::TWENTY EIGHT::
“I want to know the second that signal clears…and send somebody down to the med bay….”
Franks. Saw the man go through a full out riot in Slam. He looks more shaken now. Watching the time, fidgeting. The seconds weighing out like hours for us both. His voice a low sound in my ears, like a distant echo, when a kid runs into the med bay. Standing beside the table, trying not to look at Jane, as Franks orders him to get her fresh clothes. Tells him to stand by the door in case he’s needed for anything else. I don’t even notice the kid leaving.
I’ve held Jane three times while she’s slept. She sleeps pretty quietly. The smallest of whistles, it’s not constant. Having her nose broken did that. If it wasn’t for that, she’d sleep silently. No sound from her now. So quiet. How can she be so quiet. Her hand, still, in mine. Run my thumb over her wrist, I know she has no pulse, but I can’t help it. I watched it happen, but I still don’t really understand how she can be dead. Her weight lies heavier than it should, over my right arm. No longer struggling to arch back in pain, lying still. I try to move, to make her more comfortable. Not caring how unimportant that is to her right now. Her head resting on the crook of my elbow now, her eyes, open, look up at me. I know she can’t see me. I screamed at Franks not to do it, not to touch her, as he moved to close her eyes.
I’ve seen a fuck of a lot of death in my life. Caused a lot of it. Only twice before did I ever really have to look at it. Once, on the run from Johns. He killed a kid to get to me. Just a little girl, who was unfortunate enough to get in the way. I probably could have got away clean, but I stopped, and held her, those last few moments. Don’t really know why I did it either. I was a different person then, I thought. I didn’t know her, and I couldn’t have done a thing for her. She died even quicker than Jane.
Then there was Jack. Never had to actually watch her die. Spent a bit of time watching her kill herself, though. Did it slowly, over time. The risks she took, greater and greater. Drowning whatever beast ate her, in alcohol. She lived as my daughter for two years, after leaving Imam, who couldn’t care for her, give her what she needed, any longer. The hospital called. Wanted me to ID the body. Watched through a window as they pulled the sheet back, her body broken. Her blood alcohol so high it would have killed anyone else. Jumped. The fall didn’t kill her right away. The doctors said she was down there for about a day before anyone found her.
And now Jane. Her face softened in death, every hard line in her gone. Her eyes are still so clear. I keep expecting her blink and wake up. Nuzzle against her skin, wanting so badly to feel her breath. To smell the warm heat from her. It hurts so fucking bad. Press my lips to the pulse in her neck. How can this be real? I watched it happen, held her while it happened. I just don’t understand how it could happen.
I’ve killed far too many things to kid myself. She’s dead. Dead. The weight of that crushes something inside, a pain in my chest that makes me bare my teeth against the ache of it. Never really thought too much about what I did before, about all the things, all the people, I’ve killed. How was it Jane put it, ever killed anyone that didn’t need killing. Maybe there were a lot that needed to be killed, deserved it. But looking down at her, into her open eyes, are they blue? I don’t even know. Looking down at her, I see looking back at me a long fucking list of people that sure as hell didn’t deserve killing. A lot of stuff I just could have walked away from, and didn’t. Because the killing was easy. Because it made things easy for me.
I can’t do this anymore. Can’t just kill for nothing anymore. The killing isn’t just the blood and the pain. It’s this too. Someone on the other side, desperately trying to hold on to something that was alive and breathing, laughing, a moment ago. Someone holding on and wondering how the fuck they’re going to live when that other person is gone. I can’t do this anymore.
The comm comes back to life, barking into the room. The signal has gone through. Franks is moving up, taking a deep breath, to still his shaking hands. Everything feels so slow, and it’s hard to understand, like listening to a conversation from the bottom of a pool of water. Injects her. Growl at him, when he pushes me off her chest. He has to get her heart to pump again. Asks me if I know how to get her to breathe. If I don’t I have to leave. I won’t leave her. Tilt her head back, holding her nose. Waiting for Franks to stop. Breathe deep into her. Not just breath. Everything in me. Try to will her back from whatever cold place she’s gone without me. Her lips are so cold already. How can she be cold already? Franks pushing her chest pushes the air back out, in a mockery of her breath, her life, fanning past my lips, as I wait, before breathing into her again. I couldn’t say how long we did this for. I lost track.
Her hand twitches in mine. I can’t describe how that made me feel, that one little movement. I haven’t cried since I was a little kid. I can’t even remember the last time. Don’t even know if I’m capable of crying any more, but it feels like something tore in me. One more breath. Her lips part against mine, a gasp, struggling for air on her own. Her back arching, struggling to breathe. So much like her last dying moments. Her heart, beating again, is racing. Her eyes blinking, tearing up, as panic sets in.
“…baby?…it’s okay, baby, just breathe…”
A short sob from her. Fright. Confusion. Her hand clenched in mine, pulling it tight to her, not quite in control of everything yet. Her eyes darken, with the power of the emotions in her. Crying out, her voice, so much like a little girls, small and frightened.
“…Riddick!?…”
Pull her up, hard to my chest. Wanting to touch her everywhere. The feel of her heart pounding against my chest. Kiss the tears off her cheeks, the wet trail of them down to her ears, from when she was still lying down. Kiss her ears. Bury my face in her neck, the feel of her pulse. Rest my lips against it, counting and losing count. Her short panicked breaths fanning out across my shoulder. Muttering in her ear, a stream of comforting words, rubbing her back. Just hold her, until she’s calm again. The burst of tears inevitable, it’s over as soon as it starts, as the terror of the situation washes over her.
“You stayed with me, the whole time…”
“I said I wouldn’t leave you, Jane. You’re mine.”
Franks has flicked a sheet over her lap. It does nothing to hide her revulsion at having wet herself. Not that there’s anything she could have done about it. Kneel down and take her boots off for her, holding her still when she tries to pull away, to take care of it herself. Help her find her clean pants, in the darkened room. She’s sitting on the edge of the table. Reaching out to touch my face. Pulling me to her, the kiss soft and deep. Pulling back to look at me, her thumb tracing patterns on my jaw. The quiet whisper, for me alone.
“I’m yours.”
Dressed, walking back to the bridge, her smaller hands interlaced in mine. Passing the door to her quarters, I have to will myself to keep walking. Watch as she’s doing the same thing, that tiny sigh of regret, her face turned to the floor, anything, to make it past that door. The both of us wanting to bury ourselves in each other, to make love to her, and forget everything else.
All of this pain has been for a purpose, and, if that purpose has failed, we’ll all be dead, with no coming back, for any of us. The bridge is eerily silent. The whole ship is silent. Waiting. She’s leaning down to talk to the man on the comm system, who makes a move to get up. She puts her free hand on his shoulder, pressing him back. Hasn’t let go of my hand yet. Not that I’d let her. Franks hasn’t left either one of us. The man looks gaunt, tired, shaken deeply. I’ll never have the words to thank him. I don’t even know how.
“Portugal, this is the Decatur. Respond please….”
She keeps up the call, the man at the comm letting her know about hacking into the comm system of the Portugal, relaying the signal Jane sent. Telling her about the sounds of small weapons fire coming from the Portugal, and being unable to restore contact. So far, there have been no attempts to board the Decatur. We’re not being fired on, either. The silence here speaks to fear. The fear that that situation could change at any moment. Jane is repeating her call, trying to reach someone on the Portugal.
The system crackles to life, sounding louder than it should in the silent room. The thick drawl seems to fill up the entire bridge. The man’s been hurt, you can hear it in his voice, the sharp intakes of breath, his voice a little higher, a little more ragged, than it sounded before.
“Well, Jane, it looks like our ass is really in the fire now.”
“Nowhere we haven’t been before, McCormick. Sounds like you’re having too much fun over there, anything we can do to help?”
Her eyes are closed, her smile wide and beautiful, as she listens to the man that had been sent to issue the warrant for her arrest. I don’t think that’ll be happening now.
“A change in management, you might say. I guess I can add mutiny to my already long list of crimes. We’ve already contacted three other ships in the area, sent along that signal, in case it hadn’t got through whatever jamming the Company’s probably pretty desperate to put up now. We need medical care, if you can spare it, and we’ve had quite a few deaths.”
“Had one of those ourselves, but that’s a story for another day. Franks?…”
She’s looking over to Franks, who’s already nodding, and making his way back to the loading bay, to head over to the Portugal.
“…we’re sending our medic, McCormick. ….I don’t need to tell you how much this means to me……”
“Repaying a debt long owed, Jane. Long owed….Portugal out…..”
She’s holding onto the back of the chair, I catch her before she falls. Telling the man at the comm station where she can be reached if she’s needed. I don’t walk past the door to her quarters this time.
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