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ineedmyfics2010-09-12 10:52 pm
ineedmymods) wrote in ineedmyfics2010-09-12 10:52 pm
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Untitled
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hfleming8
Fromspeak_candidly
Title: Untitled
Fandom: Firefly
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Nothing
Mal thought he was going crazy when he first heard that voice, coming out of a little girl's mouth.
What did he expect, River wanted to know, from a girl that heard the dead?
She didn't say it like that. She used a lot of big words and metaphors that he had Inara explain to him later.
It had started when he tried to replace Wash's chair. Something about the gaping hole in it made him uncomfortable, but the Kaylee and Inara had both protested, while Zoe stood on as stiff and professional as the day he met her. Jayne complained about having to stand around with the tools while they argued, as Simon muttered something about it being healthier to hold on to good memories instead of assigning significance to objects without inherent value. Mal was considering beginning to shout, being captain and all, but River had said that the chair liked it there, and curled up so comfortable in it that he allowed the pilot could decide on her own seat. He'd turned all the piloting over when she's started explaining how mass of a certain space station would create a gravity well one-sixty-seventh the force of Persephone, and throw off his calculations for docking. When his standard for a good landing was that they didn't break anything, he thought might delegate the grunt work to the resident genius and spend his time coming up with cunning plans for new and exciting crime.
But later that night, Mal went to the bridge to look at the stars. The Black outside was better than the black of his eyelids, which played with too many scenes he'd seen before. River was still there, sitting cross-legged in her seat and clutching plastic dinosaurs in both fists. They never greeted each other, but when he turned to leave, she said, "If you turn off the porchlight, he will never find his way home in the dark."
Mal had seen plenty of people die. They never found their way back. Lights only stayed on until people realized that, then they turned it off and got used to the dark. River knew death as well as he did. Maybe better. He couldn't figure out how to tell her that – how you just had to go on living and find light somewhere else.
Then a few days later, they'd been having dinner, which Jayne had cooked, and River's mouth had opened with a crack about personalities with deeper layers, followed by another layer the same as the first, and something about pie. It was her voice, but the pitch, intonation, the quality, and definitely the sense of humor was Wash.
They all looked at her, and as Mal searched his memory for a clear picture of Wash making the same joke, he knew every other crew member did the same.
He never had. River continued into a monologue on the fractal properties of certain vegetables, but the first line had been original Hoban Washburne.
And Mal remembered all the times River had spoken of herself in the third person, and how some of what she said was straight out of his own head. How sometimes, she just said what someone nearby was thinking.
Then she'd looked at him, called him a boob, and confirmed it with all those big words he had to get explained to him afterwards.
She'd also laughed in a way that made his hair stand on end, since he was used to hearing that laugh in a very different voice, and imagined River's head in a hawaiian shirt with that stupid mustache from Wash's interview tacked over her grin.
But a little hole inside him had filled in at one look at Zoe's face.
So the ghost of Wash joined the crew again.
After a while, it was no stranger than River talking to her old hallucinations, and a lot less creepifying than having her go on about silent dead and brains going squish.
The dinosaurs' voices got a lot better, as River played one and Wash played the other, although Mal was pretty sure the story of This Land had never involved a rebel army riding cavalry-style on the dinosaurs' backs to attack the Alliance.
Between River's genius and Wash's advice, Serenity had never been in less danger of crashing into anything, which Mal approved of, since his ship had crashed once already and he didn't like the sensation.
But sometimes he caught River murmuring to the air, crouched backwards in the pilot seat, looking at the hole rammed through the middle with an expression he couldn't put a name to.
One night, he found River in the kitchen with Zoe, holding the woman that was twice her size with body language that was firm and masculine, and utterly unlike the dancer that padded through the halls.
Simon generally ignored it all, although he sometimes watched River with an expression of discomfort that made Mal's own stomach stir up with an uncomfortableness he couldn't explain.
River'd screamed and sobbed and shut down before when they were in places strong with the voices of the dead. Now she seemed so happy to chatter on with someone no one else could see. They could talk to Wash – tell him what was going on, hear him make jokes in stressful spots, and never have that moment where the conversation stops because someone who would have said something, who they were waiting to say something, never did. The joke was told, they heard that laugh again, and they never had to stop and wish.
The day River actually showed up in one of Wash's old shirts made him stop and stare, though. Kaylee'd seen it first. She hesitated in the door to the bridge and looked back at him with an expression that he'd never seen before. He came up to look, too, and seeing River's tiny frame drowning in a button down with orange and purple hibiscus made something in his stomach clench up. They'd ignored it, though, and eventually got used to it.
It was a couple of weeks before Mal realized he hadn't heard River's own laugh in a while. She did it often, now, freer with her smiles since the weight of a dead world had been spread around a little, but now it always came out as Wash. It was nice to hear, but Mal missed the gleeful giggle that he used to hear from her.
River and Simon still talked, but when it turned to teasing, Mal recognized the humor. She never once called him a boob, and after a particularly noisy night of Kaylee and him "affirming life" led to a couple of double entendres that sounded like they drew from personal experience she shouldn't have had.
Finally, Mal was walking around late again, his trick of avoiding nightmares now part of his daily routine, when he saw a light in the kitchen. He suddenly felt like he should walk soft. Normally, he would thump extra loud just for that, but he came up quietly instead and stood in the doorway.
Zoe wasn't looking at River. Mal couldn't tell if her eyes were closed or she was just studying her hands, but she had that line to her shoulders that used to mean they'd just lost someone in battle and she was trying to hold it together enough to get by.
He'd seen it on her when she'd lost Wash.
River was talking too soft for Mal to hear. She'd drawn up next to Zoe, murmuring into her ear. Mal still couldn't explain what it was – the angle? the movement? – that told him she was more Wash than River right now, but he saw a moment he'd seen Wash and Zoe in many times before, recreated in the faint light of the stove lamp. It was the moment he'd interrupted years ago with a demand to know what was going on, did Wash think he was cuddling up to his first mate, were they-- he'd continued with a suggestion Zoe had punched him for. Except every other time, Zoe's face had lit with a smile Mal had never been able to get out of her, that was reserved for only Wash. She didn't smile now. She looked like she was poised on that sharp, painful edge just before pleasure, when the sensation desperately longed for, slowly built up, achingly wanted, just doesn't quite come. Where you shake because you're terrified it never will. Where, if you stay there long enough, you become convinced it won't, and something in you or your relationship dies a little.
River's hand, Wash's hand, reached to stroke Zoe's face and hovered just above her skin.
Zoe's expression broke. She turned away and stood as fast as she could. Mal didn't think she even saw him as she went by.
He looked in at River, who looked back at him with Hoban's eyes. Mal tried to decide what to say.
Wash spoke first.
"It's dark when you die."
He didn't say anything else for a minute. Mal went in and sat down. "I always kind of liked the dark."
"I never did. Not without stars, at least. Too much time underground, I guess."
Wash had never made a reference to his time as a POW before to Mal. If Mal hadn't seen him stumble naked out of his bunk one day when they'd accidentally picked up some bad bok choy to get to the head, and seen the tattoo on his ankle, Mal never would have known. "You can't stay here," Mal finally said.
"I know."
"Why'd you come?"
"Oh, I had options. I'm a man in demand. If death were a fancy party, I was a good-looking woman with a large dowry and a collapsible bodice."
"So why here?"
Wash smiled. "Why would I want to leave Serenity?" His eyes changed, flicking back and forth between Hoban and River's expression. It settled back on him, and he spread dainty, feminine hands on the table in front of him.
Mal had already seen his friend die once. He really didn't want to do it again.
Wash clenched his fists and slumped back in his chair. "I know now." His eyes closed, and River sighed.
hfleming8From
speak_candidlyTitle: Untitled
Fandom: Firefly
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Nothing
Mal thought he was going crazy when he first heard that voice, coming out of a little girl's mouth.
What did he expect, River wanted to know, from a girl that heard the dead?
She didn't say it like that. She used a lot of big words and metaphors that he had Inara explain to him later.
It had started when he tried to replace Wash's chair. Something about the gaping hole in it made him uncomfortable, but the Kaylee and Inara had both protested, while Zoe stood on as stiff and professional as the day he met her. Jayne complained about having to stand around with the tools while they argued, as Simon muttered something about it being healthier to hold on to good memories instead of assigning significance to objects without inherent value. Mal was considering beginning to shout, being captain and all, but River had said that the chair liked it there, and curled up so comfortable in it that he allowed the pilot could decide on her own seat. He'd turned all the piloting over when she's started explaining how mass of a certain space station would create a gravity well one-sixty-seventh the force of Persephone, and throw off his calculations for docking. When his standard for a good landing was that they didn't break anything, he thought might delegate the grunt work to the resident genius and spend his time coming up with cunning plans for new and exciting crime.
But later that night, Mal went to the bridge to look at the stars. The Black outside was better than the black of his eyelids, which played with too many scenes he'd seen before. River was still there, sitting cross-legged in her seat and clutching plastic dinosaurs in both fists. They never greeted each other, but when he turned to leave, she said, "If you turn off the porchlight, he will never find his way home in the dark."
Mal had seen plenty of people die. They never found their way back. Lights only stayed on until people realized that, then they turned it off and got used to the dark. River knew death as well as he did. Maybe better. He couldn't figure out how to tell her that – how you just had to go on living and find light somewhere else.
Then a few days later, they'd been having dinner, which Jayne had cooked, and River's mouth had opened with a crack about personalities with deeper layers, followed by another layer the same as the first, and something about pie. It was her voice, but the pitch, intonation, the quality, and definitely the sense of humor was Wash.
They all looked at her, and as Mal searched his memory for a clear picture of Wash making the same joke, he knew every other crew member did the same.
He never had. River continued into a monologue on the fractal properties of certain vegetables, but the first line had been original Hoban Washburne.
And Mal remembered all the times River had spoken of herself in the third person, and how some of what she said was straight out of his own head. How sometimes, she just said what someone nearby was thinking.
Then she'd looked at him, called him a boob, and confirmed it with all those big words he had to get explained to him afterwards.
She'd also laughed in a way that made his hair stand on end, since he was used to hearing that laugh in a very different voice, and imagined River's head in a hawaiian shirt with that stupid mustache from Wash's interview tacked over her grin.
But a little hole inside him had filled in at one look at Zoe's face.
So the ghost of Wash joined the crew again.
After a while, it was no stranger than River talking to her old hallucinations, and a lot less creepifying than having her go on about silent dead and brains going squish.
The dinosaurs' voices got a lot better, as River played one and Wash played the other, although Mal was pretty sure the story of This Land had never involved a rebel army riding cavalry-style on the dinosaurs' backs to attack the Alliance.
Between River's genius and Wash's advice, Serenity had never been in less danger of crashing into anything, which Mal approved of, since his ship had crashed once already and he didn't like the sensation.
But sometimes he caught River murmuring to the air, crouched backwards in the pilot seat, looking at the hole rammed through the middle with an expression he couldn't put a name to.
One night, he found River in the kitchen with Zoe, holding the woman that was twice her size with body language that was firm and masculine, and utterly unlike the dancer that padded through the halls.
Simon generally ignored it all, although he sometimes watched River with an expression of discomfort that made Mal's own stomach stir up with an uncomfortableness he couldn't explain.
River'd screamed and sobbed and shut down before when they were in places strong with the voices of the dead. Now she seemed so happy to chatter on with someone no one else could see. They could talk to Wash – tell him what was going on, hear him make jokes in stressful spots, and never have that moment where the conversation stops because someone who would have said something, who they were waiting to say something, never did. The joke was told, they heard that laugh again, and they never had to stop and wish.
The day River actually showed up in one of Wash's old shirts made him stop and stare, though. Kaylee'd seen it first. She hesitated in the door to the bridge and looked back at him with an expression that he'd never seen before. He came up to look, too, and seeing River's tiny frame drowning in a button down with orange and purple hibiscus made something in his stomach clench up. They'd ignored it, though, and eventually got used to it.
It was a couple of weeks before Mal realized he hadn't heard River's own laugh in a while. She did it often, now, freer with her smiles since the weight of a dead world had been spread around a little, but now it always came out as Wash. It was nice to hear, but Mal missed the gleeful giggle that he used to hear from her.
River and Simon still talked, but when it turned to teasing, Mal recognized the humor. She never once called him a boob, and after a particularly noisy night of Kaylee and him "affirming life" led to a couple of double entendres that sounded like they drew from personal experience she shouldn't have had.
Finally, Mal was walking around late again, his trick of avoiding nightmares now part of his daily routine, when he saw a light in the kitchen. He suddenly felt like he should walk soft. Normally, he would thump extra loud just for that, but he came up quietly instead and stood in the doorway.
Zoe wasn't looking at River. Mal couldn't tell if her eyes were closed or she was just studying her hands, but she had that line to her shoulders that used to mean they'd just lost someone in battle and she was trying to hold it together enough to get by.
He'd seen it on her when she'd lost Wash.
River was talking too soft for Mal to hear. She'd drawn up next to Zoe, murmuring into her ear. Mal still couldn't explain what it was – the angle? the movement? – that told him she was more Wash than River right now, but he saw a moment he'd seen Wash and Zoe in many times before, recreated in the faint light of the stove lamp. It was the moment he'd interrupted years ago with a demand to know what was going on, did Wash think he was cuddling up to his first mate, were they-- he'd continued with a suggestion Zoe had punched him for. Except every other time, Zoe's face had lit with a smile Mal had never been able to get out of her, that was reserved for only Wash. She didn't smile now. She looked like she was poised on that sharp, painful edge just before pleasure, when the sensation desperately longed for, slowly built up, achingly wanted, just doesn't quite come. Where you shake because you're terrified it never will. Where, if you stay there long enough, you become convinced it won't, and something in you or your relationship dies a little.
River's hand, Wash's hand, reached to stroke Zoe's face and hovered just above her skin.
Zoe's expression broke. She turned away and stood as fast as she could. Mal didn't think she even saw him as she went by.
He looked in at River, who looked back at him with Hoban's eyes. Mal tried to decide what to say.
Wash spoke first.
"It's dark when you die."
He didn't say anything else for a minute. Mal went in and sat down. "I always kind of liked the dark."
"I never did. Not without stars, at least. Too much time underground, I guess."
Wash had never made a reference to his time as a POW before to Mal. If Mal hadn't seen him stumble naked out of his bunk one day when they'd accidentally picked up some bad bok choy to get to the head, and seen the tattoo on his ankle, Mal never would have known. "You can't stay here," Mal finally said.
"I know."
"Why'd you come?"
"Oh, I had options. I'm a man in demand. If death were a fancy party, I was a good-looking woman with a large dowry and a collapsible bodice."
"So why here?"
Wash smiled. "Why would I want to leave Serenity?" His eyes changed, flicking back and forth between Hoban and River's expression. It settled back on him, and he spread dainty, feminine hands on the table in front of him.
Mal had already seen his friend die once. He really didn't want to do it again.
Wash clenched his fists and slumped back in his chair. "I know now." His eyes closed, and River sighed.
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Just such a pleasure to read.
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Thanks so much for writing with us!
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Brilliant concept taken to perfect execution. Masterfully, powerfully done.
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Thank you for reading it!
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But just imagine River sitting at the controls, going (in a voice deeper than her own) "Mine is an evil laugh!"
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I felt for everyone here - especially for River, who has to carry his burden, and Zoe, who I expected to lose patience with River but handled it gracefully and with so much strength.
And it's so true that Wash wouldn't want to leave.
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Thank you for reading!
Thank you so much for this
I can’t think of any way to improve this. Great job.