Forgotten

Disclaimer : I don't own Pitch Black or Riddick or Jack or any of the characters from the movie.

The skiff drifted through the darkness like a half deflated beach ball two miles from the nearest shore. It was exactly twenty-four hours and thirty-nine minutes since they’d curved outwards from the orbit of the largest planet in the system. Riddick didn’t need to look at the computer models to know that, it had simply been a minor adjustment of the internal clock he kept ticking away inside his head. He could convert planetary time into standard time if he stayed in one place longer than two weeks. It would be another twenty hours until they reached the Sol Trak shipping lane.

He glanced down at his leg and the bandage there. He’d stitched the injury himself, as neither of his current company knew how. The girl had watched him do it, eyes wide with almost morbid fascination. She didn’t balk at the sight of blood like the holy man and it was clear by the faint glint of curiosity in her eyes that she wanted to learn how to do it herself. Riddick hadn’t explained, but he had done it slowly so she could work it out on her own if she wanted to. As a result the stitches had come out neater than usual.

Not that it matters. Just less of a scar.

He looked back up, catching sight of his reflection in the glass. The small cut on the side of his head was cleaned out and scabbed over, no bandage necessary, same with the nick on his ear and the slice on his chest. All were healing up fast, as usual. Within another two or three days those wounds would be gone completely like every other superficial cut he’d gained in the past seven years.

Shifting his eyes away, his gaze fell on the copilot’s seat where girl was sitting, strapped in and sleeping fitfully. Her eyelids twitched, signifying that she’d be waking up soon.

Riddick looked away, not wanting her to know he’d been watching her. He returned his gaze to the window, watching the reflection of her face, taking in her appearance with a frown.

She had to be no older than thirteen, maybe fourteen. Her fair skin was smudged with dirt and there was a bit of a bruise accompanied by a small cut on her forehead, the only injury she’d sustained while planetside. Riddick allowed himself a smirk as he took in the lack of hair on her head. She’d shaved it to mimic him, cutting off the already short locks of hair that had previously adorned her head.

Wonder what color it was.

His frown deepened, for out of the corner of his eye he saw her stir, eyes blinking open and her body tensing in case something from her dream had chased her into reality. She slowly relaxed upon realizing that nothing was waiting in the real world. He heard her heartbeat slow back down from the rapid course it’d taken in her nightmare.

Why doesn’t she scream?

She looked over at him and he realized he had been unintentionally staring at her, for she gave him a half-smile which he did not return.

“What color are your eyes?” Riddick asked of her abruptly, growling inwardly at himself for allowing such an opening.

“Huh?” Jack responded, throwing him a quizzical look.

“I can’t see normal colors, kid,” he informed him, a slight edge of annoyance in his voice.

“Oh,” she said, shrinking back into her seat, the back of the chair creaking slightly with the movement. She bit her lip, turning her head a little to look at him. “They’re green.”

He nodded only a little, acknowledging this presented fact.

Green. Used to be my favorite color.

After a moment he cast his eyes back over to her, taking in the cringing way she was sitting. Her expression was downcast, maybe sad, maybe frightened, or maybe tired, she hadn’t slept too long. The silence, he realized after five minutes, was rather deafening. It was broken only by the faint hum of the skiff’s engines and the sound of the holy man’s even breathing in the back.

“What’s your real name?” Riddick inquired after five minutes of just listening to the quiet. Maybe an actual conversation would keep his mind from flashing back to the last moments before escaping that fucked up shit-hole of a planet. Again she looked at him, less of a puzzled glint in her stare this time around.

“Audrey,” she whispered in answer, a brief look of distaste crossing her face. Her eyes stayed on him, waiting for him to say something else.

“Don’t like that name, do you?” he asked, knowing the answer before he even spoke the words. Jack quickly shook her head, biting her lip again as another moment of silence passed by, though this time it was broken by her own inquiry.

“What’s the ‘B’ stand for?” she queried, her tone cautious. Riddick recalled briefly his introduction to the skinny fuckhead dubbed 'Paris' and realized that she must have heard it.

“Doesn’t stand for anything,” he told her, looking away. “Foster home picked the name at random off some shitty computer list, used letters to keep track of-“

”Of boys and girls,” Jack’s almost amazed whisper cut him off. “‘B’ or ‘M’ for boys, ‘G’ or ‘F’ for girls.”

Riddick snapped his head back to stare at her, surprised for once. She met his gaze and gave a faint wistful smile.

“I used to tell people the ‘F’ was for ‘Forgotten’.”

“‘Badass’,” he chuckled with a half grin at the blank expression on her face. “That’s what I used to say, when I was a kid.”
“Oh,” she said, returning his grin with a smile. He was at a loss for how anyone could mistake her for a boy with a smile like that. “Really is that now, isn’t it?”

Riddick shrugged in response, his grin fading as he leaned back in his seat. Instead of the conversation distracting his thoughts it had turned them right back around.

“‘Bastard’ would fit better,” he muttered, looking up at the ceiling.

Yet another silence followed his words, making the air seem ten degrees colder. He watched Jack out of the corner of his eye. Her smile had vanished as she looked down at her hands in her lap, she was biting her lip again, it was evidently a habit. After a moment, she raised her head again to look at him.

Riddick frowned at the expression adorning her pale face. It told him that her view of him was far different than his own. Those last moments before escaping to the skiff had dredged up the realization of just how fucked up his life was, but here was someone who didn’t see him as the monster everyone else in the universe referred to him as. It struck him just then that she was probably the first person to ever treat him as an actual human, more than that, she looked up to him.

Or maybe it was the fact that she knew just what kind of world he’d originated from. Kids under the care of the Company homes were hardly ever treated as people, more like property. He’d gotten off lucky to be tossed into the Strikeforce Academy, but not lucky enough like those who managed to get adopted before the age of ten. Girls had it easier, with a better rate of finding an actual home. He paused at that thought, frown deepening.

Maybe not, hell, who knows what kind of background checks those fuckheads did.

Had Jack just been lucky enough to get away before some sick fuck forged papers or had she just been lucky to get out alive? He felt a sudden surge of rage at the thought that anyone would intentionally hurt her, followed quickly by a wave of guilt. What right did he have to feel protective of the girl when he’d been willing to abandon her for the sake of his own survival?

If it weren’t for Carolyn this wouldn’t be so fucking confusing.

Shame, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, welled up. It pissed him off because he knew that he shouldn’t really give a shit. Dwelling on the past did not help anything but getting pissed off just made more of that shameful feeling surge up, made him feel disconnected, like the world was falling apart. He wanted to hit something, break something, but if he gave into that he’d end up killing both the kid and the holy man. For a moment he pictured it, just letting the darkness inside him take over, but he shook it off quickly, one glance at the girl’s reflection in the window was enough to crush that particular urge.

He could not kill her, he refused it, branding that refusal into the darkest part of his mind that always craved the blood. It was the first vow he’d made in a long time, added to the very short list of promises he’d made in his mind. Immediately he saw the problem with it, a thousand ways keeping that pledge could cause a hindrance to his survival were thrown back at him, but he pushed them stubbornly aside.

Riddick heard her shift in her seat and turned his head slightly to glance at her. She had pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them close. Her eyes were distant now, like she was thinking things over as well. He mused briefly upon what she was thinking about, then he saw the faint cloud that was her breath. The skiff was growing colder, the small heating unit was apparently broken, though he hadn’t noticed before.

He let out a curse, unclipping his harness and quickly standing, almost forgetting about his leg until the pain hit him sharply. Gritting his teeth, he made his way into the back of the skiff.

The holy man was sleeping in the auxiliary seats, curled into his robes. Riddick ignored him and bent down over the supplies that had been brought on board before the disastrous cycle of that nightmare planet had set in. There were ten blankets, bundled up tight under one of the seats, waiting to be used. he grabbed out four of them and examined the ties.

They were too thin, so he picked up a third set, tossing one pair onto the seat next to the holy man before moving back up to the cockpit. He handed the rest to Jack, whose eyes seemed to flicker a bit at the sight of them. She smiled faintly, but frowned when he sat back down without taking one.

“Don’t you want one?” she asked of him, holding out what she perceived to be a spare.

“Don’t need one yet,” he told her bluntly. “They’re too thin anyways.”

Jack looked down at them, fingering the edge of one, her frown deepening as she pulled them open to see if he was right. Riddick watched as she wrapped them around herself as securely as she could before throwing him another smile.

“Better than nothing,” she commented with a slight laugh. “Thank you.”

He nodded, looking away. Her gratitude made him feel ashamed again.

“Shouldn’t thank me,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Wasn’t planning on coming back.”

The silence that followed this confession was brief, but long enough to instill discomfort.

“I know,” Jack whispered after a moment.

“You know,” Riddick repeated, unable to keep the snarling edge out of his voice as he opened his eyes to frown at her. He expected an accusing, even hateful glare, but instead he saw what looked like guilt.

What the fuck does she have to be guilty for? Not like she asked for this whole fucked up mess. Not like it’s her fault those things... Aw fuck.

“It’s not your fucking fault, Jack.”

It was a moment before he realized she was crying. She was so quiet about it that he almost missed the first few tears falling onto her cheeks. He smelled the salt, however, it caused a pang in his chest and more confusion in his head. There was no reason for her to cry, at least from his point of view, but she was just a kid and saw things from a different perspective. And she would be the type to blame herself, he realized, what he’d seen of her personality in the time on that planet gave way to that conclusion.

In the past he wouldn’t have cared, Riddick knew this, but suddenly it fascinated him. This kid probably had every reason in the world to hate and distrust other people. Instead she allowed herself to be hurt by caring about those who weren’t herself. He’d seen her face after each and every one of their former companions were killed, even that fucker Johns who’d planned on killing her. She was shaking now, silent sobs racking her body as if she were to hide it.

Before he knew what he was doing, Riddick stood up again, leaning over and picking her up out of the copilot’s chair, blankets and all. She gasped, startled by the sudden movement but relaxing as he sat back down, holding her loosely in his arms.

“It’s not your fault.”

She blinked at him, then suddenly just buried her face against his shirt. He looked down at her, pulling one of the blankets up over her arms. He wasn’t sure what to do, or what he could do to comfort her, as he wasn’t exactly the comforting type. After a moment, however, it became apparent that he didn’t really need to do anything, the fact that he was holding her seemed to be enough.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder some five minutes later, yawning.

A few seconds later her breathing slowed into the rhythm of sleep and he knew he wasn’t going to be moving anytime soon. Sighing, he glanced up at his reflection, frowning slightly at the image of the girl curled up in his arms. Here he was, the most dangerous person in the whole damn galaxy, and this kid trusted him enough to fall asleep. It felt strange, having someone trust him like that and he was well aware that he didn’t deserve it.

Another twinge of pain attacked his chest.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Trust is a weakness, leaves you open. Why the fuck should I care if she keeps trusting me?

He knew the answer to his own question even if he denied it. He wanted that feeling, the knowledge that someone was actually willing to trust him instead of just judging him on his reputation. But the cost of keeping it, he wasn’t sure what that entitled. He couldn’t exactly change what he was when his face was on wanted posters in every Company owned system. Even if his first stint in prison was just a sick cover up for Sigma 3, he’d since then proven his title of ‘murderer’ to the public.

Six hundred and twenty-three, counting the incident in the Wailing Wars. It was enough to earn him a place on Death Row nine times over, though the Company wouldn’t dare kill him purposefully. They’d want it to look like an accident to further cover up even the minor suspicions over the incident in the mines of that fucked up planet. Killing him outright would bring to much attention to the links he had. It was a small comfort, the knowledge that the Company might fall with his death, revenge of sorts.

Riddick closed his eyes, blocking out those memories. He didn’t want to revisit that time of his life. He took a deep breath and focused on the girl in his arms.

Instead of a reprieve from his thoughts a thousand questions began to flood into his mind concerning her, but one stuck out from all the rest and he made a mental note to mark it down for later contemplation.

Why is she forgotten?