"Riddick?"

Cautiously Sarah entered the shadowy ruins of the Hunter-Gratzner's
cargo compartment. Damaged equipment and machine components lay
everywhere like so much unwanted junk.

She knew he was in here somewhere, but her eyes were having trouble
adjusting to the dim light after having been out in the blinding suns
so long. She wouldn't let that make her careless though. Riddick
could see in the dark, she knew that. And from what she'd heard about
him, Riddick was an almost supernaturally powerful predator. But
Johns had chained him up, hadn't he?

She moved a little further into the room, and that's when she saw
him. He was sitting as if on a throne, with his arms stretched out on
either side of him, like that big statue of Lincoln on Earth. But
then Sarah saw through the illusion -- Riddick was just sitting on a
cargo container, and that his arms were held out because they were
chained to support panels. She looked down to see that his feet were
shackled to the floor. Yet Riddick still managed to look imperious
somehow, even sullen and silent as he was now. He kept his face to
the shadows, and she realized that he probably did that to protect
his eyes. Johns had ripped off his sun goggles when they fought, and
now he would be blinded by any kind of light. She remembered how he
had kept his eyes closed the entire time Johns and Fry were dragging
him back to the ship after they captured him, after Zeke's death. She
also remembered how he hadn't fought back when they'd beaten him as
he lay on the ground. He had just rolled up into a ball and covered
his eyes.

She was certain that Riddick had heard her come in. But he remained
immobile, impassive, and impenetrable. Sarah was the one walking
free, not chained up like a wild animal. So how could he make her
feel so awkward, like an intruder?

Still . . .

"I . . . uh, brought you some water." She regretted the words almost
as soon as they were out of her mouth, but that was why she had come
here, wasn't it? To give him some water?

There was no reaction for several long seconds. Then Riddick raised
his head a little, coming to a decision to speak. "Why?" he asked.
Just that one simple question. As if the answer weren't obvious. As
if she had come with some ulterior motive. There was no gratitude in
his voice, just automatic suspicion and maybe some mild curiosity.

Sarah didn't know what she had been expecting, but this wasn't
it. "Uh, I don't know. I thought you'd want it."

Riddick became a statue again, unmoving.

Sarah took a deep breath and stepped forward again, holding the water
tube with its little plastic straw up in front of her. "Don't you
want it?"

Evidently he did not. Finally, unnerved by his silence, she turned to
bolt out of the room, but managed to stumble over her own feet as she
did so. Why had she come here? Just as she reached the doorway, he
spoke.

"Wait." Again, just one simple word. Quite an economy of expression,
Sarah thought to herself, turning back.

"I want it." He said it like it was a concession of sorts, as if he
wanted the water against his will.

"Okay." She came back to where he sat, chained, but stopped several
steps short. She hadn't thought about *how* to give the water to him.
Without getting close, anyway.

"You want to give it to me, but you're afraid."

Master of the understatement, she thought to herself. "No shit," she
muttered with something like relief. "What do you think?"

Riddick was unperturbed. "I don't think I'd try to hurt somebody
bringing me water." He *sounded* perfectly reasonable.

She exhaled in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me."

He tilted his head curiously, still keeping his eyes to the
darkness. "You don't believe me?"

"I believe you'd do anything to escape. I heard about what you did to
Johns."

Immediately after the crash -- shackled, blindfolded, bit in his
mouth -- Riddick had escaped from his locked cryo-chamber and hidden
in the rafters. When Johns passed under him, Riddick had dropped the
lower half of his body onto the man and tried to strangle him with
his own leg chains. Impressive. But horrifying.

"Johns," Riddick said, laughing to himself. "He deserved it. But, you
know, you're a lot prettier than Johns is."

She shook her head at his obvious attempt to manipulate her. "All
this and charm too," she said sarcastically. "You must really be
something."

Riddick smiled again. "Yes, I really am. Now come on. You came to
give me that water." Soft, coaxing. His deep growling voice lulled
her.

She hesitated a second more, examining his restraints with her eyes,
then looked back at his face -- his face with without any eyes.
Warily she inched forward and stretched her arm as far as she could
to hand Riddick the little tube of water. He made no move to take it.

"Honey, I can't reach my mouth with these chains on." Scolding her
life a reluctant child. "Come on now. Just put the straw in my mouth
and I'll take it from there."

He sounded perfectly sensible, but she knew couldn't trust him.
Yet . . . she *had* come to give him the water, and it would be
unfair -- cruel even -- to leave him without it. Not to mention
gutless. And how much damage could he do in those restraints?
Probably a lot. But couldn't she just scream and bring the others
running?

Very cautiously, she came toward him again. She could smell the clean
sweat of his body, with an undertone of something spicy, or musky
maybe. Slowly, carefully, she reached out and put the straw between
his lips. Quickly he bit down and pulled his head back, taking the
little tube from her. He drank the water immediately, then let the
straw and the empty tube drop from his lips.

"Thank you." He sounded sincere for the first time now. Like they had
been arguing, and he had made her concede his point.

Relieved to have completed her mission, Sarah relaxed just a little,
still feeling uncomfortable. "You're welcome. Is there . . .anything
else?"

She knew from the way he looked at her that he had about a million
come-backs for such a stupid question, asked of a man chained up in
the hold of a derelict ship.

She still hadn't seen his eyes. She was close enough to his face,
though, to see the bloody scrape on the right side of his forehead.
Her eyes flicked over him and found other marks that Johns and Shazza
had left on Riddick's body -- the parts she could see anyway, which
was bad enough. Somehow his injuries surprised her. She had thought
he was almost invulnerable, but now she saw on his body the signs of
abuse, both old and new. He might not have cried out when Johns and
Shazza had beaten him, but he had suffered damage none the less. From
the looks of him, it was probably just one in a long line of beatings.

"You're hurt."

He doesn't even need to talk, she thought to herself. She could read
his expression like a book. And now, as he looked away from her,
there was a little contempt in it -- contempt for her stupidity, for
her complacent assumptions.

"God, I mean . . . you must hurt like hell." No reaction. "I've got
some painkillers," she volunteered suddenly, surprising even herself.

That got his attention. "Painkillers? You mean the ones you *didn't*
offer to the navigator?"

She knew exactly what he was referring to. The sight of Owens with
that metal pole through his chest, the sound of his breathless
screams, would never leave her. "I didn't think ibuprofen would help
him at that point."

Riddick chuckled blackly. "I guess not. I thought you had something
good."

"It's better than nothing."

He didn't argue. "How many will you give me?" he said, and she heard
the unspoken question: how much of your stash are you willing to
share?

But Sarah didn't think of it in terms of a "stash;" it was just part
of the personal first aid kit she carried. She was looking at his
body again, estimating the damage and trying to figure out the right
dosage. "Three? Four?"

"Gimme five."

"Okay, whatever. I'll be back."

Obediently she went back to the destroyed cockpit chamber where the
others were, discussing what to do with Riddick and how to get off of
this fucking rock. No one noticed as she found her jacket -- useless
in this heat -- and took a small case from the inside pocket. She
grabbed another water tube on her way out, thinking that Riddick
deserved water as much as anyone else here, or almost as much.

Sarah was of the minority opinion that Riddick hadn't killed Zeke
earlier in the cave, despite the fact that he had been crouching over
the tunnel with a wickedly carved bone knife in his hand. The shiv
hadn't been bloody, though, and neither had Riddick. But they had
found plenty of blood about ten feet inside the cave, blood and bits
of hair and bone. She didn't think it was possible for Riddick to
have done all that damage without getting any blood on himself. Not
that anyone else cared. After all, they already knew he was a killer.
What more did they need to know?

As Sarah returned to the wrecked cargo room, she saw that Riddick
hadn't moved since she had left. But now, unlike before, she could
sense his presence . . . and his awareness of her.

She opened the little case and took out the pills, five of them, then
dropped the case into her pocket. This wasn't going to be as easy as
the water had been. She would have to get right up close to him if
she wanted to give him the pills -- too close for comfort. Getting an
arm's length away was a lot different than putting her hands right on
his face. And hadn't he been gagged or something for awhile? Johns
had called it a bit, like it was for an animal. Did that mean he
might bite her? God, what was she doing here?

Riddick seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. "Would this
help?" he asked, standing up and moving to the limits his restraints
would allow. She was amazed how big he was, but lithe and panther-
like, rather than muscle bound. She saw the contours of his body, and
the dull gleam of his shackles, in the stippled light. Sarah tried to
see if he was tricking her in some way, but if he was, she couldn't
see it.

"How about this, then?" he offered. Still standing, he moved his head
so that the light fell on his eyes. They were a beautiful iridescent
blue, and they were utterly unreadable. But he had shown them to her,
as if she *could* see something in them, and that made her feel
better, like he had shown her the chink in his armor -- like he
trusted her.

Reluctantly Sarah came to him -- nearer than she should, really --
and put the pills into Riddick's open mouth. She tried not to notice
the softness of his lips. No part of someone like this should be
soft. She held up her new tube of water and put the straw between his
lips. He drank and swallowed the pills, then very deliberately backed
away and sat back down.

Now that she had been so close to him, she had seen the wound on his
face better. It looked like it still had sand in it, and he hadn't
even wiped off the blood. But then, how could he, wearing the
restraints?

"You oughta clean that scrape on your head," she muttered. "It could
get infected . . . I could do it for you. "

Riddick assented with a barely perceptible nod. Sighing, she untucked
her tank top and tore a strip of material off the bottom. Wetting the
material with water from her tube, then stepped up to him again, even
closer than before.

This time his presence was overwhelming -- his musky smell, the
nearness of his body, the sweat on his skin, even the faint
exhalations of his breath. Somewhere beneath her fear, she sensed her
excitement. Stifling both, she gently began to clean the wound,
talking to cover her confusion. "Yeah, this could really get
infected. Johns should have let you wash it off. I don't think we
have any medical supplies left, and an infection could kill you."

Riddick laughed. "Johns isn't going to let me die. I'm worth twice as
much alive as dead, you know."

"No, I don't know. Why are you worth anything? I thought you were a
convict."

"An *escaped* convict, which is why there's a bounty on my head,
little girl. They cut the money in half if I'm dead, a little rule to
discourage vigilante justice."

Now she stopped a moment. "Johns is a merc?" Her voice was colored
with both suspicion and disbelief.

"What, did you think he was a marshal?" His sarcasm stung
her. "Marshals don't have smack habits."

Sarah's head was swimming. She began to re-evaluate everything that
had happened so far. She tried to hold on to a slippery strand of
logic. "You're just fucking with me, aren't you?" It was hard to
concentrate in this heat, especially near someone who radiated as
much body warmth as Riddick. His skin was surprisingly smooth under
her fingers, despite the dirt and abrasions.

"Why do you think he gets the shakes? In *this* heat? He needs a fix."

She raised an eyebrow and continued her ministrations. "I guess you
never know."

"No," he said, "You really don't." Both his voice and his expression
indicated a world of knowledge beyond her experience.

"So why are you telling me all this?"

"Maybe because you're the first person who hasn't treated me like a
fucking animal in the last ten years. Maybe because it's been a long
time since a woman touched me." His sudden intimacy -- and honesty --
caught her off guard. Riddick took advantage of her confusion to tilt
his head, so that her hand now cradled his cheek. But she didn't move
it away. Slowly he turned his head side to side, so that she caressed
him. "You have very soft hands. There aren't any women at all at Slam
City, you know. "

Both of them were breathing heavily at this point, but Sarah didn't
want to deal with the situation head-on. Better to break it off and
consider it later, in the safety of . . . what? Well, whatever.
Anything was better than trying to figure out what she was feeling
now in the heat of the moment -- in the heat of Riddick's body.

Softly she withdrew her hand and moved around to the cut on his
shoulder. She wetted the cloth again and began to clean the blood and
grit away. She did it gently, because the cut was in the middle of a
huge black and blue bruise.

"You're just fucking with me again," she whispered, but her heart was
pounding. She tried to keep her hands steady on his back.

"I'd *like* to be fucking you," he admitted softly. "But I'm not
fucking *with* you. Look, I'm telling you the truth. I've spent most
of my life in juvie or prison, half of the time in solitary, usually
with a goddamn bit between my teeth. If you look in my mouth, you can
see the scars from that fucking thing. They treat me like I'm nothing
but an animal in a cage to them -- a dangerous animal."

The cut was clean now, but she didn't walk away. She placed her hands
on his shoulders, feeling the power of his body. He could snap her
wrist like a twig with one hand. With both hands, he could break her
spine.

"But aren't you dangerous?" she whispered into his ear. "Johns said
you'd come back here just to skull-fuck us all in our sleep."

"Yeah, I might do that to Johns, anyway."

Just then they both looked up at the sound of boot heels approaching.
Instinctively Sarah backed away into the darkness and crouched in the
shadows. She didn't know why she did it, except that she knew she
felt guilty being here with Riddick, and she didn't want anyone to
know.

"Okay, convict," Johns' voiced boomed into the small chamber, "I
guess you're cleared of the latest murder charge. We found what
killed Zeke."

Riddick responded as if he hadn't been talking with Sarah just a
moment before, as if he and Johns were friends or co-workers,
discussing a project. "What was it?"

"I don't know, but it's something I'd like to sic on you. We also
found a deserted settlement with an emergency escape craft. Now I'm
just trying to decide whether or not to leave you here."

Like it's your decision alone, Sarah thought. But he's *not* the law.
He's just a fucking bounty hunter, no better than anybody else.

"I'm inclined that way, but what with the small size of our party, I
decided to bring you along." Johns hunkered down to look Riddick in
the eyes. "I'm being serious now. Here's the deal. You work without
chains, without the bit --and without shivs. And maybe if we all work
together, we can get off of this rock alive."

"So I can go back to that asshole of a prison? No thanks."

"I said this was a deal, convict. You help us get out of here alive,
and maybe I'll forget what happened to my prisoner. Maybe I'll say
you died in the crash. I'll worry about that later. Right now I'm
more worried about getting out of here than what's going to happen
afterward. Are you with me?"

"You'd do that, boss? Just cut me loose? That makes a nice fairy
story, but I know it's not the truth."

Johns fingered the trigger of his rifle. "The truth is, I don't think
we can afford to fight both you and the planet. And I want to live
just as much as you do."

Doubtful, Sarah thought to herself. Apparently Riddick was thinking
the same thing, and he began to argue with Johns. "My recommendation
is to do me. Ghost me. Don't take the chance that I'm going to get
shiv-happy on your ass and come skull-fuck you in your sleep. Get rid
of me. That's what I'd do if I were you."

Johns laughed. "But that's the whole problem, isn't it? You're *not*
me. You don't work and play well with others. So you don't know what
I'd do. And I'm going to keep my eye on your ass, that's for sure.
But you're more use to us alive than dead right now. So move it." As
he spoke, Johns raised his rifle and shot right behind Riddick's
head. Sarah jumped at the same time Riddick did, thought neither of
them made a sound.

Riddick fell forward as Johns' bullet took apart the chains that had
been supporting him. Johns kept his rifle up, pointed at the man on
the floor. Riddick got up slow and easy, face to face with the barrel
of Johns' gauge. "I want you to remember this moment," Johns told
him. "How it could have went, and didn't." His point made, he lowered
the rifle and handed Riddick his goggles.

Riddick went for his weapon instead, and now Johns found himself on
the other side of the barrel. Sarah watched the emotions flowing over
Riddick's face as he fought to control himself: fear, hurt, anger,
hatred. "I want *you* to remember this moment," Riddick mocked him,
as he threw the rifle down on the floor and stalked out into the
sunlight, putting on his goggles as he did.

Johns just laughed a little and walked away, leaving Sarah alone in
the dark.

Blood and kisses,
evilgrrl