Firefly - Giselle (2/?)
Title: Giselle
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Disclaimer: I do not own.
Beta-Reader: A big thank you to revdorothyl.
Character/Pairings: Jayne/River, Regan
Rating: R
Warnings: Post BDM, Violence of the Reavers and Blue Hands variety.
Notes: The prequel to Little Girl Lost, taking place three months after Miranda is exposed, and three years before Gabriel Tam sets out to find River.
Summary: As the Alliance is ripped apart at the seams, they attempt to recapture their masterpiece. The story of how Jayne Cobb and River Tam left Serenity.
Chapter Two
“You don’t want anyone to know about ‘em.” Jayne nicks his thumb with his Bowie knife. A fat droplet of blood forms. “They won’t hear it from me.”
River slices her own thumb open with her right top incisor. Jayne shifts, his eyes darkening. River links her bloody thumb with his. “Thank you,” she says as her red mixes with his red.
The crew of Serenity don’t find out about the Blue Hands on Hecate. Not from Jayne, and not from her.
River doesn’t want to be the reason the tranquil new atmosphere of her home shrivels up, as Serenity makes the transition from small smuggling ship to family vessel with the announcement of Zoë’s pregnancy. She’s already caused Zoë and all the rest enough heartbreak. The selfish part of River just doesn’t want to give them another reason to hate her. The hate is dulling with time, but it’s still there under the surface of all other emotions and still pulsing, never letting her forget that despite what Mal might say, people do blame her for Wash and for Book and for Haven.
Jayne doesn’t want Mal to find out because he knows Mal. Mal would get all his old comrades together and attempt to launch the next full-scale War of the Independents against the Alliance. There’s no need for that when the Alliance is toppling apart on its own. Jayne knows the game of war just like he knows Death’s loving caress. He knows that if the Browncoats attack the Core then all the little Core pawns will take up arms -- not to defend the Alliance but to defend their home against the big bad Independents. Better to leave it alone and let the Alliance run its course. Its days are numbered, and as long as no trigger-happy idiots jump the gun it would crumble to dust.
Jayne’s bought her silence with material comforts, like gloves and a glass of cider, and River’s loyalty by spilling blood for her. He takes her back to the ship, where he gets in trouble for taking River to a bar and allowing the crazy girl to have alcohol (“Oh sure. It’s all Jayne’s fault the girl’s the biggest lightweight to ever live!”), and the Blue Hands are never mentioned.
Mercenary and pilot fall back into their established roles and the connection River made with Jayne that day seems to melt away. But that’s the beautiful thing about appearances; they’re just that: appearances.
In front of the crew, Jayne is just as crude toward her as ever, but underneath all his hurtful words there’s a steady pulse of devotion. When she pauses to think about it, she knows automatically that it’s been there since Mr. Universe’s moon, when the blast doors opened to reveal her standing victorious over the bodies of a pack of Reavers.
Jayne’s worst nightmare.
In the early days on Serenity, after emerging from her box, River had walked freely in the minds of all the crew (often getting lost), pushing open loose doors, digging up forgotten secrets in her attempt to determine who would be the biggest threat.
Jayne automatically assumed that role when she couldn’t open the large iron door buried at the back of his mind. When she pressed her ear against its cold keyhole, she could hear snarls and the howl of the hunt, followed by screams that sounded so much like hers when the needles were pushed through her eyes.
“You look better in red.” An unfamiliar man’s voice hissed and a child screamed as the smell of burning flesh attacked River’s nose.
Now that she’s somewhat sane (and who really is ever one-hundred-percent sane?), River’s not sure she wants to open that door, even if she still had that ability. Mother had warned her to be careful opening doors; they were usually closed, locked, and bolted for a very good reason.
~*~
“You have to remember, dearest,” her mother says as she paints River’s nails. They were going to a ballet production of Sleeping Beauty that night and Mother had given in without much fight to her six-year-old’s demands that she be made to look as beautiful as her mother. “When we dig through the tangled knot that is a person’s mind and draw up a certain memory, our subject views it as well, which is why you have to be very careful.”
“Because then they could know that they’re being Read,” River says, wiggling her bottom in her mother’s lap to get more comfortable. “If they have received training.”
“Left,” her mother orders. River immediately offers up her left hand. Regan kisses her forehead as she adjusts her daughter’s hands on her vanity table. She takes up the nailbrush and coats River’s left pointer nail a dark shade of pink. “Exactly, dearest. They could know they’re being Read, and then?”
“They would follow their training and through the use of the process of elimination discover who the Reader is, whom they must then report to the Government, and-”
“Then those poor souls are taken away. Forever.” Regan carefully places the nailbrush back in its container and wraps her arms tightly around River. “Which is why we must be so careful, especially since you and I,” she places another kiss on River’s forehead and whispers in her ear, “are special. Even for Readers.”
River turns around to snuggle against her mother, staining Regan’s dressing gown with pink nail polish as she digs her small fingers into the folds. “Natasha Ansanelli is going to trip in the second act during the Entrée de l'apparition d'Aurore.”
“I know,” Regan tapped River’s nose. “We must try very hard not to laugh.”
~*~
There is something prowling behind Jayne’s door. A monster that haunts him as Miranda haunted her; the only difference is that this secret belongs to Jayne, while Miranda was never hers.
Perhaps he’ll confide in her one day, as she confides in him now. She just hopes that her shoulders are strong enough.
She sits sideways on the stairs, her legs and arms between the railings, watching Jayne as he does his reps. Since no one else is around (big brother Simon being busy doing unspeakable acts with Kaylee in the engine room, Mal off insulting Inara in her shuttle, and Zoë indulging in one of her daily naps in the common room) River decides it’s safe to tell Jayne: “I could walk through locked doors.”
Jayne almost drops the barbell on himself.
River politely applauds as he catches it before it can crush his windpipe. The muscles in his arms ripple as he struggles to raise the weight again and place it safely in its holder.
“You!” Jayne leaps up off the workbench and stalks over to her. “Do that again and I’ll break ya in two.” He leans against the railing, looking down at her, sweat dripping down his skin.
“You said something about locked doors an’ walkin’ through ‘em?” His mind fills with all the banks they could have robbed if he’d known this sooner and how much they could have made. River finds herself rather impressed with his quick calculations, even if he does forget to divide the total sum by two.
“Yes,” River stretches out her arm and pats the crown of his head. “In here.”
Jayne is unimpressed. “Thet supposed to mean something?”
She nods. “Once upon a time, you wouldn’t have been able to hide anything from me. Your mind would have been the equivalent of an open book - a diary I’d picked the lock of.”
“Jayne Cobb does not have a diary.” Jayne tries to distract her, as multiple doors in his mind slam shut.
“Strange, when Jayne,” River fights to restrain her grin as she makes her killing move, “is a girl’s name.”
Just like that, the doors fly open. All the doors, except for the big, iron one.
“Ew!” River immediately regrets winning. “Inara and Kaylee have never done that!”
Jayne leans in, his eyebrows wiggling. “Do tell.” He focuses on a particularly dirty image involving the women in question.
River slams her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes tight, as if that would stop the images from assaulting her mind. “That’s not physically possible!”
It takes her more time than she’d like, but she manages to shove Jayne’s thoughts back from whence they came. She releases a little sigh as she regains control of the reins that are her new, fragile blocks.
She opens her eyes to see Jayne with his arms crossed, tapping a beat out on his left bicep.
“Ya done bein’ crazy?”
River sticks her tongue out at him. “No.”
“Great.” Jayne reaches out to touch one of the gloves he bought her. “Doc notice anything?” he asks, and she knows he’s not just inquiring after her new fashion choice.
River shakes her head ruefully.
Her brother had only complimented her on her new gloves after Kaylee had brought them to his attention by loudly praising River on their shiny shade of red at dinner a couple of nights ago. Simon had proceeded to stumble over himself, trying to make it up to River by complimenting her on how grown up she looked, and wondered aloud to himself where she’d gotten the gloves and pondered why he couldn’t remember her ever liking gloves before. He had immediately fallen silent at that point and studied her for the rest of the evening.
River knows that as soon as Simon excused himself that night from dinner, he returned to his notes in the hopes of discovering a reason behind this new development. He’d be crossing his fingers, praying that the gloves wouldn’t have some darker connection to the Academy, and even if he didn’t find anything, he’d still regard them suspiciously for as long as River wore them, simply because she hadn’t worn gloves such as these before the Academy.
River pulls at a loose thread at the bottom of her dress. “Odile can never hope to be loved as Odette was, as Odette was pure and Odile is only a manifestation of Odette created with the intent to cause harm unto all who see her and attempt to love her.” River tugs on the thread till it’s as long as her arm. “Simon is going to need his sister to come up with an elaborate prank, if he is to be reassured,” River says, wishing it was possible for her to just grow up without Simon constantly worrying that everything she does and says that does not fit Simon’s perfect vision of her has some sinister origin.
“I can git you a family of dead mice for a price,” Jayne offers. “Rats are extra.”
River contemplates Simon’s face as he pulls back the sheets for bed and finds a dead mouse. Suitable revenge. “We’ll talk,” she promises.
Jayne smirks. “I’ll give ya a discount if you git me a picture of his face.”
“How much of a discount?”
“I’ll throw in a rat fer free.”
“Done.” River sticks out her hand to seal the deal.
Jayne grasps her hand in his, giving it a brief shake, but doesn’t let go. He brings her hand up high as it will go, almost at his eye level.
“How’re yer wrists?” He hooks a finger under the edge of her wool glove and slowly drags it down from her elbow, his pinkie finger skimming her flesh. The orange bandage that was once a part of his shirt has several brown spots from her blood. “Sore?”
“Itchy,” River admits.
“Scratch an’ you’ll scar.”
River rolls her eyes. “I don’t plan to. I have already acquired more than my fair share.”
Jayne looks down at her, puzzlement apparent in his frown.
River takes up his hand and gently presses it against her left temple. Moves his hand to the center of her forehead. To her right temple. Draws his fingers through her tangled hair and across her scalp and tries not to shudder when his nails scratch the ridges left where they cut into her skull over and over again.
“I struggled too much, despite the restraints,” River murmurs. “They had to bring in a skilled plastic surgeon to restore the damage done to my face, my eyes.” She touches the center of each eyelid with her free hand. “They left the ones under my hair as repairing them would cost more of the taxpayers’ credits than they were willing to part with, and it was not as if anyone would ever notice. No one would ever get that close. Although,” she pauses to repress the shudder that threatens to overcome her entire body and leave her a quivering mass of flesh, “that would have changed when I was older. More... developed.”
“You remember the one who did this one?” Jayne traced the long line at the base of her skull.
River stumbles out of her trance. “Yes...”
“Draw him fer me, an’ next time we land in Osiris,” Jayne cups her face, forcing her to look into his blue eyes as his thumbs rub her cheeks. “I’ll give ya his head.” His voice goes soft as his eyes glaze over, “I’ll give ya all their heads. Every. Last. One.”
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Disclaimer: I do not own.
Beta-Reader: A big thank you to revdorothyl.
Character/Pairings: Jayne/River, Regan
Rating: R
Warnings: Post BDM, Violence of the Reavers and Blue Hands variety.
Notes: The prequel to Little Girl Lost, taking place three months after Miranda is exposed, and three years before Gabriel Tam sets out to find River.
Summary: As the Alliance is ripped apart at the seams, they attempt to recapture their masterpiece. The story of how Jayne Cobb and River Tam left Serenity.
Chapter Two
“You don’t want anyone to know about ‘em.” Jayne nicks his thumb with his Bowie knife. A fat droplet of blood forms. “They won’t hear it from me.”
River slices her own thumb open with her right top incisor. Jayne shifts, his eyes darkening. River links her bloody thumb with his. “Thank you,” she says as her red mixes with his red.
The crew of Serenity don’t find out about the Blue Hands on Hecate. Not from Jayne, and not from her.
River doesn’t want to be the reason the tranquil new atmosphere of her home shrivels up, as Serenity makes the transition from small smuggling ship to family vessel with the announcement of Zoë’s pregnancy. She’s already caused Zoë and all the rest enough heartbreak. The selfish part of River just doesn’t want to give them another reason to hate her. The hate is dulling with time, but it’s still there under the surface of all other emotions and still pulsing, never letting her forget that despite what Mal might say, people do blame her for Wash and for Book and for Haven.
Jayne doesn’t want Mal to find out because he knows Mal. Mal would get all his old comrades together and attempt to launch the next full-scale War of the Independents against the Alliance. There’s no need for that when the Alliance is toppling apart on its own. Jayne knows the game of war just like he knows Death’s loving caress. He knows that if the Browncoats attack the Core then all the little Core pawns will take up arms -- not to defend the Alliance but to defend their home against the big bad Independents. Better to leave it alone and let the Alliance run its course. Its days are numbered, and as long as no trigger-happy idiots jump the gun it would crumble to dust.
Jayne’s bought her silence with material comforts, like gloves and a glass of cider, and River’s loyalty by spilling blood for her. He takes her back to the ship, where he gets in trouble for taking River to a bar and allowing the crazy girl to have alcohol (“Oh sure. It’s all Jayne’s fault the girl’s the biggest lightweight to ever live!”), and the Blue Hands are never mentioned.
Mercenary and pilot fall back into their established roles and the connection River made with Jayne that day seems to melt away. But that’s the beautiful thing about appearances; they’re just that: appearances.
In front of the crew, Jayne is just as crude toward her as ever, but underneath all his hurtful words there’s a steady pulse of devotion. When she pauses to think about it, she knows automatically that it’s been there since Mr. Universe’s moon, when the blast doors opened to reveal her standing victorious over the bodies of a pack of Reavers.
Jayne’s worst nightmare.
In the early days on Serenity, after emerging from her box, River had walked freely in the minds of all the crew (often getting lost), pushing open loose doors, digging up forgotten secrets in her attempt to determine who would be the biggest threat.
Jayne automatically assumed that role when she couldn’t open the large iron door buried at the back of his mind. When she pressed her ear against its cold keyhole, she could hear snarls and the howl of the hunt, followed by screams that sounded so much like hers when the needles were pushed through her eyes.
“You look better in red.” An unfamiliar man’s voice hissed and a child screamed as the smell of burning flesh attacked River’s nose.
Now that she’s somewhat sane (and who really is ever one-hundred-percent sane?), River’s not sure she wants to open that door, even if she still had that ability. Mother had warned her to be careful opening doors; they were usually closed, locked, and bolted for a very good reason.
~*~
“You have to remember, dearest,” her mother says as she paints River’s nails. They were going to a ballet production of Sleeping Beauty that night and Mother had given in without much fight to her six-year-old’s demands that she be made to look as beautiful as her mother. “When we dig through the tangled knot that is a person’s mind and draw up a certain memory, our subject views it as well, which is why you have to be very careful.”
“Because then they could know that they’re being Read,” River says, wiggling her bottom in her mother’s lap to get more comfortable. “If they have received training.”
“Left,” her mother orders. River immediately offers up her left hand. Regan kisses her forehead as she adjusts her daughter’s hands on her vanity table. She takes up the nailbrush and coats River’s left pointer nail a dark shade of pink. “Exactly, dearest. They could know they’re being Read, and then?”
“They would follow their training and through the use of the process of elimination discover who the Reader is, whom they must then report to the Government, and-”
“Then those poor souls are taken away. Forever.” Regan carefully places the nailbrush back in its container and wraps her arms tightly around River. “Which is why we must be so careful, especially since you and I,” she places another kiss on River’s forehead and whispers in her ear, “are special. Even for Readers.”
River turns around to snuggle against her mother, staining Regan’s dressing gown with pink nail polish as she digs her small fingers into the folds. “Natasha Ansanelli is going to trip in the second act during the Entrée de l'apparition d'Aurore.”
“I know,” Regan tapped River’s nose. “We must try very hard not to laugh.”
~*~
There is something prowling behind Jayne’s door. A monster that haunts him as Miranda haunted her; the only difference is that this secret belongs to Jayne, while Miranda was never hers.
Perhaps he’ll confide in her one day, as she confides in him now. She just hopes that her shoulders are strong enough.
She sits sideways on the stairs, her legs and arms between the railings, watching Jayne as he does his reps. Since no one else is around (big brother Simon being busy doing unspeakable acts with Kaylee in the engine room, Mal off insulting Inara in her shuttle, and Zoë indulging in one of her daily naps in the common room) River decides it’s safe to tell Jayne: “I could walk through locked doors.”
Jayne almost drops the barbell on himself.
River politely applauds as he catches it before it can crush his windpipe. The muscles in his arms ripple as he struggles to raise the weight again and place it safely in its holder.
“You!” Jayne leaps up off the workbench and stalks over to her. “Do that again and I’ll break ya in two.” He leans against the railing, looking down at her, sweat dripping down his skin.
“You said something about locked doors an’ walkin’ through ‘em?” His mind fills with all the banks they could have robbed if he’d known this sooner and how much they could have made. River finds herself rather impressed with his quick calculations, even if he does forget to divide the total sum by two.
“Yes,” River stretches out her arm and pats the crown of his head. “In here.”
Jayne is unimpressed. “Thet supposed to mean something?”
She nods. “Once upon a time, you wouldn’t have been able to hide anything from me. Your mind would have been the equivalent of an open book - a diary I’d picked the lock of.”
“Jayne Cobb does not have a diary.” Jayne tries to distract her, as multiple doors in his mind slam shut.
“Strange, when Jayne,” River fights to restrain her grin as she makes her killing move, “is a girl’s name.”
Just like that, the doors fly open. All the doors, except for the big, iron one.
“Ew!” River immediately regrets winning. “Inara and Kaylee have never done that!”
Jayne leans in, his eyebrows wiggling. “Do tell.” He focuses on a particularly dirty image involving the women in question.
River slams her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes tight, as if that would stop the images from assaulting her mind. “That’s not physically possible!”
It takes her more time than she’d like, but she manages to shove Jayne’s thoughts back from whence they came. She releases a little sigh as she regains control of the reins that are her new, fragile blocks.
She opens her eyes to see Jayne with his arms crossed, tapping a beat out on his left bicep.
“Ya done bein’ crazy?”
River sticks her tongue out at him. “No.”
“Great.” Jayne reaches out to touch one of the gloves he bought her. “Doc notice anything?” he asks, and she knows he’s not just inquiring after her new fashion choice.
River shakes her head ruefully.
Her brother had only complimented her on her new gloves after Kaylee had brought them to his attention by loudly praising River on their shiny shade of red at dinner a couple of nights ago. Simon had proceeded to stumble over himself, trying to make it up to River by complimenting her on how grown up she looked, and wondered aloud to himself where she’d gotten the gloves and pondered why he couldn’t remember her ever liking gloves before. He had immediately fallen silent at that point and studied her for the rest of the evening.
River knows that as soon as Simon excused himself that night from dinner, he returned to his notes in the hopes of discovering a reason behind this new development. He’d be crossing his fingers, praying that the gloves wouldn’t have some darker connection to the Academy, and even if he didn’t find anything, he’d still regard them suspiciously for as long as River wore them, simply because she hadn’t worn gloves such as these before the Academy.
River pulls at a loose thread at the bottom of her dress. “Odile can never hope to be loved as Odette was, as Odette was pure and Odile is only a manifestation of Odette created with the intent to cause harm unto all who see her and attempt to love her.” River tugs on the thread till it’s as long as her arm. “Simon is going to need his sister to come up with an elaborate prank, if he is to be reassured,” River says, wishing it was possible for her to just grow up without Simon constantly worrying that everything she does and says that does not fit Simon’s perfect vision of her has some sinister origin.
“I can git you a family of dead mice for a price,” Jayne offers. “Rats are extra.”
River contemplates Simon’s face as he pulls back the sheets for bed and finds a dead mouse. Suitable revenge. “We’ll talk,” she promises.
Jayne smirks. “I’ll give ya a discount if you git me a picture of his face.”
“How much of a discount?”
“I’ll throw in a rat fer free.”
“Done.” River sticks out her hand to seal the deal.
Jayne grasps her hand in his, giving it a brief shake, but doesn’t let go. He brings her hand up high as it will go, almost at his eye level.
“How’re yer wrists?” He hooks a finger under the edge of her wool glove and slowly drags it down from her elbow, his pinkie finger skimming her flesh. The orange bandage that was once a part of his shirt has several brown spots from her blood. “Sore?”
“Itchy,” River admits.
“Scratch an’ you’ll scar.”
River rolls her eyes. “I don’t plan to. I have already acquired more than my fair share.”
Jayne looks down at her, puzzlement apparent in his frown.
River takes up his hand and gently presses it against her left temple. Moves his hand to the center of her forehead. To her right temple. Draws his fingers through her tangled hair and across her scalp and tries not to shudder when his nails scratch the ridges left where they cut into her skull over and over again.
“I struggled too much, despite the restraints,” River murmurs. “They had to bring in a skilled plastic surgeon to restore the damage done to my face, my eyes.” She touches the center of each eyelid with her free hand. “They left the ones under my hair as repairing them would cost more of the taxpayers’ credits than they were willing to part with, and it was not as if anyone would ever notice. No one would ever get that close. Although,” she pauses to repress the shudder that threatens to overcome her entire body and leave her a quivering mass of flesh, “that would have changed when I was older. More... developed.”
“You remember the one who did this one?” Jayne traced the long line at the base of her skull.
River stumbles out of her trance. “Yes...”
“Draw him fer me, an’ next time we land in Osiris,” Jayne cups her face, forcing her to look into his blue eyes as his thumbs rub her cheeks. “I’ll give ya his head.” His voice goes soft as his eyes glaze over, “I’ll give ya all their heads. Every. Last. One.”