Firefly - Green-Eyed Monster
Title: Green-Eyed Monster
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters and settings referred to here are not mine. They are Joss's. No infringement is intended and I'm not making any money from this story.
Summary: Mal's dancing, but not with River.
Author's note: I've had several things lying around, almost finished, and I'm trying to get them done, so, here's another one for my 10_hurt_comfort table. The prompt is "Jealousy". The rest of these are probably going to take a while longer. Set some time after the movie. With thanks to geek_mama_2 for beta reading and suggestions.
Green-Eyed Monster
by Hereswith
He’s dancing. Dancing. River loses her momentum and skids to a halt, shaking her head at her partner, claiming she’s too tired to continue, even though she isn’t. Believing her, the young man disappears into the crowd, and she leans back, shoulders squared against the nearby wall, her attention on the captain.
He seems to enjoy it, or maybe the pleasure has less to do with the actual dancing than with the golden-haired creature in his arms. It’s the woman, Petra, who owns the barn in which the dance is held, who’s had her eye on Mal since they arrived, and, at the moment, a great deal more: her hand is at his neck, her curves flush against him, and River’s stomach flips and knots.
She watches the pair, with gnawing unease, and when the musicians pause, Petra falls into conversation with one of the older farmers, while Mal, spotting River alone, gravitates towards her.
“Ain’t you dancing?”
“I was,” she replies. “But I stopped.”
“I can see that,” he says, amused. “Why?”
He’s bright-faced and ruffled from the exertion, his sleeves rolled up high and one button too many undone in his shirt, and the knot inside her tightens, like it’s being tugged.
“She’s beautiful,” she comments, hedging the question.
“Petra?” She nods, and he says, “Yes, she is.”
It’s an honest answer, and the words tumble out before she can check them, both denial and refusal. “Wouldn’t work between you. She doesn’t like flying.”
It throws him, but then he replies, “Wasn’t exactly planning to marry her.”
“Ended up with a wife once, when you didn’t expect it,” she retorts, and tries not to imagine what he might have planned instead. “You should be more careful.”
His brows snap together. “What’s this about?”
The gaze he levels on her is intent, a piercing blue, and she averts her own gaze, fixing it on the planks beneath her. “Nothing.”
He snorts. “And pigs have wings, do they? It’s plain as day. So,” he prompts her, “are you going to tell me?”
River, reluctant to say, nudges at a straw on the floor with the tip of her boot, pushing it to slip into a crack. He might find her childish, if she spells it out, and that’s the last thing she wants. The very last. But he doesn’t leave, doesn’t abandon her to brooding, he merely stands there, a quiet presence, impossible to ignore, until she’s compelled to look at him again.
His arms are crossed, fingers tapping his elbow. “Still waiting.”
She opens her mouth, and closes it. The musicians are picking up their instruments, the fiddler setting a tune, and further off, past the captain, she catches sight of Kaylee, stretching to whisper in Simon’s ear, causing her brother to laugh.
“Ain’t a reader,” Mal reminds her. “Can’t sort it out none, if you ain’t talking.”
He has a point, a valid point, though she’s loath to admit it, and it’s obvious he won’t let it rest unless she gives him an explanation. Wetting dry lips, she begins. “You were dancing.”
“And?” he says. “Mightn’t be such a commonplace occurrence, but I don’t rightly get what has you riled.”
She draws a breath. “Didn’t ask me.”
His expression floods with comprehension, and surprise, and if she’d been able to sink through wood, then, she would have.
“Darlin’,” he says, in a softened tone. “She did the asking, not the other way ‘round. And there are boys aplenty far better at it would take you for a spin. Wouldn’t have thought you’d care to dance with a grumpy old capt’n.”
“You’re not,” she replies, but amends, “Old, I mean. The rest is true.” He chuckles, slightly, and she feels rush of heat in her cheeks, but forges ahead. “And I would care to.”
He grows serious, regarding her. “I’ve more years on you than I’d like to recall,” he says, but there’s something in his eyes, a current running contrary, and he adds, “I’d probably step on your toes. Near did with her, you know.”
“Don’t mind,” she assures, lifting her foot up and flexing it to show. “Got combat boots on.”
“That you have.”
It’s almost a concession, but her hopes are dashed when Petra reappears, a honey-gold whirlwind, pulling at him to follow. River turns aside, gritting her teeth against the disappointment, certain it’s ruined, that he'll go with that woman, whose circuits are all connected, without a second's hesitation; not her, not mixed-up, moonbrained River Tam.
Then his voice cuts through to her, and she stills, because he says, addressing Petra, “Reckon the next one’s already spoken for.” River glances sharply at him and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Ain’t that so?”
And she grins, her heart beating in time with the music. “Yes,” she confirms. “Spoken for and promised. To me.”
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters and settings referred to here are not mine. They are Joss's. No infringement is intended and I'm not making any money from this story.
Summary: Mal's dancing, but not with River.
Author's note: I've had several things lying around, almost finished, and I'm trying to get them done, so, here's another one for my 10_hurt_comfort table. The prompt is "Jealousy". The rest of these are probably going to take a while longer. Set some time after the movie. With thanks to geek_mama_2 for beta reading and suggestions.
Green-Eyed Monster
by Hereswith
He’s dancing. Dancing. River loses her momentum and skids to a halt, shaking her head at her partner, claiming she’s too tired to continue, even though she isn’t. Believing her, the young man disappears into the crowd, and she leans back, shoulders squared against the nearby wall, her attention on the captain.
He seems to enjoy it, or maybe the pleasure has less to do with the actual dancing than with the golden-haired creature in his arms. It’s the woman, Petra, who owns the barn in which the dance is held, who’s had her eye on Mal since they arrived, and, at the moment, a great deal more: her hand is at his neck, her curves flush against him, and River’s stomach flips and knots.
She watches the pair, with gnawing unease, and when the musicians pause, Petra falls into conversation with one of the older farmers, while Mal, spotting River alone, gravitates towards her.
“Ain’t you dancing?”
“I was,” she replies. “But I stopped.”
“I can see that,” he says, amused. “Why?”
He’s bright-faced and ruffled from the exertion, his sleeves rolled up high and one button too many undone in his shirt, and the knot inside her tightens, like it’s being tugged.
“She’s beautiful,” she comments, hedging the question.
“Petra?” She nods, and he says, “Yes, she is.”
It’s an honest answer, and the words tumble out before she can check them, both denial and refusal. “Wouldn’t work between you. She doesn’t like flying.”
It throws him, but then he replies, “Wasn’t exactly planning to marry her.”
“Ended up with a wife once, when you didn’t expect it,” she retorts, and tries not to imagine what he might have planned instead. “You should be more careful.”
His brows snap together. “What’s this about?”
The gaze he levels on her is intent, a piercing blue, and she averts her own gaze, fixing it on the planks beneath her. “Nothing.”
He snorts. “And pigs have wings, do they? It’s plain as day. So,” he prompts her, “are you going to tell me?”
River, reluctant to say, nudges at a straw on the floor with the tip of her boot, pushing it to slip into a crack. He might find her childish, if she spells it out, and that’s the last thing she wants. The very last. But he doesn’t leave, doesn’t abandon her to brooding, he merely stands there, a quiet presence, impossible to ignore, until she’s compelled to look at him again.
His arms are crossed, fingers tapping his elbow. “Still waiting.”
She opens her mouth, and closes it. The musicians are picking up their instruments, the fiddler setting a tune, and further off, past the captain, she catches sight of Kaylee, stretching to whisper in Simon’s ear, causing her brother to laugh.
“Ain’t a reader,” Mal reminds her. “Can’t sort it out none, if you ain’t talking.”
He has a point, a valid point, though she’s loath to admit it, and it’s obvious he won’t let it rest unless she gives him an explanation. Wetting dry lips, she begins. “You were dancing.”
“And?” he says. “Mightn’t be such a commonplace occurrence, but I don’t rightly get what has you riled.”
She draws a breath. “Didn’t ask me.”
His expression floods with comprehension, and surprise, and if she’d been able to sink through wood, then, she would have.
“Darlin’,” he says, in a softened tone. “She did the asking, not the other way ‘round. And there are boys aplenty far better at it would take you for a spin. Wouldn’t have thought you’d care to dance with a grumpy old capt’n.”
“You’re not,” she replies, but amends, “Old, I mean. The rest is true.” He chuckles, slightly, and she feels rush of heat in her cheeks, but forges ahead. “And I would care to.”
He grows serious, regarding her. “I’ve more years on you than I’d like to recall,” he says, but there’s something in his eyes, a current running contrary, and he adds, “I’d probably step on your toes. Near did with her, you know.”
“Don’t mind,” she assures, lifting her foot up and flexing it to show. “Got combat boots on.”
“That you have.”
It’s almost a concession, but her hopes are dashed when Petra reappears, a honey-gold whirlwind, pulling at him to follow. River turns aside, gritting her teeth against the disappointment, certain it’s ruined, that he'll go with that woman, whose circuits are all connected, without a second's hesitation; not her, not mixed-up, moonbrained River Tam.
Then his voice cuts through to her, and she stills, because he says, addressing Petra, “Reckon the next one’s already spoken for.” River glances sharply at him and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Ain’t that so?”
And she grins, her heart beating in time with the music. “Yes,” she confirms. “Spoken for and promised. To me.”