, sneezing explosively into his hands.

"HEHHIIISSSSSSHHH!" The silence held, and then broke with another massive breath before he sneezed, just as before, "HEHHIIISSSSHHH!"

Hands still held to his face, Riddick let himself collapse onto his back, the creaking of the springs barely masking his muffled groan.

"...Shit..."

Forgetting both the soup and her fear, Jack crawled across the tangled jungle of his bed, kneeling alongside him and trying hard not to look at his chest as it rose and fell. He had reached a long arm to the opposite nightstand, grabbing at the tissues there, and was now squinting his eyes closed as he gave his nose a lengthy, vicious blow. Only upon relaxing, snuffling miserably, did the pinpoint shine of his eyes come back to her.

"Couldn't leave me alone...", he rumbled.

"You didn't leave me."

He seemed to consider this, then snuffled again.

"I'm a mess."

"So what else is new?" Her hand reached for his forehead, and with that same cat-quick reflex he caught her wrist, holding it with surprising strength. The moment was tense and silent until, for reasons known only to himself, the convict relented, and released her arm. Her fingers curved across his forehead, their coolness lulling him into a rare moment of indulgent trust.

"You're hot, you know."

"I figured."

"Would you please eat something?"

Another snuffle. He turned his head enough to look towards the soup she'd brought, and even hefted himself upright, unintentionally brushing against her with the rock-hard muscle of his arm. Riddick sat, staring, then gathered himself from the bed altogether.

"Make me some coffee."

Jack scrambled to get to her feet as well, watching with awe the easy power of his body as he crossed the bedroom, grabbed another tank top, and slipped into it in silhouette. He snuffled yet again, and left her behind.

She was fast on his heels as he strode barefoot down the hall and emerged into the faint light of the living room, holding a hand out to protect his eyes from the glare. Almost immediately a wrinkle creased his forehead and a tremor twitched at his upper-lip, signaling the return of that powerful sternutatory desire. Jack shut her eyes tightly as she hesitated behind him, bracing for it.

"Eh-HHHHEEEEEEIIIISSSSHHH!" He bent forward from the waist, loosely catching it in one hand before miserably reopening his eyes and letting Jack through to the kitchen.

She responded dutifully, keeping one eye on him as she flicked on the coffee maker, "...Bless you."

"HEH--!", he began, as if prepared to yell something, then abruptly stopped, relaxing his hand away from his wrinkled nose with an uneasy sigh. "Shit..."

"Don't you want something else? Maybe something to actually eat?"

He fell heavily into the leather couch arranged before the windows, groggily watching the air traffic as it swam past. His sinuses were in a misery of irritation, the desire to sneeze wavering just out of reach, and was barely able to concentrate on Jack's question enough to understand it.

"Coffee," he repeated. He heard her sigh, followed by the sounds of her searching through the cupboard.

"Fine..."

Here it came again... Riddick half-veiled his eyes against the onslaught of irritation, a hand lifting to his face, and held the pose until the sneeze came on him all at once.

"HHEEEEEEHHHIIISSSSSSHHH!"

Jack's voice, "Bless--"

"HHEEEHHHIIIISSSSSSHHH!"

"Bless--"

"HEEHHHHIISSSSHHHHH!"

Riddick clapped both hands over his nose and mouth, collapsing back against the cushions and squinting open his eyes. Another muffled, "fuck," was his sole response to the attack, gruffly delivered before Jack came back into view, this time with a coffee mug in hand.

"Should I even bother saying bless you?", she tried to joke, though her delivery was fluttered and nervous. He took the coffee from her and pulled a long gulp, heedless of either bitterness or burn.

"No one else ever bothered. No reason for anyone to start."

"I'd say it's every reason to start," the girl murmured, and fell to the cushions alongside him. For the first time he gave her a small, appreciative glance, finishing off the coffee in a second deep swallow. He snuffled once more, letting her pierce the quiet as he knew she was dying to.

She asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." A moment passed in quiet before he added, setting aside the empty mug, "And I'm about to sneeze..."

Even with this warning it came on with surprising swiftness, Riddick gathering his hands at his face as he lurched explosively over his lap.

"HEEEEHHHIIIIIISISSSSSHHHHUH!" A strained sigh, then a low bark "...Fuck."

Jack said quietly, plainly, "Bless you."

Slowly sitting back, Riddick fixed her with the gleam of his eyes, reaching out to palm in stoic affection the short brown crop of her hair. It was all the acknowledgement he gave to the blessing.

"Hair's growing back," he rumbled, like it mattered at all to either of them. She tossed herself back against the cushions and ran her long fingers back over her head, the hair still barely an inch in length.

"It's OK. It itches sometimes."

If she were a boy, Riddick might have dared roughhouse with her, molesting her with the ruffian affection of a larger brother, but he could not. Try as she might to douse every kindling appearance of her femininity, Jack was still a girl under the short hair and the fierce eyes, and there would be a day when no amount of tough talk or posturing would hide it, either from his notice or anyone else's. He wasn't sure what exactly was going to go down when that day came, or if he wanted to be within five hundred miles of her when it happened; their relationship was already beyond definition as it was.

Jack felt the weight of the moment, lowering her eyes as she always did, trying to figure out why these uncomfortable pauses had been getting more and more frequent.

"So," she began, hoping he might provide her with an opportunity for conversation, but knowing Riddick could have just as easily spent the rest of the night in perfect silence.

Riddick snuffled again, somehow too tough for a mere sniffle, and unselfconsciously wrinkled his nose, trying to get rid of both congestion and irritation. It wasn't working, and it showed. Jack watched him for a few seconds before asking, without her usual timidity, "...You want some help?"

He pinched his nose, squinting one eye shut and one eye open as he queerly glanced at her.

"What?"

The leather exhaled heavily as she leapt to her feet, all jangling limbs and quick motion, vanishing into the kitchen and returning a few seconds later with a silver pen light. Immediately suspicious of anything involving penetrating light, Riddick rumbled a caution to her as she flopped down onto the cushions.

"What's that for?"

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Riddick..."

Glowering like only Riddick could glower, he exhaled an unpleasant sigh and twisted slightly to face her, broad shoulders leaned askew as he rested one elbow on his knee and draped his other arm across the sofa's back.

"Fine. What."

Jack flicked the penlight on, dancing the beam against her palm for a second before lifting it to shine into the ex-con's mercurial eyes. His reaction was immediate.

It was a burst of pain to him, not so excruciating as daylight, but dazzling nonetheless: a hundred barbs of spiny pain prickling sharply at the backs of his eyes, stabbing him wherever the light struck. His fist would have struck out like a sledgehammer if anyone else had tried it, but Jack knew what she was doing, and the sneeze that had been lingering and teething at him for the past several minutes suddenly came on in full force, taking by surprise the one who was so rarely surprised by anything at all.

"HEEEEHIIISSSSHHHH!" He wrenched double, hands opened outward in surprise, unable to make it to his face. "Eh--!"

Jack scrambled, stretching herself for the box of tissues on the table behind them, her whole body flinching in surprise as her friend announced the next sneeze with a great inhale, and then gave in to the tumult of his cold.

"HEEEEHHHISSSSSHHH! Eh---!" He remained bent forward, breath sawing in and out as he teetered, then plunged into a third, uncovered "HEEEEHHHIIIISSSSHH!" A beat. "...Shit!"

There was a racket overhead as the tenant above them BANGED hard against the floor, followed by a barely-audible shout, "Shut the hell up!"

Jack dug her fingers under the cardboard flap of the box, tearing it open, but barely had it halfway off before Riddick was taking it from her, snatching out tissues to cover his nose. She wanted to gloat, but sensed that now would not be a good time. His eyes tightened shut as he blew hard, working his nose left to right, then flexed and wrinkled it in the open, testing. He was all right for the moment.

Leaping on the opportunity, Jack told him, "Sometimes people sneeze in bright light... I figured... you're already so sensitive to it, it wouldn't take much."

It was clever thinking, he would give her that, but he wasn't in a congratulatory mood. The empty mug was retrieved from the table and thrust at her without a glance.

"Coffee."

"Don't we say 'please'?" she jibed, snatching it from him. Having gone back to attacking his nose with the tissues, Riddick froze in a seeming of suspended menace. The gleam of his eyes cut the dimness like a honed blade, and Jack nearly fell over herself as she flashed a nervous grin and scrambled towards the kitchen. It was incredible; the man could even look threatening while blowing his nose.

He sat there for awhile, discarding the first bunch of tissues and then fishing out another handful, waiting for the girl's return. Instead, he heard her hesitant voice.

"We're out."

"Then go get more."

"It's raining."

Once again Riddick needed say nothing, twisting himself against the seat and draping the back of the couch with one muscled arm. He stared. Hard.

Jack was halfway to the closet when she decided, inspired, "I'll go get more."

*******

Monsoon wasn't necessarily a season of rains, but the change in the tropical wind patterns inevitably brought unpredictable storms, and many of Edge City's citizens were well prepared for wet weather. Having no love for desert worlds (for obvious reasons), Jack was grateful for the precipitation... even if it was responsible for Riddick's present misery.

She wore a black slicker and old sneakers as she stepped out of the apartment building, pausing a moment to cast her gaze up towards its top, several hundred stories above the ground. Thank God for high-speed elevators. Jamming her hands into her pockets, she started a quick jog through the puddles, weaving expertly between the lean bodies of surface-level dwellers, darting over steam vents and barely watching where she was going.

It was no surprise to her when a filthy figure with no protection from the rain fell alongside her like they were old traveling companions.

"Hey, man," the stranger greeted. "Where you goin' in such a hurry? Got some place to be? Say, don't I know you from--wait, wait, don't tell me, I'll remember..."

"Fuck off, asshole," Jack muttered, her language having already been fine-tuned by Riddick's indiscriminate tongue.

"Heeey... that any way for an up-standin' young man to be talkin'?" The stranger reached out and grabbed her shoulder, turning her sharply towards him, causing her hood to fall away. Jack didn't recognize him, but he studied her with a yellowed grin, thinking things over. Finally it came to him. "You some kind of she-male or somethin', baby?"

She turned fast, jerked up her hood, and continued swiftly down the street; God, how she hated people. The man pursued her.

"Come back, baby! We can talk!"

"What part of 'fuck off, asshole' was at all unclear to you?"

"Don't be that way." He grabbed for her again, this time catching her arm, and Jack swung something sharply from her pocket, slashing it like a catclaw at his face. It all happened reflex-fast: the brandished shiv cut across the stranger's cheek, drawing a thin line of red from temple-to-jaw, reeling him back in bleating surprise. He touched his face., staring in sudden wonder at the blood on his fingertips.

And after that, Jack would remember nothing but an explosion of pain as his foot caught her stomach.

*******

He eyed the clock, staring impassively at the red digits until another minute had gone by.

Forty-five minutes late.

Way too late.

It was a strange and unfamiliar emotion that hefted Riddick from his bed, silently struggling himself back into a tanktop and boots, and then into a hooded black slicker. He could remember only two other visits from that particular emotion: once when Johns had suggested that he kill Jack to save the rest of them, and then again when she had been under the attack of one of those winged monsters, terrified for her life and still trusting that he would come to her rescue. That seemed to be the perpetual problem between them...

Why the hell did she have to trust him?

He stormed out the bedroom door, making it to the threshold before a sneeze overtook him, stiffening him upright as he jaggedly inhaled, wavered in battle, and then lurched forward under its power.

"HEEEEEEEEIIIISSSSHHHH!"

Riddick's shoulder hit the doorframe hard, but by the time he'd caught his breath he was in motion again, moving like a locomotive down the hall, closing a hand around his keys like he could crush the metal in one powerful fist. He had no idea where he would look for her, and if he found her playing video games on the corner he was going to crack her skull open like a walnut, but he would worry about that later. Wherever she was, he'd better find her without a scratch on her body or a hair missing from her close-cropped head. Anybody who fucked with Jack was fucking directly with him.

The hallway outside the apartment was more brightly lit than he'd expected, and as he yanked up his hood and strode towards the elevator, Riddick cupped a big hand around his nose and mouth, putting light pressure on his nostrils with thumb and forefinger. Now was really not the time...

The corridor emptied into an elevator chamber, and a small group of the floor's other occupants were gathered here, anticipating the speedlift's arrival. They were already archly cautious of this mercury-eyed tenant and his strange, boyish ward, and as they waited together they stared at him with undisguised curiosity. Riddick did not lower his hand, or even return the stare as he might have usually been inclined to do. He had to sneeze... it was the most immediate of the moment.

It struck him suddenly, and without pretense: three sneezes with a speed and strength to bend him nearly double, and a thunder that echoed through the apartment halls.

"HHEEEEIIIISSSSHHH! .....HEEEIIIISSSSHHHH! .....HEEEEIIISSSSHHH!"

Riddick barely kept from groaning as he straightened, slowly lowering his hand and turning to glance towards the other tenants. At some point during his sneezing they had fled from him en masse, and were now huddled like a herd of terrified gazelle several yards away.

He gave a sharp grin as he said, clear and deliberate, "Excuse me."

A flustered, mingled chorus of 'bless you's and other sundry responses moved over the crowd, though none of them made any attempt to fall back into their original position. In the mean time, the speedlift arrived and opened with a chime and a hiss. Riddick strode inside with the power of a predator on the hunt, turned to face the doors, and leaned out so that his eyes caught the light in a silver gleam.

"Going down?"

Another overlapping mixture of responses moved over the frightened group, ranging from 'going up, actually' to 'we'll get the next one'. Riddick smiled a tight-lipped smile at them, vanished into the dimness of the lift, and let the doors close after him.

*******

She didn't know what was worse: being unconscious and having no idea what the man intended to do to her, or being conscious in the darkness, and able to feel every excruciating ache of her body.

Jack swallowed and groaned faintly, lolling her head a little as she tried to take in her surroundings. The stranger with the yellow teeth had been bold enough to attack her right on the street, dragging her into one of the alleys without any care for being seen or apprehended. That's the way it was in Edge City... nobody looked twice, nobody came to anyone else's aid. He would rape her and kill her here in the alley, with pedestrians only a few meters away, and no one would know.

This was the definition of the word 'fucked'.

But he wasn't here now. Wherever he'd gone, she had a fuzzy recollection of his curdled breath in her face as he promised her he would return soon. She tried to move, and felt an indescribable pain lightning-strike the length of her body, setting her hip afire with exquisite agony.

She couldn't help it. She screamed.

Her head fell back against the brick wall, body limply propped up against it, and gasped in the shallow tidepool between unconsciousness and full waking, waiting for the tide to pull her out.

*******

The surface-dwellers didn't even pause to look at the broad man in the black slicker. They moved around him, bumped and brushed against him, glided through the rain and the steam like he was not there at all. Likewise, Riddick seemed completely oblivious to the street-level pedestrians, ignoring them as he lowered himself into a crouch and reached for a familiar object left lying on the rain-riddled sidewalk.

A shiv. His shiv. It had been given carelessly to Jack upon their escape from the desert world, a souvenir from their ordeal together. Like a massive raptor claw, it was well-honed and, even under the constant abuse of the storm, still visibly red along its inner curve. He knew for a fact she treasured this thing, carrying it with her like a badge of courage. She would only use it if she were in trouble. She wouldn't release it unless she were dead.

His hand curled around it as he rose, head bowing slightly as his eyes scanned the rain-slashed darkness, seeing details that others could only dream of. The few pockets of streetlight hurt his eyes, poking at them like hat pins into raw flesh, but it was ignorable... he could see around the light when he needed to.

He heard a scream.

Suddenly, he didn't need to see anything.

Slamming a hapless man aside with a careless backhand, the killer stormed the way he'd just come, training his senses towards the pealing sound of that scream. A narrow alley opened up between two buildings to his left, and he insinuated himself into the darkness like an old lover, once again greeted by a fantastic level of detail in the dark. Jack was here--he knew by scent if not by sight--the warmth of her body outlined in hues of shifting pink and red. Slouched up against the wall, her head lolled against the brick like one who is either fighting for consciousness, or fighting against it.

Riddick said nothing as he approached, but crouched his great frame down in front of her and watched her fade in and out.

In the midst of her pain, Jack saw clearly the whitish gleam of her friend's mercury eyes, a surge of survivor's will and relief suddenly thudding her heart in her chest, reeling her back into dizzy consciousness.

"--Riddick--"

"Who did it," he asked. His tone suggested it was of no interest to him beyond simple curiosity. One predator to another, as if he admired her attacker's work.

"Don't know. I... I think he's coming back. My leg--"

"He dislocated it," he said immediately, not even needing to ask. When the girl froze, looking at him so strangely, he answered her unspoken amazement with, "It's what I would have done."

"Can we go home--"

"No."

Her hands grasped for his arms, sliding frictionlessly over the wet surface of the slicker, unable to gain purchase. There was panic in her eyes, a terror of the dark. Suddenly she was not a tough, trash-talking young punk... she was a thirteen-year-old girl, and she was scared.

"Please, Riddick, I just want to go home--"

"Jack," he said, and she fell silent, breathing fast but staring at him and pleading with her eyes. His hand reached out, and he soberly cradled her jaw, his thumb against the corner of her mouth. "Who's in the dark, Jack?"

She said nothing, and he elevated her chin by a fraction, repeating, "Who."

"You are." It was a whisper.

"Do you trust me?"

No hesitation, "Yes."

"So, what do you fear in the dark?"

The answer was nothing.

Riddick rose quickly from his crouch, stepping over and secreting himself into a crevice of the alley, where nothing but his mercury pupils could be seen. In silence, with rain running down her face, Jack silently shut her eyes.

Neither of them had long to wait. The yellow-toothed man returned to Jack's side after his necessary absence, a roll of duct tape in one hand. Her eyes came open abruptly at the identifiable tearing sound as he stripped off a length, and then plastered it flat over her mouth.

"Sorry, baby," he chuckled. "But this is gonna hurt like a mother, and I get distracted by screaming."

Her eyes were wide, alarmed but fearless as he dropped the tape, and then quickly unzipped his fly, pulling out the erect length of his member, giving it a quick palming for good measure. He grinned at her, gap-toothed. "...I bet you're tight as a drum."

Something behind him made a sound--a throat being cleared and the stranger head whipped around in surprise. Whatever happened next would keep the man in horrified mystery for years to come: one moment he was getting ready to shag the little bitch and slit her throat, and in the next he was holding his severed cock in his hands, as blood poured in a great gouts from between his thighs. They were the longest two seconds of his life.

Riddick pocketed the shiv, reminding himself to rinse the blood off later, and curled his fingers through the greasy locks of the howling man's hair. One tremendous shove of his arm rocked his head forward, skull cracking against the brick. He fell over, limp, his severed penis rolling from one slack hand.

Well... his work here was done.

Tearing the tape away from Jack's mouth did not elicit even a yell of pain from the girl; she was a survivor, and she knew what real pain was like. It was clear that the boundaries of her resistance were being tested, however; she was pale and shaking, and fighting for consciousness rather than letting herself pass out.

"Put your arms around me," he instructed, holding still as, weakly, she wrapped her slim arms tightly around his neck. When she had a firm grip he gathered her against him, rumbling in her ear, "It's gonna hurt."

"Do it."

He grasped her leg, bending it sharply from the knee, and felt the knobby pop of her hip fitting securely into the socket. Jack's teeth clicked together near his ear, and she suppressed a scream, refusing to make any sound of anguish.

Good girl, he thought.

Picking her up the rest of the way, stoic and silent as ever, the killer carried his companion back out of the darkness, towards shelter and home.

*******

Jack awoke to the sound of thunder, tremendous in the confines of her dark room, but did not scream, or fumble for a flashlight, or shed a single tear.

With a doped-up smile on her face, she said instead, "...Bless you."

It didn't take her long to adjust to the dimness; Riddick's eyes stood out, gleaming, and it was only a few seconds before she picked out his muscular shape at the edge of her bed, leaning forward slightly, hands cupped around his nose and mouth. He snuffled.

"I fuckin' hate this," he said.

"And I'm having a great fucking time?"

She was back to gratuitous cursing. This was indeed a good sign.

It was impossible to judge Riddick's mood, and Jack tested it carefully as she tried to sit up.

"Um. I didn't get your coffee."

"Really," he remarked, as if it came as a mild surprise.

"How are you feeling?"

"How was I feeling the last time you asked?"

"Like shit?"

"Shit doesn't age well."

This made her grin, teeth flashing whitely for a moment before she folded her hands behind her head. Little by little her friend's features became clearer, the darkness slowly losing its power over her. His head turned, his eyes caught the light.

"You?" he inquired, as close an expression of concern as he would ever get.

"My leg hurts, and where he kicked me, but I'm okay. Just bruised."

"Nasty cut on your forehead."

"Really?" She fingered the spot, found it tender, and wondered with what seemed like genuine hope, "...Do you think it will leave a scar?"

He laughed like a kettledrum roll, and it was the best sound in her world. The still-indistinct shapes of his face became a smile--Riddick's strange, reassuring smile--and then hesitated into a look of confusion...

...which immediately became a gathering grimace...

Oh shit, she thought, and braced herself as he inhaled a huge breath.

"HHEEEEHHHIIISSSSSHHHH!" His silhouette rocked forward under the power of the sneeze, squeaking her bedsprings, and he sat up again. "Fuck."

"Bless you. Maybe you should lie down."

He rose, and she was amazed at the way the bed sprang up again in relief. Sitting up, ignoring the hot flare of pain in her hip, Jack reached a hand out after his retreating back.

"Riddick--wait!"

And he stopped, head turning, nothing but a silhouette with mercury eyes. Swallowing, Jack suggested, "...Why don't you... lie down here."

She couldn't see it, but she knew he was arching a brow at her. She qualified her request with a sarcastic, "So I don't have to drag my ass out of bed to get you coffee."

The convict snorted a single time, amused, and strode back to the bed. It sank under his weight as he crawled across it, fitting himself between Jack and the wall and squirming his back comfortably against the pillows. He felt her hesitation, and rather than letting her deliberate, roughly grabbed her upper arm and dragged her against him, letting her rest her head against the muscles of his chest. She relaxed into a nervous but content silence. He would never understand her fascination with him, or her desire to be with him, to be like him. He would never understand her trust.

Jack's eyes remained open as she lay there, amazed with just how perfect it all felt. What was she thinking... she'd never be able to get to sleep like this.

"What if you have to sneeze again?" she wondered, staring at the wall and furrowing her brow.

"Then you're in for a rude awakening."

"I've already had enough of those tonight."

"Shut up and sleep."

"Yeah , yeah," she muttered, a smile twitching at her lips, then vanishing again as she closed her eyes. "...G'night."

He didn't dream, but he heard voices. His nightmares were visions of the past--memories. Things worse than nightmares.

"Billy Bad-Ass," he heard himself saying in the dreaming place, in the blackness of a world a million miles away. "The chains...the gauge... the badge. Should have ghosted me..."

This is the way the world ends, Johns; that's what he had been thinking. Not with a bang... but a whimper.

Riddick came awake, catching his breath in the darkness and lifting his head from the pillow. His eyes caught moonlight through the dusty blinds of the kid's bedroom window, shining his pupils like drops of raw mercury. A glance down brought to clarity the profile of Jack's face, nestled peacefully against his arm. She shifted slightly, sensing his unease, but didn't awaken. For that, for once, he was glad.

"Jack," he said calmly, rumbling it as he looked down at her. So sound was she in slumber, even the sound of his voice did not stir her. Good... good...

For fear of waking her Riddick resigned himself to his uncomfortable slouch on her bed, wide ankles crossed at its foot, one massive arm curved around her thin frame. The little bitch is coming close to domesticating me, he mused with a fishhook smirk. The sad part was: it wasn't so far from the truth. For the first time in his life, Richard B. Riddick had a steady job, a place of his own, and a dependent; if not for the fact that he was still 215 pounds of solid menace, he might have just feared for his badass reputation.

But it turned out there was a downside, too. Until just recently he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been sick, least of all with anything so undignified as a respiratory infection. Dislocated shoulders, stab-wounds, bullets in his thigh, bruises, those were all par for the course as far as he was concerned... but Christ... a cold? What was happening to him?

It was a miserable bitch of a cold, too, clinging to him with a vicious ferocity. If he had anthropomorphized it, he might have imagined it like one of the Mercs that had dogged him so long, so satisfied it had finally caught up with him that it refused to let him go.

Riddick pressed the backs of two fingers against the underside of his nose, hard enough to wrinkle his expression into a slight grimace. The sniffle that followed was uncomfortably loud in the room's rare quiet, but another glance to Jack confirmed that it had not awakened her.

Though that could quickly change.

The persistent prickling of his nose was not a good sign, and although he'd accustomed himself to it, it still forebode a rude awakening for his companion if he didn't manage to quell the coming sneeze. Silver eyes flicked a scrutiny over nightstand and floor but, as he might have guessed, there was no sign of a tissue, or anything like it. Being under the impression that Real Men Don't Carry Handkerchiefs, he was therefore forced to continue pawing brutally at his nose, as if he could abuse the sneeze back into submission.

It was starting, though, in spite of his efforts. The wormy tickling in his sinuses flinched his features into a slight grimace, and even as his chest ballooned with a sudden breath Riddick clamped his nose tightly with one hand.

"HEH--HHHFFFF!"

The explosion of pressure against his cinched nose and temples was incredible, rocking him forward, jostling Jack where she lay against him. He fell back again, relaxing his hand, and watched pinpoint dashes of light appear and disappear across his vision. A timpani rumble escaped him, "....Holy shit."

Jack. Fuck, forgot about Jack... Another glance fell upon the girl, but she was busy readjusting her cheek upon his chest, finding comfort on hard muscle and warm skin, evidently unaware of the thunder that had struck just beneath her head. It was a miracle.

Once again, deeply, Riddick gave a long snuffle. In the end it was probably only compounding his misery, but for lack of tissues he didn't appear to have a choice. After all... he didn't want to wake the kid.

*******

How could he not know that she was awake?

Jack was in utter amazement of this fact, gazing at him discretely whenever his attention was elsewhere... which, fortunately for her, was quite often. She'd known immediately she'd never be able to fall asleep against him--not so much for comfort, but for the simple fact that he made her thirteen-year-old heart race like a souped-up engine. If he'd known that she was wide awake, and bound to stay that way, he would head back to his own bed. She had to keep up appearances if she wanted to keep enjoying this as much as she was.

Richard B. Riddick could be the king of menace when he wanted to be, but she was taking particular interest in the way he agonized over his sneezing, trying to contain the might and sound for fear of disturbing her. Her! Like she were something more than a wannabe-tough brat with a runaway past... something more to him.

After that last sneeze he had resumed looking around for something--probably tissues--but there was nothing in sight, and he'd settled for one of those awful, liquid snuffles. She wanted to sit up, reaching for a blanket, and pull it over both of them, but it was a risk she couldn't take just yet. Besides, it looked like the big man was gearing up for a second act.

He was cruel in his abuse of his nose, pinching it between his thick fingers and wriggling it from side to side, or holding it shut and snorting against his closed nostrils. She wasn't really sure if he was trying to hold it back, or trying to bring it on, but either way it was fun to watch.

The sterling moment came as he released his pinching fingers, tipping his head back as he stared ceilingward. Riddick's eyes shut into tight creases, squinting hard for several seconds before he opened them all at once, trying to create a sudden flood of light into his eyes. Even in the dimness it appeared to be enough; his expression suspended, nostrils flaring impressively as his mouth grimaced at the corners. Beneath her head his chest rose sharply with a sudden breath, and her teeth clicked at the wrench and thunder of the release.

"HEH--HHPPPPFFFF!"

His hand came to his nose just in time to choke off the sound, the air bottled up tightly in his lungs and sinuses. Riddick puffed a strained, "Fuck," as he released his nose and fell back again, and Jack closed her eyes for the duration of his downward glance. A true miracle... she appeared to still be sound asleep.

The kid could sleep through anything if she could sleep through that, the killer thought, reaching for his nose again and holding it closed, though much more gently than before. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes again, and his temples were thumping.

Newsflash, he thought. You shouldn't be holding that shit in...

But Jack... how often did she have a serious night's sleep? And after what that bastard did to her, tonight, she was going to be in a world of pain come the morning. Deliberation brought him to an awkward decision... he couldn't suppress his sneezing anymore, and if she was going to wake up, she'd wake up... tough shit.

Easier said than done. The tickle came back to him with a Merc's single-minded vengeance, and he found himself craving the prickle of light against his sensitive eyes. He turned again towards the windowblinds, the narrow fingers of moonlight tingling at the backs of his eyes. The sensation seized his sinuses abruptly, and with a flaring breath he raised one large hand towards his face, expression arch and open.

"HEH--"

"Riddick?" A groggy voice, close beside him. In surprise he brought the hand in a vice-like grip on his nose, turning from Jack as he was overcome.

"-HH-PFFFFFF!"

Pinpricks of light flashed before his eyes as he reopened them, head throbbing. Groggy and disoriented, falling back against the pillows, Riddick muttered, "Son of a bitch..."

Jack was suspiciously bright-eyed and alert as she rolled onto her good hip, gazing down at him with concerned attention. He grunted a purring, "Hey kid."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just getting over this damn cold." A small, tightly contained cough jostled his great body as, slowly, she relaxed alongside him. Her cheek found his chest again, nuzzling close against the muscle, listening to the congested sound of his breathing. He snuffled again, pawed at his nose. "I should get to bed..."

"You can't stay?"

"I'm going to keep you awake."

"I don't mind." The whites of her eyes gleamed at him in the dimness as she looked up at him. Again he snuffled, feeling the stormlike gathering of irritation behind his eyes, wishing for a split second that she had that pen-light with her.

"I'll make you a deal..."

"A good one?" she pressed, dubious.

"Don't push your luck."

"All right, let's hear it."

"I'll stay until you fall asleep--then I'm heading back to my own bed." Jack was so quiet after this, when she finally opened her mouth to respond, Riddick had an interruption waiting for her. "--And no, you can't get around it by staying up all night, smart ass."

"Well, shit."

He jostled her with the good sound of his laughter, curving his arm around her until she could feel the strength of muscle on either side of her.

"Now," he commanded. "Sleep."

Jack sighed through her nose, squirming her cheek boldly against his chest again, silent and still as he rolled onto his side to hold her in a loose, comfortable embrace. Even Riddick closed his eyes, the unfamiliar sensation of another human being--at least one so trusting of his motives--coercing him into a position of trust. Maybe there was a little bit of possessiveness there, too; someone had almost hurt her tonight, and he felt a sense of protectiveness that was usually a stranger to him.

Jack, nestled against him, was quiet and still, the faint rhythm of her heart detectable against his chest, beating with a rhythm too swift for a sleeper. How could the girl actually thrive in his company? Most would be too terrified to close their eyes in his presence, and she was only too happy to curl against him like a great rottweiler that had been uneasily tempered.

Riddick squirmed his nose against his face, releasing a faint sigh as he lay with her, once more palming his nose with the fleshy part of his hand.

"Kid," he sighed, minutes later, when Jack had actually begun to drift off. "This ain't working."

"Hhn?" Her eyes opened to slits, and in the dimness they had the same mercurial quality of his own.

"I gotta get up..."

"What? Why? I wasn't asleep yet."

"Yeah, but..." The desire to sneeze surged on him suddenly, and Riddick loosely plastered his hand over his nose, strange eyes growing weighty. He growled, voice tightening "Fuck..."

Jack opened her eyes and looked up to see his nostrils flared and mouth grimaced, both contained behind the loose curve of his hand. His chest expanded with a sudden, huge breath, and she curled tight against it, pressing her forehead against the hard muscle of his shoulder.

"HEEEHHHIIIIIIISSSSHHH!" He tightened the cage of his body around her with the reflex of the sneeze, the sound loudly crowding the four walls of her room. She'd seen that look on his face before, and didn't relax from her clenched posture, letting him finish.

"HEEEEEHIIIIIIISSSSSHH!"

She squirmed, managing a timid, "Bless you," against his shoulder. He didn't even seem to hear her, letting himself sneeze a third and final time, all with the same wrenching strength.

"HHEEEEHIIIIIISSSHHH!"

Riddick's tensed body relaxed, releasing her a little, and Jack propped herself up on one shoulder as he fell back in exhaustion. It was the first time she had seen him drained, even after everything they had gone through on the planet. Her freckled brow puckered with a look of real worry.

"Shit," she said for him, and a brief, sluggish grin fish-hooked one corner of his mouth. His great hand reached out, jogging her head down as he playfully palmed at her scalp.

"Watch your fuckin' language."

"You're really not feelin' so hot, huh..."

"Really not," was the rumbled agreement. "Mind if I hit my own bed?" He paused. "You'll be all right."

"Sure. You'll be keeping me awake all night with that God-damned noise, but I'll--" she stopped short, barking with laughter as he grabbed her again, knuckling the top of her head. Riddick's smile was bright white in the darkness as she tried to squirm away.

"Don't try it, kid. I can kick your ass in my sleep."

She cried uncle. "I believe it already!"

His arm released her, and the big man pushed himself to his feet, throwing his elbows back in a stretch and then rocking his head from side to side, cracking his neck. Jack watched him, smiling and awed, as he strode to the door.

"Night Riddick."

His eyes gleamed at her as he threw a glance back over his shoulder.

"Night, kid."

The End