Because it's the 4th...
Happy birthday, goldy_dollar!!!! You're one of the best writers around- in any fandom- and I'm so glad I've gotten to know you, Frances!! *glomps* I hope you have an awesome day!!
And now, just for you, as requested, Firefly fanfic!
Just a little ficlet of one of my all-time favorite M/I moments in canon- from 'Serenity', the ep, not the BDM. :-) Enjoy, I hope you like! *hugs*
More Than Words
Reavers.
The word repeated itself through her thoughts in a mild panic as she rushed foward.
Mal stopped her before she had reached Kaylee's bunk.
“I want you to get in your shuttle. Get the civilians and get ready to go.”
“We can’t just leave you here.”
“Well, that was the plan,” he retorted quickly with a hint of an edge in his tone and she inwardly flinched at his reminder of how she’d threatened to leave if he threw the doctor and his sister off of Serenity. The empty threat she’d made-she couldn’t leave, somehow. No matter how many times she told herself she should-she should have left from the moment she realized her feelings for Mal were- the sort companions weren’t allowed to feel-she had never yet managed to make herself leave.
His gaze was intense, held hers. And she knew what he meant, what he was thinking-because she knew him.
“Mal, don’t do this!” She couldn’t help the pleading tone in her voice.
“We get boarded, you take off. Head for town. We might be able to stop them from following you.”
A surge of denial welled up inside her. “They’ll kill you.” She kept her voice soft, stopped herself from adding that she didn’t know if she could bear leaving him to die horribly at the hands of the Reavers.
He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. Feelings, thoughts, she couldn’t quite decipher passed over his face in rapid succession. “Inara--” he rasped out-and the tone of his voice made her name almost an endearment. She caught her breath. He was struggling with himself, seemed on the verge of saying something-words of caring, of affection- or more than that-the thought of which filled her with a mixture of hope and fear and doubts and gladness and apprehension.
As if he couldn’t help it, governed by an impulse, some feeling, he couldn’t control, he reached out to touch her bare shoulder, the lightest of caresses, so feather-light she could hardly feel it except for the heat his mere touch generated. That awareness that prickled through her, setting every nerve in her body to tingling, the heat that she felt around him so often in some moments. She knew it, recognized it, had felt it often enough that the signs were unmistakable-had feigned it more times than she cared to count.
Attraction.
Desire, even.
But with Mal, it was more than that. That was what made him, made this, so dangerous-because the feelings she had for him, her reaction to him, weren’t only physical. If they were, she could deal with them. She knew physical, understood physical-knew how to deal with it.
It was the other feelings-the worry she felt when he was out on a job, the way she felt when she saw him smile… It was the sadness in him, the idealism of him despite the cynicism he showed to the world, that somehow touched her, moved her-even though she didn’t want to be moved. It was something about him, about his character, that struck a spark inside her, challenged her, which she responded to on a visceral level.
He swallowed again, dropped his hand-and the moment was over.
“Go,” was all he said, but the urgency in his voice was unmistakable and she knew she had to listen.
He turned and left, returning to Wash and the bridge.
She stared after him for a moment.
Mal…
With Mal, what he didn’t say was always more important than what he did say.
She knew that now, had even sensed it from the moment she met him.
And what he hadn’t said just then told her more than anything else-he cared about her. And not just in his automatic, protective ‘You’re on my crew’ sort of way-there had been more than that in his tone, in his expression, in his eyes… She knew what he hadn’t said-that he needed to know she at least had the chance to save herself, that no matter what happened to him, he would die easier knowing she was safe from the ravages of the Reavers…
For a moment, she didn’t know how she would make herself leave him-but the thought of the doctor, his poor sister, of the Shepherd, prodded her into action. If only for their sakes, she needed to do as Mal had told her to do-all the while praying that Wash would manage, somehow, to outrun the Reavers.
It couldn’t end like this-this couldn’t be the end for them…
Please… Wash… We need a miracle…
~*~
And now, just for you, as requested, Firefly fanfic!
Just a little ficlet of one of my all-time favorite M/I moments in canon- from 'Serenity', the ep, not the BDM. :-) Enjoy, I hope you like! *hugs*
More Than Words
Reavers.
The word repeated itself through her thoughts in a mild panic as she rushed foward.
Mal stopped her before she had reached Kaylee's bunk.
“I want you to get in your shuttle. Get the civilians and get ready to go.”
“We can’t just leave you here.”
“Well, that was the plan,” he retorted quickly with a hint of an edge in his tone and she inwardly flinched at his reminder of how she’d threatened to leave if he threw the doctor and his sister off of Serenity. The empty threat she’d made-she couldn’t leave, somehow. No matter how many times she told herself she should-she should have left from the moment she realized her feelings for Mal were- the sort companions weren’t allowed to feel-she had never yet managed to make herself leave.
His gaze was intense, held hers. And she knew what he meant, what he was thinking-because she knew him.
“Mal, don’t do this!” She couldn’t help the pleading tone in her voice.
“We get boarded, you take off. Head for town. We might be able to stop them from following you.”
A surge of denial welled up inside her. “They’ll kill you.” She kept her voice soft, stopped herself from adding that she didn’t know if she could bear leaving him to die horribly at the hands of the Reavers.
He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. Feelings, thoughts, she couldn’t quite decipher passed over his face in rapid succession. “Inara--” he rasped out-and the tone of his voice made her name almost an endearment. She caught her breath. He was struggling with himself, seemed on the verge of saying something-words of caring, of affection- or more than that-the thought of which filled her with a mixture of hope and fear and doubts and gladness and apprehension.
As if he couldn’t help it, governed by an impulse, some feeling, he couldn’t control, he reached out to touch her bare shoulder, the lightest of caresses, so feather-light she could hardly feel it except for the heat his mere touch generated. That awareness that prickled through her, setting every nerve in her body to tingling, the heat that she felt around him so often in some moments. She knew it, recognized it, had felt it often enough that the signs were unmistakable-had feigned it more times than she cared to count.
Attraction.
Desire, even.
But with Mal, it was more than that. That was what made him, made this, so dangerous-because the feelings she had for him, her reaction to him, weren’t only physical. If they were, she could deal with them. She knew physical, understood physical-knew how to deal with it.
It was the other feelings-the worry she felt when he was out on a job, the way she felt when she saw him smile… It was the sadness in him, the idealism of him despite the cynicism he showed to the world, that somehow touched her, moved her-even though she didn’t want to be moved. It was something about him, about his character, that struck a spark inside her, challenged her, which she responded to on a visceral level.
He swallowed again, dropped his hand-and the moment was over.
“Go,” was all he said, but the urgency in his voice was unmistakable and she knew she had to listen.
He turned and left, returning to Wash and the bridge.
She stared after him for a moment.
Mal…
With Mal, what he didn’t say was always more important than what he did say.
She knew that now, had even sensed it from the moment she met him.
And what he hadn’t said just then told her more than anything else-he cared about her. And not just in his automatic, protective ‘You’re on my crew’ sort of way-there had been more than that in his tone, in his expression, in his eyes… She knew what he hadn’t said-that he needed to know she at least had the chance to save herself, that no matter what happened to him, he would die easier knowing she was safe from the ravages of the Reavers…
For a moment, she didn’t know how she would make herself leave him-but the thought of the doctor, his poor sister, of the Shepherd, prodded her into action. If only for their sakes, she needed to do as Mal had told her to do-all the while praying that Wash would manage, somehow, to outrun the Reavers.
It couldn’t end like this-this couldn’t be the end for them…
Please… Wash… We need a miracle…
~*~