RATING: R for language, adult situations, explicit heterosexual sex, violence

PAIRING: Riddick/Original; features the complete cast of the movie.

SUMMARY: In this alternate reality, there is another survivor of the Hunter-Gratzner crash. She's a young woman named Fiona and she lost her entire family in the crash. She and Riddick enter an intense relationship which begins when she's the first person to simply accept him as a human being. The first segment of the story features scenes from the movie, slightly modified to fit the existence and presence of my additional character. Later chapters will diverge more and more. In addition, the eclipse is still six months to a year away, and the skiff requires a lot more repair work to get our merry gang off the ground. Hurt/Comfort themes.

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Riddick, Fry, Johns, Imam, Shazza, Jack, Zeke, Ali, Hassan, Suleiman, Paris, Owens and the Total Stranger are the exclusive property of USA Films and the writing team that created them. Their use in this story does not entitle the author to any rights of property or royalties. This is fan fiction and the satisfaction I get from writing it is the only reward I'm accepting. Jessie, Morgan, and the Cavanaugh family, however, especially Fiona, are 100% mine.

COMMENTS: The planet New Ireland was colonized specifically by Northern Irish Catholics (I used the name New Belfast for Fiona's home town in order to hint at this). These colonists still have long-standing feelings of bitterness against the English, which occasionally shows up in offhand observations and comments Fiona makes. It has nothing to do with my own personal views or politics, so if you're English, please don't take offense -- I love you. :)

The pain in his arms was a low, dull ache now. Soon it would be fiery agony, once all the other survivors left the area. He had overheard Johns telling Fry how dangerous he was; no help there. With the bit in his mouth he couldn't even attempt to contradict the Merc, or suggest that Fry ask to see some more comprehensive ID.

It was a shame he hadn't managed to take the son of a bitch's head off when he had the chance. It had been the perfect opportunity -- everyone else had been off restraining some girl who was screaming for her parents and siblings, trying to reach their burning cryo-tubes. He could have done Johns and been out of his restraints before the bastard could tell any of them who he was. If only his luck hadn't stayed the same. Just plain gone. These days, Johns was the one with all the luck.

He could hear them leaving. Fry was calling out something about searching the cargo container for water. Finally he even heard Johns' receding footsteps.

He slowly stretched, preparing himself for the agony to come, when he heard the quiet footfall. Someone was in the room with him.

He went completely still, and stretched out his senses. In the years it had taken him to scrape up enough prison currency to pay for his shine job, he'd been forced to develop his other senses to the highest degree possible. They didn't fail him now.

Quiet breathing. The scent of a woman's perfume. Vanilla, sandalwood and nutmeg, mixed with the musk of her skin. Expensive perfume, probably. What the hell had she been doing on this cheap crate?

"That's just wrong," she said quietly, and he recognized her voice, even though it sounded almost nothing like her hysterical screams of earlier. She had a slight brogue to her speech. Probably from New Ireland. He felt her approach, and kneel down astonishingly close to him, so close that he could feel the heat of her body by his.

She reached out and began unbuckling the straps that held the horse bit in place. Then she gently removed it from his mouth. She set it aside on the floor, then reached toward his face again.

"Not the blindfold." It hurt to speak; he hoped she could understand what he'd just said.

Her hands stopped, the fingertips resting lightly on his cheekbones. "Why?"

"My eyes are very photosensitive. Unless you happen to see my goggles lying around, I'd better keep the blindfold on."

"Goggles." She shifted slightly, and he felt her hand brush his waist, pulling something from the pocket of his trousers. "These?"

"Probably. Can't actually see them."

"I'll put them on. Keep your eyes closed."

Not a problem, babe, he thought to himself with amusement. He was privately amazed that she was willing to get as close to him as she had, but she probably either hadn't heard Johns' explanation of who he was, or had been too crazed by grief to comprehend it. For the moment, he basked in the novelty of having a woman so near him, and so completely unafraid.

She slipped the blindfold off of his head gently, and then carefully slid the goggles down, adjusting them until they fit comfortably over his eyes. Finally he opened them and got his first good look at her.

Pretty. She was small and delicately built -- waifish, that was the word -- with light hair that looked like it might be red-gold in normal light. Between the glare of the twin suns and the color-corrective effects of his goggles it was hard to tell. She had the body of a houri. Her face was still marked with signs of her recent spate of deep grief, but it was calm. She leaned over slightly, examining the restraints that imprisoned his wrists. Her hair briefly brushed his shoulder as she did. He took a moment to indulge himself and inhale her scent.

"I don't think I can undo those," she said quietly. She moved back slightly, then sat down in front of him.

"You probably shouldn't, anyway," he replied with amusement. "I guess nobody gave you the bulletin on who I am."

She gave a slight shrug. "You're a prisoner. But this still seems a bit like overkill to me. Just where are you going to go?"

"It's not where I might go as much as what I might do. To you." He expected her to react like all the other civilians he'd encountered over the years. He expected her to pull back, to stare at him as if he might be something dangerous, a rabid dog in human form. She didn't.

Instead, she leaned back against one of the fallen cryo-lockers and watched him sadly. "Do you really think there's anything you could possibly do to me after what already happened? The only thing I have left to lose now is my life, and you might be doing me a favor."

"What the hell is goin' on here?"

Riddick didn't bother to turn at the familiar sound of Johns' voice. The girl -- whatever her name was -- glanced up with the same air of sodden disinterest that characterized all of her gestures. "Did you find any water?" was her only response.

Riddick kept his face expressionless, knowing that Johns would soon be near apoplexy over the girl's complete disregard for his authority. More power to you, babe. I wonder what you're like when you're in your right mind.

"Did you take his bit and blindfold off?" Johns had practiced that voice for years, Riddick believed. It was designed to convey the sort of menace that Riddick could convey just by smiling at someone, and was only partially effective. This was one of the times it failed completely.

"Yes."

"And what the fuck were you thinking?" Johns' voice had taken on an odd grate.

"I was thinking that the bit must hurt like hell, actually." The girl shrugged. "And I was thinking that, unless you're actually going to go ahead and shoot him, you should show him a little more humanity. Things are bad enough as it is."

"Okay." Johns was clearly seething. Riddick glanced up for a quick look. The pseudo-lawman was staring at the girl in complete, absolute contempt. "Well, missy, you can just put them right back on him, right now."

He almost missed the change, looking at Johns. He almost didn't see the girl's face morph into something steely. She stood, slowly, then bent over and retrieved the bit and blindfold. Then she raised herself to her full height (not more than 5'2" by Riddick's estimation), fixed Johns with a scornful gaze, and stalked out of the compartment, taking both restraints with her.

Johns stared after her for a long moment, too astonished to react. Then he swore and hurried after her.

Now's my chance.

Riddick slowly rose to his feet and glanced backward. As he'd thought, there was a break in the bulkhead above him. He could do this. Grimly, ignoring the pain in his arms, he raised them as high as he could, then deliberately dislocated both of his shoulders. He could barely keep from screaming as he pulled the restraints through the break in the bulkhead. Even as he popped his shoulders back in, he felt his knees give out and he began to fall. He managed to grab the cutting torch as he hit the floor.

"You stupid bitch, this is your fault!"

The survivors had gathered around them as Johns and Fiona faced off. Johns was waving the cut-up pieces of Riddick's chains in her face, his own face almost purple with rage.

"What, did he bite through them?" It was probably a bad idea to provoke him further, Fiona reflected. Then again, maybe she'd get lucky and he'd shoot her.

"What happened?" Paris demanded. Fiona spared him a swift glance, unimpressed. Soft Englishmen never impressed her.

"Riddick escaped, that's what happened," Johns bellowed. "This idiot distracted me while he made his escape--"

Fiona turned away because she knew she was dangerously close to laughing at the man. Probably wouldn't be the smartest of moves. The problem was, she kept hearing her father muttering "redheads and fiery tempers, Fee." Almost as if he was actually standing beside her. She didn't dare laugh. She suspected that the tears wouldn't be far behind, and she didn't know if she'd be able to stop them again once they started. She felt Johns grab her shoulder, then felt someone else knock his hand away. She made herself keep walking, heading for the cargo container.

Jack fell into step beside her.

"What's he like?"

"Hmm?" She turned and glanced at the boy.

"Riddick. What's he like? Is he as scary as the newsfaxes made out?"

"I don't know. Not really. Maybe. I'm probably not a very good judge right now." She hoped the boy didn't have a crush on her or something. She was probably five years older than him, and it was the last thing she wanted to deal with.

"Look, Fiona... are you going to your cargo locker?"

"Yes."

"I was wondering... well... you see..." Jack's voice trailed off.

Fiona turned, afraid that she was about to get hit with some juvenile proposition. The deep unease on Jack's face confused her.

Jack took a deep breath and finished the question in a rush. "Do you have any tampons?"

Fiona stared. She forced herself to look -- really look -- at the youth.

"You're a girl," she decided after a moment.

Jack looked around, nervous. "Yeah. But look, please don't tell anybody, okay? You know how it is... a girl traveling alone..."

The weight of Fiona's grief came crashing back down on her.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, Fiona, I didn't mean--"

She took a deep breath. "It's okay. I'd probably try to disguise myself as a boy, too, in those circumstances, if I thought I could actually fool anyone." She turned and began walking toward the storage container. "I think I have some tampons in my gear, sure. Come on."

Fiona stayed at the ship and helped with the salvage work while several of the others went on their search for water. As Riddick stole back down toward the ship, he watched her and Jack struggle with a large crate of emergency rations as they carried it back toward the crash ship. In the intense heat, Fiona had stripped down to a small halter top and shorts, he noticed, but Jack kept several layers of clothing on.

That's gotta be damned uncomfortable, he thought. Wonder what the boy's hiding?

Then again, maybe the boy was just feeling body-conscious around a show-stopper like her. Riddick took a moment to just enjoy the view before he began stealing down toward them.

Pretty little thing, he mused. I think that's probably what they mean by a "Pocket Venus." Probably weighs one hundred pounds soaking wet. Wonder if she's still unafraid of me? That would be nice.

He stole closer.