Firefly ficlet: Dark (River, Jayne)
Title: Dark
Characters: River, Jayne (maybe a bit of one-sided River/Jayne, if that sort of subtext is something you like)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I was watching the first disc of the show the other day. The muse wanted a snippet of these two interacting. I'm probably channeling something like them being stuck on the ship where the Reaver attack was, but that's not precisely what this is. 800 words.
Note: Set early series? Pre-“Ariel,” probably. Definitely before Serenity. Also, according to a Firefly Pinyinary, the Chinese phrases you’ll run across mean “useless” and “mother of God!,” respectively.
Don't know if this style works for River. Tell me what you think. She was a lot harder to write than I thought. (I think that's why they say to write what you know. I might be marginally crazy, but I'm definitely not a genius.)
Dark
She's not even supposed to be here. They would say. As if a derelict ship could hurt her.
Something's wrong. Something’s always wrong, she thinks-around her, inside her. Mal yells something as sparks come down around them. Simon's wailing from the other side, so it's not his arms that sweep her up off the cold metal floor. Not at all.
"Hang on, Moonbrain," Jayne says as he slings her up onto his back, like he's carrying something important but not very fragile. She likes that. She clings tighter. He grunts. His back is wide and she rests her face against it; he smells like sweat and leather. His steps are heavy, even, and they bounce her. One two, one two, one two.
She does not trust Jayne, but she trusts Simon and Mal. That's enough. It means she can be free to watch and listen to him. One two, one two, watch me, see me. Can't see, though. Only in flashes of light across his face, stubble, scars. Dark hair. Mask. For what? See me, watch me, be fooled.
All of a sudden, the glow behind them goes out, and she feels him suck in a breath. His step falters. "Gorram," he mutters. It makes her nervous. Not too nervous, though. She can't let herself get too nervous, even with the dark. Not if he's-
"This way," she says in his ear, kicking at his left thigh. "Hatch."
He shivers, but he's moving. In a few one-twos, slower now, they stop and step up, over. As he ducks his head, his hand goes back over her, cramming her head down, enormous hands, nails digging into the back of her neck indiscriminately. At first.
"How'd you know it was there?" he says with a friendly tug at her hair, just there at her nape, before he lets go. They’re moving forward again.
"Watching," she replies. "Always."
She can feel the throb of blood in his neck, his arms. She thinks she can hear him planning. Effort. Strategy? He's outlived things that should have killed him. Stronger than strategy, then. Better?
"Need to go up," he says. "Got any notions about how?"
"There's a ladder. We're not-"
She's been getting used to the noise, the dull bangs and hollow metal clangs, but now there’s a loud, high-pitched whine coming from behind her, to the left, far away, where the rest of them are. They’re too slow. It’s loud. She feels herself fading away. The dark is too dark. No more sparks, and the glow is still gone. Footsteps echo worse. She can’t breathe.
Not one-two. Fooled. Lulled. Maybe it was always two by two. Maybe it was-
"Two by two,” she hears her brain saying. It’s loud against his ear, but she can’t stop it. “Hands of blue.”
"Oh no no,” he says. "Talk sense. I've seen you do it." His head shakes, veins in his neck standing out. Jaw clenched. She clenches hers, too. “Of all the mei yong de…"
"Hands of blue. Hands…of..." Her teeth chatter.
"Wo de ma," he mutters. He hitches her up; his hands are keeping her from falling. She counts their steps. One two, three four, five six. She feels like she’s at the end of a long tunnel. Seven eight. Better this way than when she can feel everything. But still. Two by two. And the blue makes her sick to her stomach now. Her heartbeat roars dully in her ears.
He stops moving forward. She feels him shaking his shoulders, like he’s trying to shake right through her. Not trying to shake her off. That's important. Even if he would want to. Does.
He says sharp: "River.”
She comes back to herself, her body, his body underneath hers, the sway of his lumbering steps. He's never said her name before. He's actually talking to her, not at her.
Roar of noise. Clink of footsteps. Dark, flashes of light behind her. Mal has a high beam in his hands. Simon’s voice, bickering with Mal’s voice.
"Ladder-where?" Jayne demands.
"Few meters," she hears herself say. Four, five steps of his long legs. "Keep going." Her fingernails dig into his arm.
From behind her, she hears Simon: "River!"
"Calm down, Doc," Jayne calls back. Voice she can feel. Her hair stands on end. "I got the crazy little monkey. We're going up."
“Follow my voice,” River shouts behind her. Adrenaline? Delirious, now. No. Above, not below, inside it. Riding. Flying.
She reaches out and catches the ladder; her fingers pull his arm until it precisely whacks a rung with a solid ring of metal.
To himself, to her, Jayne mumbles, "Hang on."
He begins to pull her upwards; she doesn't let him drop her.
~
Characters: River, Jayne (maybe a bit of one-sided River/Jayne, if that sort of subtext is something you like)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I was watching the first disc of the show the other day. The muse wanted a snippet of these two interacting. I'm probably channeling something like them being stuck on the ship where the Reaver attack was, but that's not precisely what this is. 800 words.
Note: Set early series? Pre-“Ariel,” probably. Definitely before Serenity. Also, according to a Firefly Pinyinary, the Chinese phrases you’ll run across mean “useless” and “mother of God!,” respectively.
Don't know if this style works for River. Tell me what you think. She was a lot harder to write than I thought. (I think that's why they say to write what you know. I might be marginally crazy, but I'm definitely not a genius.)
Dark
She's not even supposed to be here. They would say. As if a derelict ship could hurt her.
Something's wrong. Something’s always wrong, she thinks-around her, inside her. Mal yells something as sparks come down around them. Simon's wailing from the other side, so it's not his arms that sweep her up off the cold metal floor. Not at all.
"Hang on, Moonbrain," Jayne says as he slings her up onto his back, like he's carrying something important but not very fragile. She likes that. She clings tighter. He grunts. His back is wide and she rests her face against it; he smells like sweat and leather. His steps are heavy, even, and they bounce her. One two, one two, one two.
She does not trust Jayne, but she trusts Simon and Mal. That's enough. It means she can be free to watch and listen to him. One two, one two, watch me, see me. Can't see, though. Only in flashes of light across his face, stubble, scars. Dark hair. Mask. For what? See me, watch me, be fooled.
All of a sudden, the glow behind them goes out, and she feels him suck in a breath. His step falters. "Gorram," he mutters. It makes her nervous. Not too nervous, though. She can't let herself get too nervous, even with the dark. Not if he's-
"This way," she says in his ear, kicking at his left thigh. "Hatch."
He shivers, but he's moving. In a few one-twos, slower now, they stop and step up, over. As he ducks his head, his hand goes back over her, cramming her head down, enormous hands, nails digging into the back of her neck indiscriminately. At first.
"How'd you know it was there?" he says with a friendly tug at her hair, just there at her nape, before he lets go. They’re moving forward again.
"Watching," she replies. "Always."
She can feel the throb of blood in his neck, his arms. She thinks she can hear him planning. Effort. Strategy? He's outlived things that should have killed him. Stronger than strategy, then. Better?
"Need to go up," he says. "Got any notions about how?"
"There's a ladder. We're not-"
She's been getting used to the noise, the dull bangs and hollow metal clangs, but now there’s a loud, high-pitched whine coming from behind her, to the left, far away, where the rest of them are. They’re too slow. It’s loud. She feels herself fading away. The dark is too dark. No more sparks, and the glow is still gone. Footsteps echo worse. She can’t breathe.
Not one-two. Fooled. Lulled. Maybe it was always two by two. Maybe it was-
"Two by two,” she hears her brain saying. It’s loud against his ear, but she can’t stop it. “Hands of blue.”
"Oh no no,” he says. "Talk sense. I've seen you do it." His head shakes, veins in his neck standing out. Jaw clenched. She clenches hers, too. “Of all the mei yong de…"
"Hands of blue. Hands…of..." Her teeth chatter.
"Wo de ma," he mutters. He hitches her up; his hands are keeping her from falling. She counts their steps. One two, three four, five six. She feels like she’s at the end of a long tunnel. Seven eight. Better this way than when she can feel everything. But still. Two by two. And the blue makes her sick to her stomach now. Her heartbeat roars dully in her ears.
He stops moving forward. She feels him shaking his shoulders, like he’s trying to shake right through her. Not trying to shake her off. That's important. Even if he would want to. Does.
He says sharp: "River.”
She comes back to herself, her body, his body underneath hers, the sway of his lumbering steps. He's never said her name before. He's actually talking to her, not at her.
Roar of noise. Clink of footsteps. Dark, flashes of light behind her. Mal has a high beam in his hands. Simon’s voice, bickering with Mal’s voice.
"Ladder-where?" Jayne demands.
"Few meters," she hears herself say. Four, five steps of his long legs. "Keep going." Her fingernails dig into his arm.
From behind her, she hears Simon: "River!"
"Calm down, Doc," Jayne calls back. Voice she can feel. Her hair stands on end. "I got the crazy little monkey. We're going up."
“Follow my voice,” River shouts behind her. Adrenaline? Delirious, now. No. Above, not below, inside it. Riding. Flying.
She reaches out and catches the ladder; her fingers pull his arm until it precisely whacks a rung with a solid ring of metal.
To himself, to her, Jayne mumbles, "Hang on."
He begins to pull her upwards; she doesn't let him drop her.
~