In Consequence
folder
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
20
Views:
7,014
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
20
Views:
7,014
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Pitch Black, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
An Uncertain Limbo
NINETEEN
Jack stared after him as he stormed out of the bedroom. She tried to tell herself that it was over, that by some stroke of fortune she had been spared, but she didn’t quite believe it. He’d probably be back. She wouldn’t escape this for long.
She didn’t know quite how long she lay there, unmoving, her pants halfway off of her body. She was starting to get cold, but didn’t want to piss him off any further than she already had. What had she done, to make him get up and walk away so angrily?
Riddick appeared by the door, looking at her. She tried to prepare herself for what was sure to come this time. She tried to calm her breathing. Her eyes locked onto the ceiling. Why couldn’t he just get it over with? What was he waiting for?
~*~
She was still lying on his bed. She hadn’t moved.
What had he done?
Riddick closed his eyes. A wave of profound feeling swept over him, something he hadn’t experienced in many, many years. He was hurting her. He was bad for her. He was a poison, a toxin.
What else is new?
He should go in there, tell her to get dressed again.
No… no. He should just stay away from her. She was scared enough of him. He didn’t want to make it worse. He should just let her go.
NO.
Possession, power, rage, control. She was his. No one else’s.
He turned away from the door.
~*~
She waited and waited for him to reappear, but there was nothing, no movement from the doorway. Hesitantly, afraid that he would see her and fly into a rage, she raised her head up and looked more closely at the door. Nothing.
She wriggled herself back into her pants and searched the floor for her bra and shirt. Finding them, she finished getting dressed, and shivered. He had almost raped her.
Her close call made her start to shake again, but she firmly told herself to stop. It hadn’t happened. That was the important thing; that was what mattered.
She curled up on the floor where her little mat used to lay and tried not to exist.
~*~
Days went by. She didn’t say a word. He didn’t speak to her. Silence hung over his craft like a pervading musk.
Riddick, normally so comfortable in silence, found himself irritable and restless. A feeling niggled and tickled at him, a feeling he didn’t like one bit. He didn’t recognize it. It was similar, in some ways, to the same fucking tickle that had prompted him on T2. The feeling intensified whenever she was around. It flared up and made him want to hit something, do anything to drive it away. He knew he couldn’t do it around her, though. He’d damaged her enough.
If he thought the fleeting fear in her eyes, body, voice, and words was annoying before, it infuriated him now. She was doing this scared-bunny shit. She wasn’t speaking, she was barely eating, and she refused to make eye contact. She snapped to quick enough when he spoke, but other than that, there was nothing. The scent of her fear clung to her so strongly that he wondered if he’d be able to recognize her without it.
Then he wondered if he’d get the chance to smell her scent without it. He’d fucked up big this time.
Where was his self-control? The restraint he prided himself on, the restraint he was famous for?
She was sleeping on the floor where mat used to be. He began regretting that he’d stuffed it into the recycling unit. Wait. She’s a slave. Why should I regret a damn thing?
It was that kind of thinking that turned her into this silent shell, you asshole.
~*~
She didn’t understand why he’d stopped. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t started again. Was there something wrong with her?
It wasn’t like she wanted him to touch her. But… now he was acting like he hated her. She just didn’t understand.
She refused to fight it, though. She felt sick and panicky whenever he was around, and that just reinforced her need to avoid him. To her remote surprise, he didn’t pursue her. Didn’t touch her. Didn’t even speak to her.
She didn’t feel like much of anything. No extreme emotion coursed through her body other than fear. Fear that he would touch her again. Fear that there was something wrong with her, something that made him avoid her.
She just didn’t understand.
~*~
The ship homed in on the vessel. The crew didn’t know who was inside. They didn’t know who the ship belonged to, or what it storage bays held. They didn’t care, either.
The captain had regaled his band with tales of riches and women—two things that ex-cons usually had in short supply. The problem was that, for some reason, the smuggling trade in the Juanil ports had plummeted since he picked up this new crew from the recent prison releases. He needed to give them something, and fast, or he was facing all-out mutiny. The thought of being jettisoned alive didn’t hold much appeal for him.
When he saw the man with the girl with a mostly-hidden collar heading for the clinic, a small plan began to unfold in his mind. He had been content to let it ripen, never examining it directly. However, he’d been sure to have his crew stock up on fuel and food. For all he knew, this bald stranger was a full-time slaver. He’d never had much stomach for the slave trade, himself, but if it would keep him out of vacuum, he was more than willing to give it a shot.
~*~
“Jack,” Riddick said, looming over her. He kept his face still, but the way she flinched at the sound of his voice made that fucking tickle come back in force. If he allowed his thoughts to go too far, he almost wished he’d never snagged her from New Mecca in the first place. He fucking wished he never set eyes on her at times.
He clenched his jaw in frustration as she raised her head to acknowledge that she heard him, but didn’t meet his eyes or speak. He felt awkward and out of his depth. This dull, lifeless girl who reacted so quickly, so mechanically… this hadn’t been what he wanted. This hadn’t been in the plan at all.
But it was what he got, and it was his fault. He was torn between trying to bring her back and just letting her recede into herself. He didn’t want to make things worse. Sure, he got a thrill out of fucking with her, out of scaring her. He always had gotten a thrill out of assuming power over others. But this… broken girl… this gave him no thrill of feeling, other than one of frustration. And that fucking annoying tickle.
“If you’re hungry, I’m unlocking the food synthesizer.” He probably should uncode the lock, but if he didn’t make her eat, he doubted she would on her own.
She didn’t respond, but he knew she heard him. Every other time they’d repeated this ritual, she would wait for him to leave the room before trailing along behind him. The one time he’d ordered her into the main cabin, she’d sprung up quick enough, but it was automatic. It was like she was on autopilot. He wanted to bring her back, but didn’t know how. He was scared to even touch her, for fear of making things worse.
Riddick prepared himself some sandwiches and said to her as she slipped off of the blanket he'd given her and out into the main cabin, “Program yourself some food. And eat it. Have you eaten since yesterday?”
She shook her head silently, eyes avoiding him.
“Why not?” He waited, feigning patience, until she responded.
“Wasn’t hungry.”
“Well, you’re hungry now, aren’t you?”
At the simple shake of her head, he groaned silently. Yep, he’d fucked her up damn good.
Jack stared after him as he stormed out of the bedroom. She tried to tell herself that it was over, that by some stroke of fortune she had been spared, but she didn’t quite believe it. He’d probably be back. She wouldn’t escape this for long.
She didn’t know quite how long she lay there, unmoving, her pants halfway off of her body. She was starting to get cold, but didn’t want to piss him off any further than she already had. What had she done, to make him get up and walk away so angrily?
Riddick appeared by the door, looking at her. She tried to prepare herself for what was sure to come this time. She tried to calm her breathing. Her eyes locked onto the ceiling. Why couldn’t he just get it over with? What was he waiting for?
~*~
She was still lying on his bed. She hadn’t moved.
What had he done?
Riddick closed his eyes. A wave of profound feeling swept over him, something he hadn’t experienced in many, many years. He was hurting her. He was bad for her. He was a poison, a toxin.
What else is new?
He should go in there, tell her to get dressed again.
No… no. He should just stay away from her. She was scared enough of him. He didn’t want to make it worse. He should just let her go.
NO.
Possession, power, rage, control. She was his. No one else’s.
He turned away from the door.
~*~
She waited and waited for him to reappear, but there was nothing, no movement from the doorway. Hesitantly, afraid that he would see her and fly into a rage, she raised her head up and looked more closely at the door. Nothing.
She wriggled herself back into her pants and searched the floor for her bra and shirt. Finding them, she finished getting dressed, and shivered. He had almost raped her.
Her close call made her start to shake again, but she firmly told herself to stop. It hadn’t happened. That was the important thing; that was what mattered.
She curled up on the floor where her little mat used to lay and tried not to exist.
~*~
Days went by. She didn’t say a word. He didn’t speak to her. Silence hung over his craft like a pervading musk.
Riddick, normally so comfortable in silence, found himself irritable and restless. A feeling niggled and tickled at him, a feeling he didn’t like one bit. He didn’t recognize it. It was similar, in some ways, to the same fucking tickle that had prompted him on T2. The feeling intensified whenever she was around. It flared up and made him want to hit something, do anything to drive it away. He knew he couldn’t do it around her, though. He’d damaged her enough.
If he thought the fleeting fear in her eyes, body, voice, and words was annoying before, it infuriated him now. She was doing this scared-bunny shit. She wasn’t speaking, she was barely eating, and she refused to make eye contact. She snapped to quick enough when he spoke, but other than that, there was nothing. The scent of her fear clung to her so strongly that he wondered if he’d be able to recognize her without it.
Then he wondered if he’d get the chance to smell her scent without it. He’d fucked up big this time.
Where was his self-control? The restraint he prided himself on, the restraint he was famous for?
She was sleeping on the floor where mat used to be. He began regretting that he’d stuffed it into the recycling unit. Wait. She’s a slave. Why should I regret a damn thing?
It was that kind of thinking that turned her into this silent shell, you asshole.
~*~
She didn’t understand why he’d stopped. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t started again. Was there something wrong with her?
It wasn’t like she wanted him to touch her. But… now he was acting like he hated her. She just didn’t understand.
She refused to fight it, though. She felt sick and panicky whenever he was around, and that just reinforced her need to avoid him. To her remote surprise, he didn’t pursue her. Didn’t touch her. Didn’t even speak to her.
She didn’t feel like much of anything. No extreme emotion coursed through her body other than fear. Fear that he would touch her again. Fear that there was something wrong with her, something that made him avoid her.
She just didn’t understand.
~*~
The ship homed in on the vessel. The crew didn’t know who was inside. They didn’t know who the ship belonged to, or what it storage bays held. They didn’t care, either.
The captain had regaled his band with tales of riches and women—two things that ex-cons usually had in short supply. The problem was that, for some reason, the smuggling trade in the Juanil ports had plummeted since he picked up this new crew from the recent prison releases. He needed to give them something, and fast, or he was facing all-out mutiny. The thought of being jettisoned alive didn’t hold much appeal for him.
When he saw the man with the girl with a mostly-hidden collar heading for the clinic, a small plan began to unfold in his mind. He had been content to let it ripen, never examining it directly. However, he’d been sure to have his crew stock up on fuel and food. For all he knew, this bald stranger was a full-time slaver. He’d never had much stomach for the slave trade, himself, but if it would keep him out of vacuum, he was more than willing to give it a shot.
~*~
“Jack,” Riddick said, looming over her. He kept his face still, but the way she flinched at the sound of his voice made that fucking tickle come back in force. If he allowed his thoughts to go too far, he almost wished he’d never snagged her from New Mecca in the first place. He fucking wished he never set eyes on her at times.
He clenched his jaw in frustration as she raised her head to acknowledge that she heard him, but didn’t meet his eyes or speak. He felt awkward and out of his depth. This dull, lifeless girl who reacted so quickly, so mechanically… this hadn’t been what he wanted. This hadn’t been in the plan at all.
But it was what he got, and it was his fault. He was torn between trying to bring her back and just letting her recede into herself. He didn’t want to make things worse. Sure, he got a thrill out of fucking with her, out of scaring her. He always had gotten a thrill out of assuming power over others. But this… broken girl… this gave him no thrill of feeling, other than one of frustration. And that fucking annoying tickle.
“If you’re hungry, I’m unlocking the food synthesizer.” He probably should uncode the lock, but if he didn’t make her eat, he doubted she would on her own.
She didn’t respond, but he knew she heard him. Every other time they’d repeated this ritual, she would wait for him to leave the room before trailing along behind him. The one time he’d ordered her into the main cabin, she’d sprung up quick enough, but it was automatic. It was like she was on autopilot. He wanted to bring her back, but didn’t know how. He was scared to even touch her, for fear of making things worse.
Riddick prepared himself some sandwiches and said to her as she slipped off of the blanket he'd given her and out into the main cabin, “Program yourself some food. And eat it. Have you eaten since yesterday?”
She shook her head silently, eyes avoiding him.
“Why not?” He waited, feigning patience, until she responded.
“Wasn’t hungry.”
“Well, you’re hungry now, aren’t you?”
At the simple shake of her head, he groaned silently. Yep, he’d fucked her up damn good.