It's like a horrible puzzle. 22 don't equal 4. They equal three possibilities. Three manifestations of a destiny that was written the second Riddick stepped into Fry's personal space.

I'm feeling prophetic tonight. And somewhat... silly.

Rating: PG. One or two bad words.

Spoilers: Some dialogue from the movie. The end of the movie.

Threefold Destiny

by Ana Lyssie Cotton

The rain was falling into her eyes, but Fry was concentrating on the man in her arms. Desperate to get him up, get him moving. "C'mon!" She yelled. Her voice almost broke as he sagged against her again.

And then his eyes met hers.

That fear that had tickled the back of her throat? It was back. So back, deluging her legs and arms, and she could hear Johns' voice. "This is where he almost got me. He always goes for the sweet spot."

No. No, he--

There's no pain, at first. Nothing but the warm rush of her blood spilling down her back, and she can feel the cool steel as it grates along bone and deeper, deeper into muscle.

Last thoughts before dying. What a crock of shit.

Riddick is looking at her, stil. His eyes disappointed. As if she's failed some kind of grand test he'd given her.

As claws wrap around her, dragging her out into the dark, she realizes she has.

His voice carries, follows her into the darkness. He's so visciously angry.

"Not for me. Not for me!"


Rain. Desperation. Fry doesn't know why she cares so suddenly, why she wants this man on his feet and moving. Perhaps because he didn't give up on her. And that's a stupid reason. He tried to remake her in his image.

He failed.

She'd forgotten about the knife in his hand, though.

Forgotten that there are some instincts ingrained into the human body through abuse.

There's shock in his eyes as she gapes at him. Shock and horror, and the last destruction of something that might have been his burdgeoning humanity. Johns would be laughing in her face if he weren't already dead.

Claws grapple at her arms. They had to have scented the blood. Her blood. Pouring down her back and mingling with the rain and the mud.

He's falling as she's yanked backwards, falling, his eyes still trying to meet hers.

And she can hear the regret in his voice as he grates out, almost cursing. "Not for me. Not for me!"


She shouldn't have put the light down.

It's the thing that kills her, the thing that dooms her to death in the dark.

But she's not worried about that yet. She's concentrating on the man in front of her, the man she's suddenly determined to see redeemed. Perhaps because she has redeemed herself. Could have left them all to die. Could have moved on elsewhere, and no one would have known. Or cared.

She came back for them. And Fry suddenly feels grateful to the humanity she carries.

For too short a time.

Because it all comes crashing down in a second, a moment, and Riddick's looking at her, frozen in shock. How the fuck does a man like him get shocked by death? As she's yanked backwards, uncertain whether the pain in her back is claws or teeth or beak, she can see the humanity in Riddick's eyes. And it's pissed.

As if the loss of her stability breaks something in him, he falls forwards, scrabbling at the mud, angry.

"Not for me. Not for me!"