TITLE: The Someplace Better
AUTHOR: Wendy after Dark
FANDOM: Pitch Black
PAIRING: -
RATING: R (language and violence)
DISCLAIMER: The Characters of Pitch Black are copyright to USA Films. There is no infringment intended by the use of them in this story. I claim none of those characters.
SUMMARY: This is a short ficlet seen from Riddick's POV where he reflects on his jaded past and peculiar present.
Making a living whatever way you can is common practice on the streets... odd jobs, hooking, dealing and crime. They say you can only climb up once you have fallen into the gutters. This is where expressions can be dead wrong. To succeed, a person has to have wherewithal and substance. A lot of that comes from the way you are raised. When you start your first hours flung into a dumpster full of trash, the future tends to have a grim undertone.
Richard Riddick knew disappointment from an early age. How many families came and went from the government run facility without hazarding him so much as a glance? Tens? Hundreds? He lost count. They would come for visits, maybe chuck him under the chin and try to read the quiet pain in his eyes. Maybe it was his tortured eyes that made so many uncomfortable. Made them see real tragedy and look away in fear. No one wanted a woeful child when the orphanage was brimming with so many others.
He decided to stop caring one day when he was six. A cynic before he could even read a simple rhyme, at least it made the hurt go away. He stopped joining in the gatherings. Turned away if a couple took the initiative and graced him with their time or attention. He didn't need them. Didn't want them. He had a roof over his head, three hots and a cot. The basics were there. Emotion proved too messy anyway.
Foster care was not a promising option for the temperamental youth. Richard had his own set of rules. He had no reason to conform to someone else's. He shuffled back to the institution before it occurred to him to just walk out the front door and never look back. It proved to his advantage as no one noticed he was gone. Picking up the bare necessities now took cunning and strategy. He enjoyed the challenge of survival.
For Riddick, there was no desire to join a gang or attach himself to any of the seasoned members of the street culture. He could learn everything he needed to know from a distance. Alone he was stronger. There was no one to split the spoils with, no one to stab him in the back if and when he ever let down his guard.
He had no weakness to drag him down. Alcohol, drugs and prostitutes were not appealing. He liked being disease and dependence free. It was easier to find lodging or provisions for one. His body was his temple and he treated it with great respect. His physical strength grew more out of boredom, he supposed. He was lean and mean to any opposition. Quick, cat like precision in his movements. He was any man's worst nightmare if they got on his bad side.
Prison was an unintentional sidetrack. His ego grew larger and his actions ridiculous and bold. His penchant for outright killing caught up with him. It was almost always for money. The thrill for doing each job with more guts than the last was a stupid side effect of being a one-man support system. There was no role model to tell him he was getting out of control. No one to say he was wrong. No one except the law hounds.
Escape. He found it every opportunity he could. When he couldn't free himself from chains and cells, he took up reading. His hunger for knowledge was voracious. By the dim ray of light that filtered through the crack under the lock down door, he journeyed to the past, present and future through the eyes of poets and dreamers. It gave him new insight. New understanding. He went to dark places. Worse than any he himself had known.
The happy endings made him skeptical at first. Bullshit through and through. Life was nowhere near so pretty and clean. There was no beauty within anyone he had ever met. His hobby had become debunking the myths of light and love. He theorized that most of the authors were locked away in rat-infested cesspools like this one. It was pure fantasy. Those putrid little fucks that got the smiling families back in his childhood didn't have it any better.
Then came the crash. Not only the transport. When Carolyn Fry brought the Hunter-Gratzner to screaming devastation on that cursed planet, everything he knew came burning down with it. He could have gutted her right there in front of fucking Johns. He would have done it up until she opened her sensuous mouth and admitted how close she came to killing them all. She was a girl after his own heart. If he had one.
He supposed the only reason he hadn't blown Johns' head off once he was released had more to do than his own confusion than a lack of guts. Johns wasn't the law. He was a junkie who moved fast and used his brains for more than a steady high. It pissed him off to think about how good that little bastard was at busting him down.
Being a part of the group dynamic made his head spin. Smelling the women, even the girl, had his senses reeling. Three suns did quite a number on his impaired vision. The shine job seemed like a much better idea when he was underground with no chance for parole. That they were willing to work with him was a puzzle. Desperate times, he guessed. The team effort was interesting. There was a niggling sense of satisfaction when the eclipse took hold and he was in high demand. They needed him.
One by one, the devil's henchmen reduced them. Be it man or beast, he kept his guard up. Even extended it to his new family. In the end that was his overwhelming discovery. Upstart Jack and the holy man, Imam, gave him a brand new challenge. It was up to him whether they lived or died. At any other time in his life, the choice would not have been difficult.
Kindness was a peculiar bitch. Respect was better than a brand new toy. These individuals looked at him with trusting eyes and open arms. It was perhaps his hardest lesson. Richard Riddick wanted more than life was offering him to date. He was used to getting what he wanted.
"Hey."
He raised heavy lids to his companion. Jack was holding a cup of water to his lips.
"Drink. You have been out for a while. Lost a lot of blood, but I got it to stop," there was grave concern etched on her features. For him. "Come on. Open up and take some, damn it. You don't want to dehydrate."
His lips cracked when he grinned at the moppet. "Watch your mouth, kid."
She smiled in return and went about wiping the dried blood from his face. He was resting in the pilot's seat with his wounded leg propped on a field box. Imam was studying some charts and grids. The dark skinned man fixed him with a worried glance.
"What God could not do, our young Jack has more than compensated. It was good that you came back to us."
Riddick wasn't sure if he was referring to their departure from the planet or his own from death. "I always try to bring a medic on board emergency escape vessels, Holy Man. It just makes sense."
Imam gave him a patient nod and went back to his study. "It looks like we have a long way to go, my friends."
"Where will we go?" Jack voiced her curiosity as she looked out at the stars.
The need to comfort her came out of nowhere. His large hand covered her arm as they stared into the vast pit of space. "It's got to be someplace better than what we left behind."
"Shit, I hope so."
"What did I say about that mouth?"
The End.