My first fanfic so please go easy on me. Basically just wanted to do a "what if" story with my favourite character, Richard B. Riddick. Reviews are most welcome! As you're probably aware all characters belong to their rightful owners. I do not claim and never will claim to have created Pitch Black or anything related to Riddick. The only thing I am claiming to have created is my character Marty Flynn Riddick along with any other OC characters. Enjoy!
My husband once said that most of your brain shuts down in cyro-sleep. All but the primitive side-the animal side, that is. He said that it was one of the reasons why paying extra for cyro was useless considering he was awake half the time during long trips. Personally, I thought he was just saying that so I'd agree to him buying his own ship.
It didn't make sense that I was still awake. My cyro-chamber was shut tight. One of the crew members had even come by to make sure that the chambers were working properly. Though I'm not sure how they checked it since all they did was just bang on the metal for a few seconds before moving onto the next chamber. Maybe they programmed it wrong-set the timer for only three weeks instead of twenty two. Either way, regardless of what caused the malfunction, I'm awake, bored, and staring at the rows of chambers across from me.
Particularly I'm staring at the chamber directly across from me; there's a man inside sleeping, unlike me, peacefully in the cryo chamber across from me. His lean but well-built form just fits inside the chamber. Light brown hair rests atop his head, slightly accenting his, I would assume by most people's standards, attractive perhaps even handsome face. Personally I wouldn't know as my taste in men prefers them to be a bit more muscular and a lot more…well…I don't know, someone different looking than him.
He's a wearing a uniform similar to that of a cop. Naturally I would have assumed this man to be a cop but, as luck would have it, I already knew that he wasn't. He was a merc -a man whose job consisted of hunting down dangerous criminals. I knew this because this exact same man, that rested in a chamber only meters away from me, had captured the convict that was currently chained and locked away in the ship's-the Hunter Gratzner- only reinforced cyro-chamber.
Tentatively I pulled down the emergency latch of the glass door of my chamber, testing to see whether it would open. With a loud whooshing sound the door slowly cracked open allowing me to push it all the way and step outside. Immediately I felt a sense of relief as I stepped out into the open area-the chambers were far too cramped for my taste and, though I had no problems with enclosed spaces, I couldn't help but feel claustrophobic. The ability to stretch my muscles out was also a huge relief as my legs had stiffen from standing in the same position for nearly three hundred and thirty six hours straight.
I winced as I forced my cramping legs to move, trying to get my muscles working. I walked around for a bit then, when the prickly, numbing, feeling in my legs began to disappear, I began to take notice of my surroundings.
There were forty plus passengers on the ship, all of them, excluding me, tucked away in their cryo-chambers fast asleep. Of these forty plus passengers only one of them was locked away in a reinforced chamber. It was easy to pick out this chamber from the rest as it was the only one with bright warning letters, forbidding others to open the chamber until the ship had landed, across its glass. It was this chamber that I found myself walking towards, nervousness and apprehension whirling through me as the man locked inside slowly came into focus.
My husband, Richard B. Riddick.
I pray to God that Riddick's asleep. The last thing I want is getting caught looking at him. His locker is a little bit bigger than ours to compensate for the chains on his arms and there's a bit in his mouth. Why they felt the need to put a bit in Riddick's mouth when he clearly couldn't move was beyond me but then again my husband wasn't known for his polite words. Blunt and straight to the point-that is if he was trying to make a point. Otherwise he'd just pass the time trying to rile you up by saying cryptic things that hinted at the truth or just plain insulted your intelligence. More than once I remember locking Riddick out of our bedroom after his harsh words had left me in a fury. It was a vain effort though as he just as easily picked the lock and barged his way to our bed.
I blinked and studied him closely; his skin had gotten darker. He was now a golden tan though how I knew that, when the bad light all but prevented me from seeing his colour properly, eluded me. Somehow I just knew.
He's gotten bigger; he put on more muscle since the last time I saw him. His head's shaven, completely bald and devoid of the buzz cut I used to give him when he was with the Company. Time, unlike for me, had been good to him. Even in the dim light, he was still the most handsome man I had ever seen a fact I was kicking myself for as I felt my heart give its familiar, traitorous, flutter as I raked my eyes over his form.
God, how long had it been? How long had it been since my eyes had laid on him? Definitely more than five years. Five plus years of rage, of loneliness, of worrying, of pain, of fear…It had been a nightmare, learning to live without Riddick. I had nearly killed myself in the process, nearly allowed myself to be killed by others too. But it had also been five plus years of self-discovery-of becoming harder, stronger, more independent. His absence had forced me to become a survivor and though I would never pride myself on how I became tougher I did pride myself on becoming tougher without him, by my side, holding my hand.
I frowned as I noticed his attire, consisting of nothing more than black cargo pants, combat boots and a black wife beater shirt. They were the exact same clothes he had worn the day he had been arrested. It made me wonder whether he had any other clothes, had taken the time to buy any.
With what money? My mind chastised and then a new thought had me staring at him in wonder. Did he survive these past five years stealing? My frown deepened as I thought of Riddick, cold and alone, fending for himself from bounty hunters and mercs, as he tried to survive without a welcoming place to shelter.
I knew what he had been up to these past years-at least I knew what the newspapers and articles had said he had been doing. Murdering, getting arrested, escaping prison, and stealing ships…Standard crimes for a high class criminal if the bounty for my husband's head related to how dangerous he was. Despite how much my mind wanted to rebel against the accusations against him, somehow I wasn't able to will up enough denial to paint Riddick as the same man that had taken his vows with me. My husband was gone replaced by the man behind the glass wall.
Honestly, if I thought about it, it had always been there, that dangerous aura. From when I had first met Riddick at the corner shop on Planet Six to the day he had been taken to the Slam, there had always been an animalistic sense about my husband-wary, fierce, dark, instinctive and independent. It was a side of him that he had long strove to suppress, a side I rarely ever saw. A couple times, when we had been making love, he had slipped up and let the animal inside him out. All those times I had passed out only to awaken, minutes later, to Riddick's worrying, panicked, face as he frantically checked to make sure I was okay. He'd then spend hours trying to isolate himself from me as his mind tried to deal with his self-disgust and, what I often suspected, his enjoyment at taking my body as he wanted.
I knew my husband wasn't normal. It was what had first attracted me to him. Now, as I stare at him I wonder just how much Riddick had kept from me, how much of his animalistic side he had tried to drown out in order to be with me. It's a sobering thought, to realize that the man you had vowed to die next to could have simply been lying about himself to you throughout the whole duration of your courtship and marriage. I didn't know whether to cry, to laugh, to rage out or to simply shake my head at the injustice. If anything I hoped that it make what I would have to do easier when the ship finally lands on Taurus Three.
I raise my eyebrow when I finally notice that he's wearing a blindfold. A blindfold. Of all the ridiculous things to do they decide to blindfold him. As if the bit and chains weren't bad enough now they were trying to deny him the right to see. Sure he was a criminal but didn't he have rights? Besides it was dark in the ship-I was having a hard enough time just to see the man in front of me. The bit I could understand-my husband really could be an unwanted smartass at times. But did they honestly think he could see in the dark?
Giving a sigh I stared down at my feet, trying to sort out my emotions and coming up with none. I looked up and stared again at the man who had dominated my thoughts these past couple of years. Seeing Riddick in such a state-chained up with no way to speak or see-left me in turmoil. I was upset at what they had done to him, yes, but I was also upset at him; I had so many questions that I wanted to be answered, so many words that I wanted to say, no yell, at Riddick to demand from him. Mostly, I wanted to ignore the feelings stirring within me and finally free my heart of Riddick's presence.
Timidly I pressed my hand against the glass, waiting to see if he would react to it. He was still except for a small twitch that went through his neck though it didn't surprise me. He often reacted like that when he was in a cyro-chamber, appearing as if he was still awake when in reality he was fast asleep. Nightmares, infrequent in our marriage but still appearing now and again, also caused him to react in a similar manner-deadly still, lifeless, except for an occasional movement indicating that he was still alive.
It was then I remembered, with quite some embarrassment, that he was asleep; he was, like the rest of passengers, in cyro and, since it looked like his cyro-chamber was working, would be asleep indefinitely until the ship had landed. With a sigh I removed my hand, resigning myself from my brooding in order to go back to sleep. It was pointless, I reasoned, to be thinking about things that were beyond my control and that would do little more than either aggravate me or put me into a depression. I began shuffling back to my chamber, resolving myself to not think about my husband until the trip was over. A futile resolution considering that the man was in the same vicinity as me. Again I looked at Riddick and as I took in the chains, the blindfold, and the bit I couldn't help but give another sigh.
"Richard B. Riddick," I said his name softly, for the first time in years. "What on earth have you done?"
It was the alarm that woke me up.
The bright loud sound of sirens, the flashing glare of red lights, jostled me out of my slumber. Groggily I opened my eyes, trying to register what was happening only to become painfully aware of the sound of a cyro-chamber knocking into mine as the ship violently rocked back and forth.
Fully awake now I began to notice other things; two members of the crew had fallen out of their chambers onto the floor. Dimly I could make out their conversation, how they shouldn't have been awake for another nineteen weeks. One of them, the woman, urgently pointed out at a man, who lay dead in his chamber with shards piercing his body. I shivered when I saw that the shards had broken through his cyro-chamber, piercing his body despite the glass wall that should have protected him. It was only when the two crew members scampered off in the direction of the cockpit that I began to start panicking.
Something was wrong. Something was terribly, utterly wrong. Malfunctions, a broken part, maybe even an asteroid field-something was causing the mayhem happening on the ship. Fear began to bubble within me as I tried to open my chamber, suddenly acutely aware of how cramped and immobilizing the compartment was. I tried to pull down the emergency latch only to discover, to my horror, that it had jammed. Up and down, up and down, no matter how hard I pulled the latch would not budge. Forgetting about the latch I quickly went to the next best option; my hands, pushed, clawed, and smacked against the glass door. However it seemed that the grace of Lady Luck was not to be bestowed upon me; my hands met nothing but resistance as the door, which separated me from the open area of the ship, refused to budge. Again and again I tried and again and again my hands simply slapped against the unmoving glass. All the while the ship rocked me from side to side, my panic rising as the ship's movement made it harder for me to push against the door.
I was trapped. Something was wrong with the ship and, like a mouse in a maze, I was trapped. If I wasn't panicking before I was having a full blown nervous breakdown now. Desperate noises of fear tore from my throat as my arms now all but slammed hard against the glass, bruising me in the process. My breaths were short and quick, my lungs suddenly feeling devoid of oxygen. Through my panic only one thing was fixed in my mind, persisting like a thousand buzzing flies.
I was trapped.
A loud, rumbling, creak was my only warning as my chamber suddenly tipped forward crashing onto the floor. My body, carried by the momentum, slammed hard against the door, knocking my head against the glass with a sickening bang. Darkness danced across my vision as my head exploded in pain, leaving me dazed and unable to move. Dimly, I could hear the sound of a latch closing but I barely registered the sound, my brain too addled by the fall to make sense of anything. Then, with a loud crashing noise, everything went black and I allowed myself to slip into oblivion as I passed out.
I first met Riddick when I was 20 years old.
It had been raining; all week the rain had poured down onto my rundown city, temporarily washing away the sin that normally infested the streets and alleyways during the night. I, after discovering that the only edible items in my house belonged to my cat, had decided to go down to the corner store and buy a package of instant noodles. The journey from my apartment to the store, which only took ten minutes, had left me soaking, miserable, and not in a mood to dawdle.
So it was with great aggravation that I entered the store, headed straight to the rack where the noodles were kept, only to witness the last package of instant noodles being taken by a man.
I was upset-correction, I was pissed. Ten minutes I had braved what could honestly be considered a typhoon only to find that my efforts had all been for naught. Add that to the fact that my stomach was practically trying to eat itself and I was seething with ill contained rage, ready to blow off at the slightest stimuli.
It was at that moment, sensing that I was mad or perhaps it was the fact that I was glaring bullets at him, that the man glanced up.
I froze-not out of fear, mind you, but more out of shock as I found myself mesmerized by two beautiful orbs of golden brown. My mouth, mere moments ago ready to bite someone, was suddenly dry as I took in his equally beautiful-no sorry, sexy-face of slightly tanned goodness. A buzz cut of light brown hair was pressed flat to his head, still damp from the weather outside. A sleeveless top-which defied all logic considering how freaking wet it was outside-molded to his muscled form. Against my will I found myself raking my eyes over his body, taking in his well-developed muscles, the way his skin glistened perfectly from the rain, the fact that I was disappointed that he was wearing a loose pair of sweatpants…
A deep throated chuckle (that nearly melted me) caused my gaze to snap back to his now smirking face. Pure amusement was deep in his eyes as he gave an infuriatingly male look at my appraisal of him, a look that got more pronounced as, mortified, my cheeks flushed with heat at being caught checking him out.
"Need something sweetheart?" he rumbled, his voice deep and deliciously gruff. I had to remember to breathe when I realized, yes, this man was indeed real and not an imagination of my, sadly, single life. Miraculously I found my voice.
"Noodles." I squeaked out. He frowned, making me feel small and incredibly insignificant. He glanced back at the now empty shelves behind him before redirecting his attention back to me.
"Sorry, I took the last one." He said, stating the obvious. Weakly I nodded, feeling incredibly uncomfortable and out of my element. Dear God, what do you say to handsome men like this without sounding like an idiot? Such pressure! How did women with hot boyfriends do it? It was a wonder that I had even lasted this long without mumbling nonsense and scaring him off! I shook my head only to realize that Mr. Sex was busy waiting for me to say something.
By now it was a wonder that I still had two cheeks, my face burning with embarrassment under Mr. Sex's gaze. Anxiously I glanced back at his face, once again struck by how handsome he was. He was, by far, the most handsome man I had ever had the fortune of meeting.
"That's okay. I guess." I mumbled, unsure of what else to say. He said nothing, simply staring at me with a neutral expression. Once again I was trapped by his mesmerizing gaze suddenly wishing that the man I ended up with have eyes just as beautiful as the man before me.
"Please God, even if I'm destined to be with an ugly man, please at least give him eyes just as beautiful as the man before me." I murmured, unintentionally voicing my thoughts aloud as my brain vomited against my will. As soon as the words left my mouth, my eyes widened in horror; I pressed my hands to my mouth in horrified shock as I realized what I had just said. Anxiously I stared at the man suddenly wishing that I had eaten the cat food when I had the chance.
Mr. Sex didn't say anything. Instead he opted to continue staring at me with the same neutral expression. Then, in an air so casual I swear I had imagined it if it weren't for the fact that I was staring straight at him, he boldly flicked his eyes over my body taking in my black hair-normally curly-that was now soaked and plastered to my head in thick knots; my wet, dark brown, skin that aptly complemented my strong African features; my drenched body that seemed too small in my two sizes too big, ratty, worn out, soaking, sweater. His gaze lingered over my chest, as if he was trying to determine whether I had breasts or not and self-consciously I folded my arms over my chest, heat flooding my cheeks once again at his unwanted appraisement. At the movement of my arms his gaze suddenly moved back to my face, freezing me as his neutral expression became devastatingly thoughtful.
No longer were my cheeks burning. No, now my whole face was being boiled alive-
All but freaking out, I nervously mumbled a quick thank you before scurrying to the opposite end of the store, trying to put as much distance between me and Mr. Sex. Logically I could have left the store but I didn't brave ten minutes of pelleting rain and howling winds just to turn back around, face another ten minutes of water hell, to end up back at my apartment hungry as well as depressed. Besides, if I was going to be depressed I might as well be depressed and well fed.
It was while I was busy looking over a selection of chips, wondering which would be best on white bread, that I suddenly became aware of a large presence behind me. I whirled around only to come face to face with Mr. Sex.
"Hey." Mr. Sex said in his deep rumbly voice. I stared back at him wide eyed wondering what on earth he wanted. Surely I couldn't have possibly offended him during our five minute exchange? I hadn't even meant to comment on his eyes aloud!
A package suddenly dangled in front of me, the large letters of INSTANT NOODLES flashing across the bright yellow plastic packet. For a few seconds I stared at it, a confused expression on my face, only to frown when I realized that he was dangling the last package of noodles in front of my face. He cleared his throat, diverting my attention back to his face.
"Here." He said, the package still dangling in front of me. "Take it." I stared up at him suspiciously.
"Why?" I blurted, once again feeling like an idiot, this time at how rude I sounded. He shifted uncomfortably.
"I don't want it anymore." He explained. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "I'm not hungry." At his words I couldn't help but snort; he was a large man and, judging from his incredible built-I once again had to remind myself to stop my eyes from roaming over his chest-he probably had an equally incredible metabolism. Not hungry? Don't make me laugh.
His eyebrows rose at my sound of disbelief. "What? It's true!" He tried to defend himself. I couldn't help it; I started to giggle.
"Hey, I'm being serious here, sweetheart-I'm not hungry!" he snapped in annoyance. At his put off face I couldn't help but giggle even harder. He gave an annoyed growl.
"You know what? Fine, forget it." He growled, walking away from me. Immediately I sobered up.
"No! Wait, I'm sorry." I said, forgetting all about my shyness as I hurried towards him to apologize. He stopped and turned around to gaze at me guardedly.
I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm not used to a stranger being so courteous." I explained. He continued to stare at me in silence, his expression still painfully guarded. Once again I found heat flooding my cheeks as I became unsure of myself.
"Um…what I meant was…it was nice of you to offer…b-but…." I suddenly found myself stammering at his unchanged expression, suddenly uncomfortable with how severe he looked. Taking a deep breath, I focused my gaze on the floor, noting that he wore combat boots, and finished my sentence.
"It was nice of you to offer but you were probably going to eat the noodles for dinner, right? I wouldn't feel comfortable, having you give up your dinner for me when we don't know each other. It wouldn't seem right, you know? Besides, it's not like I can't find something else to eat. So as nice as your offer is-"
"What's your name?" Mr. Sex suddenly asked me, cutting me off. I looked up in surprise only to find my eyes catching his. Embarrassed I lowered my face.
"Marty. Marty Flynn." I mumbled. I gave a surprised yelp as my hand was suddenly grabbed forcing me to look up at Mr. Sex's suddenly amused face. He gave a smirk.
"Riddick. Richard B. Riddick." He introduced himself still clasping my hand which had gotten considerably warmer. I stared at him curiously, trying to ignore the feel of his hand on mine.
"Richard?" I asked, testing the name on my lips. The man shook his head.
"Riddick. Just Riddick-it's what everyone calls me."
Riddick and I met three times after that night. Once at a flea market, again at the corner shop, and the final time had been at the post office where I had worked at. On the third time Riddick had finally asked me out-though in all fairness he simply asked where I was going out for dinner and then had all but gloriously barged in on my date, promptly scaring the guy off who had asked me out. Needless to say, despite the intrusion, he proved to be far better company than any of the guys I had previously dated. We dated for a while, broke up when we couldn't handle our differences only to end up having the best make up sex ever the very next day. Six months later, after reconciling with each other, Riddick asked me to marry him.
I said yes.