Fic: River See
FANDOM: Firefly
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: Challenge, Drama, Angst
SUMMARY: River sees, River doesn't.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for the first round of Jossverse Last Author Standing as an answer to the prompt "Habits". As of 2/13/12 this story has been edited all over, because while the core concept was solid the execution was, shall we say, a little messy.
Simon is organizing his infirmary. River watches him sort his equipment (badly-made, out-of-date, broken) and catalog his medicines (not enough), making everything orderly and comforting. Simon frowns, annoyed by the things that aren’t there, and River feels a bad-familiar twinge under her ribcage.
Simon’s all blues and silvers in a world that’s suddenly brown and red. There’s no camouflage.
“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” River says. “That was a terrible error.”
Simon turns quickly, and his face does that broken complicated thing that says too much (sad tired lonely) and too little (love) all at once.
“I know it’s not home, mei-mei,” he says, looking away again. “It will get better.” He’s heard what she’s said but not what she’s saying, and now he’s stiff and hurt, pulled in like a snail without a house.
River’s gotten it wrong. River gets it wrong a lot, now that she’s only girl-shaped and not girl-made. She used to be right, always right (capital of Persephone square root of 37,585,643 plie-jete-arabesque) but that was Before. River’s in the New World now, O Pioneer in the black. Rules are no longer applicable. Language is problematic and appears to be faulty.
Simon gets sad and that’s bad.
River sits with Kaylee and Serenity to think, Serenity throb-throbbing like drums and Kaylee bright and clear like singing. Kaylee shines around the engine, telling stories about a little girl learning at her daddy’s knee (that’s metaphorical, you can’t learn engine repair sitting down. Silly goose).
“Monkey see, monkey do,” Kaylee laughs, watching and repeating her daddy’s dance.
River frowns, letting the Kaylee-Serenity duet fade into the background. Simon doesn’t get sad around other people the same way he gets sad around River. Therefore (scientific method) other people do something that River does not. Therefore, if River can (compare and contrast in three paragraphs or less) figure out where the difference lies, she can modulate her behavior appropriately (broken doll on the floor, too late for sorries).
“You look pretty serious, sweetie - is something wrong?”
“Monkey’s broken,” River says pensively. Kaylee saw, Kaylee learned, and River’s always been good at learning dances. “Do you think it would help?”
Kaylee’s warm and close, like a hug. “Would what help?”
“New dance,” River says decisively. “It’s a workable theory, anyway.”
She leaves Kaylee standing like a question mark and goes for the heart, where the home is. She perches on the counter. Possible a pith helmet would make her a more believable nature documentarian, but she’ll just have to make do.
“Hello, River,” Shepherd Book says kindly, puttering about the (abbey kitchen, starship kitchen, kettle over a campfire). “What are you up to?”
Shepherd Book is all words, art in heaven and tell me or it will go worse for you. Jayne is at the table. He’s all edges, sharp (knives) and hard (guns), the whsshh whsshh of steel on a whetstone. Zoe comes in, watching always watching (windows doors entrances exits) followed by Wash, who sees the darkness and swoops straight into it with his light, laughing as he goes. Inara argues (grace and beauty and the precision of a tea ceremony) with the Captain, who curls around his pain like an angry dog (never leave Serenity never never).
“River?” Shepherd Book asks.
“Habits,” River says absently. “Habitats. Migratory patterns.”
Words are problematic, so River cannot learn from Shepherd Book or Wash. She is already watchful like Zoe and graceful like Inara (dancing grace and dancing pain aren’t the same thing), and anyway she can’t go around making tea all the time. Nobody would be able to drink it all. It upsets Simon when she dances with weapons, so she can’t learn from Jayne. The Captain’s pain determines his actions, and pain is a terrible predictor, so the Captain is useless to her as well.
“This is ridiculous,” River snaps, irritated. It’s too noisy in the kitchen to think anyway, and it just gets louder when they all stop and stare at her (pity irritation confusion dismissal). River stomps off, less effective in bare feet than it would have been in combat boots.
She sits on Simon’s counter and watches him, scowling. He’s all precision, everything in its place, sterile and neat, and it makes River want to throw things mess it up muss that tidy outside. There is no new data here - the entire idea was ludicrous anyway. Broken dolls can’t learn how to be fixed, everybody knows that, they need someone to fix -
Oh.
Silly River. Simon isn’t precise phrases and starched shirts, Simon fixes. Simon loves, Simon finds, and Simon protects - no matter from what, no matter from who, not if it’s scientists or kidnappers or crazy-as-a-bedbug little sisters. Simon’s migratory pattern goes in crazy (River) search patterns (Simon), and she’s his dance partner.
“If you were lost,” River says, bending her head to look him in the eyes, “I’d come find you. Hide and seek. You can’t hide from me, not even if I had to leave home. You’re my habit, too.”
Simon looks up at her and shines, going from cool and orderly to warm fire on a cold night. No more Doctor - only Simon is left, warm like Kaylee and quiet inside like Inara.
Simon is happy.
River’s gotten it right.
Crossposted to Archive Of Our Own.
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: Challenge, Drama, Angst
SUMMARY: River sees, River doesn't.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for the first round of Jossverse Last Author Standing as an answer to the prompt "Habits". As of 2/13/12 this story has been edited all over, because while the core concept was solid the execution was, shall we say, a little messy.
Simon is organizing his infirmary. River watches him sort his equipment (badly-made, out-of-date, broken) and catalog his medicines (not enough), making everything orderly and comforting. Simon frowns, annoyed by the things that aren’t there, and River feels a bad-familiar twinge under her ribcage.
Simon’s all blues and silvers in a world that’s suddenly brown and red. There’s no camouflage.
“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” River says. “That was a terrible error.”
Simon turns quickly, and his face does that broken complicated thing that says too much (sad tired lonely) and too little (love) all at once.
“I know it’s not home, mei-mei,” he says, looking away again. “It will get better.” He’s heard what she’s said but not what she’s saying, and now he’s stiff and hurt, pulled in like a snail without a house.
River’s gotten it wrong. River gets it wrong a lot, now that she’s only girl-shaped and not girl-made. She used to be right, always right (capital of Persephone square root of 37,585,643 plie-jete-arabesque) but that was Before. River’s in the New World now, O Pioneer in the black. Rules are no longer applicable. Language is problematic and appears to be faulty.
Simon gets sad and that’s bad.
River sits with Kaylee and Serenity to think, Serenity throb-throbbing like drums and Kaylee bright and clear like singing. Kaylee shines around the engine, telling stories about a little girl learning at her daddy’s knee (that’s metaphorical, you can’t learn engine repair sitting down. Silly goose).
“Monkey see, monkey do,” Kaylee laughs, watching and repeating her daddy’s dance.
River frowns, letting the Kaylee-Serenity duet fade into the background. Simon doesn’t get sad around other people the same way he gets sad around River. Therefore (scientific method) other people do something that River does not. Therefore, if River can (compare and contrast in three paragraphs or less) figure out where the difference lies, she can modulate her behavior appropriately (broken doll on the floor, too late for sorries).
“You look pretty serious, sweetie - is something wrong?”
“Monkey’s broken,” River says pensively. Kaylee saw, Kaylee learned, and River’s always been good at learning dances. “Do you think it would help?”
Kaylee’s warm and close, like a hug. “Would what help?”
“New dance,” River says decisively. “It’s a workable theory, anyway.”
She leaves Kaylee standing like a question mark and goes for the heart, where the home is. She perches on the counter. Possible a pith helmet would make her a more believable nature documentarian, but she’ll just have to make do.
“Hello, River,” Shepherd Book says kindly, puttering about the (abbey kitchen, starship kitchen, kettle over a campfire). “What are you up to?”
Shepherd Book is all words, art in heaven and tell me or it will go worse for you. Jayne is at the table. He’s all edges, sharp (knives) and hard (guns), the whsshh whsshh of steel on a whetstone. Zoe comes in, watching always watching (windows doors entrances exits) followed by Wash, who sees the darkness and swoops straight into it with his light, laughing as he goes. Inara argues (grace and beauty and the precision of a tea ceremony) with the Captain, who curls around his pain like an angry dog (never leave Serenity never never).
“River?” Shepherd Book asks.
“Habits,” River says absently. “Habitats. Migratory patterns.”
Words are problematic, so River cannot learn from Shepherd Book or Wash. She is already watchful like Zoe and graceful like Inara (dancing grace and dancing pain aren’t the same thing), and anyway she can’t go around making tea all the time. Nobody would be able to drink it all. It upsets Simon when she dances with weapons, so she can’t learn from Jayne. The Captain’s pain determines his actions, and pain is a terrible predictor, so the Captain is useless to her as well.
“This is ridiculous,” River snaps, irritated. It’s too noisy in the kitchen to think anyway, and it just gets louder when they all stop and stare at her (pity irritation confusion dismissal). River stomps off, less effective in bare feet than it would have been in combat boots.
She sits on Simon’s counter and watches him, scowling. He’s all precision, everything in its place, sterile and neat, and it makes River want to throw things mess it up muss that tidy outside. There is no new data here - the entire idea was ludicrous anyway. Broken dolls can’t learn how to be fixed, everybody knows that, they need someone to fix -
Oh.
Silly River. Simon isn’t precise phrases and starched shirts, Simon fixes. Simon loves, Simon finds, and Simon protects - no matter from what, no matter from who, not if it’s scientists or kidnappers or crazy-as-a-bedbug little sisters. Simon’s migratory pattern goes in crazy (River) search patterns (Simon), and she’s his dance partner.
“If you were lost,” River says, bending her head to look him in the eyes, “I’d come find you. Hide and seek. You can’t hide from me, not even if I had to leave home. You’re my habit, too.”
Simon looks up at her and shines, going from cool and orderly to warm fire on a cold night. No more Doctor - only Simon is left, warm like Kaylee and quiet inside like Inara.
Simon is happy.
River’s gotten it right.
Crossposted to Archive Of Our Own.