River, Author - Chapter 8
River, Author
Chapter 8
Rating: PG
By Abby (rosasdelcorazon@yahoo.com)
Note: Hello! It's me again. This has been a long time in coming. I sincerely apologise. I lost my muse for a really long time, and until I finished my own story, I abstained from reading other fan fic. I had just enough left to complete this chapter in time for Christmas. So please, enjoy :) Please review and give me your honest opinions!
* * * * * * *
His arms stretched out, palms flattened on both opposing walls of the hall. Eyes closed, he tried to tune into the hums, vibrations, the creaks and groans of the ship. Concentrating, he reached out with his mind, seeking any sign of a thought, a feeling, emanating from the cabins...
Aw, hell.
Malcolm dropped his hands at his sides, feeling foolish. He leaned against the bulkhead, the cool of the metal soaking into his skin. He desperately wished he could understand that part of her world, wished just once he could see through her eyes. It seemed an impossibility.
He didn't know what it was he needed to say to River, but it filled him with fear. Fear...and yet, elation also. Everything that had happened seemed to build up into this moment, and the hope that he felt took him completely off guard. When was the last time he had felt it? What power did this young woman have over him, to make him want to care, to make the world right just for her?
He pushed himself up, his weight carried solidly on his own two feet. No more waiting. He knew where she would be. And so, with a shaky hand passed over his eyes and a quiet prayer mumbled, the first in so many dark years, he walked forward.
The closer he came to the cockpit door, the lighter he felt, as if layers of death were being shaken loose and shed with each step, and as he laid his hand upon the door handle, he came to the realization that with this arrival and what followed, his passage to life would be complete.
Reborn.
The door slid easily on its hinges, and a breath of air flew past him, equalizing the atmosphere. At first, all he could see was the dark, but as his eyes adjusted, the orange glow of the control panel became apparent, and oh, the stars. He couldn't remember the last time they seemed so bright. Perhaps he was simply not seeing them right before.
“Wān ān, River?” he asked quietly, almost afraid to disturb the silence.
A movement caught his eye and he saw her rise from where she was seated on the stairs. He took a step inside, the clunk of his heavy boots echoing. He had an urge to remove them, suddenly having the notion that only his bare feet would suffice for this sacred ground. Ludicrous...
“The burning bush in the desert.” River said in response to his thought, her own pink feet walking with ease on the hard, unyielding grate.
Mal laughed, realizing how easily she had heard him think. How much had she heard throughout their time together that she simply kept to herself? He tried to push it out of mind as he pulled his laces loose and shirked off each boot before closing the door behind him.
Finally, he stood up and found her nearby, contemplating him. His toes were starting to get cold. “How the hell do manage to stay warm?” He wondered aloud.
She didn't answer immediately, but simply wiggled her own toes. “Thermal homeostasis.” She smiled at him wryly. “And on occasion, socks.”
He couldn't help but grin at her, appreciating her humor in the gravity of things. But things soon fell serious, Mal once again aware of why he was nervous to come here in the first place. “I really don't know why I'm here, River. Truly, I don't. It's every kind of backward to my nature.”
Her answer was simple. “Yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” He agreed.
Her gaze swept over him, assessing him. “Not contrary to your nature, though. You hold to ideals, lofty ones. Prone to extravagantly chivalrous action. ” They made eye contact, and it unnerved him somehow. “You're quixotic.” She offered a small smile.
He started to step forward, stopping short. His resolve wavered. “Now I can't understand how you could possibly see that, albatross. You make me out to be better than I am.” And I can't ever hope to measure up to that standard, he added silently. “I've failed many a person.” He swallowed, remembering. “Far too many.” Why had he come here?
Her eyes were piercing him, searching for what, he couldn't tell, but after what seemed like eternity, she shook her head wildly, turning away from him and retreated to the other side of the room, trying poorly to maintain composure.
He watched her start to fade, feeling an absolute coward. Her delicate frame was curled, doubled over in her effort to comfort herself, and it brought Malcolm back to the very first moment he ever saw her, vulnerable and exposed, unaware of what was to become of her. She had seen too much, felt too much, carried too much, and here he was, denying her what support she requested. He felt that ache tugging at him from under his ribcage, finally realizing it for what it was. “Nāozhǒng,” He cursed himself. “This is not what I came here to do at all.” He clenched his fists, frustration building up in him, and the anxiety and tension in the room became a creature all its own. He could feel it wind around his legs, rooting him to the spot. It seeped into his head, whispering lies of his uselessness, his hopelessness. He finally couldn’t stand it anymore. An abrupt movement jerked the invisible demon off of him, and he steeled his mind for battle. “What is it you want from me, River?” he asked, surprised at his own bluntness. “Please…how can I help?”
What Mal had been so easy to defeat, River was struggling with with her whole being. He could see her try to drown out the creature’s piercing cry, holding her hands to her ears in a physical attempt to shut it out. “Why can't he see? She wants him to see, but she can't lead the way.” Trembling, she sunk to floor. “Blind leading the blind...”
He flew forward, no longer imprisoned by his own fear, and crouched down close to her, wanting nothing more than to hold her. His mind flashed back to the last time he had attempted to reach out to her, and his skull throbbed at the memory of coming in contact with the floor. His hands were within centimeters of her shoulders, and the gap was practically buzzing with energy. Briefly noting the disparity between his calloused, hardened hands and her milky, nearly translucent skin, he swallowed before continuing. “I want to help.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask permission to touch her, the question reverberating through his head.
It was a brief moment, though it seemed long to Malcolm’s self-control, but at last she nodded her head slowly, seeming to understand what he asked. “Please.” She said softly.
It was all he needed to hear. It hardly seemed a second before he had his hands around her shoulders and brought her in, wrapping his large arms around and pressing her to him. He exhaled deeply, feeling muscles relax and her warm body slowly folding into him. He closed his eyes, his chest welling up with emotions long unstirred, willing the peace coming upon him to transfer to her, feeling her soft sigh in response. Wo de tien a, this felt good.
Moments passed, and everything was perfectly still, save for the steady rhythm of their breathing. River’s trembling had stopped, and Mal was hesitant to move and break the moment. Little by little he leaned back against the nearest console, settling himself to stay awhile. By now his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness, and he took in their surroundings. He had always seen this place as home, and the rustic charm of it suited him. But this, this fragile young woman in his arms, was a complete contradiction to him and his world. He felt completely unworthy of such trust. The question that was perplexing him couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Why me?”
River pulled herself up until she was facing him, and tucked her legs gracefully under. Mal felt the cold creep in from where she had been, and he almost regretted interrupting the quiet until he noticed just how close she was. Her eyes were level with his, serene now, and with the stars reflecting off of them, they were practically dancing. “You see me.”
“I see you…” Could it be that simple? He was expecting something more complex, some explanation that justified all that he had done, redeemed his character. Something was always expected of him, a change that was required in order to make him suitable, wanted. That was what his lot in life had taught him. But there was totality in her statement. To her, there was nothing more to be said. He reveled in this new-found freedom, taking it as open permission, and brought his hand up to cradle her jaw, fingers at the nape of her neck and thumb brushing her cheek. She welcomed it, leaning in. Before he knew it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth. “When I look those eyes of yours, ‘n you’re there, lookin’ back at me, I don’t believe there’s a greater feelin’ in the ‘verse. But when you’re not, 'n there’s only death behind ‘em,” He struggled to control his voice. “Well, it tears me all up to hell.”
River broke eye contact, bowing her head, black hair falling forward, but Malcolm tilted her chin up once more. He didn’t care to see her try to hide. Not anymore. He gently brushed away the stray locks, revealing her face, her fairness luminescent in the black. Tears had appeared under her closed lids, threatening to spill. He leaned forward and, tenderly, as if she was made of glass, he kissed her on her forehead. His lips lingered. He wished it were more, that he could express himself fully. When they were both healed, and both able to fully be themselves again, he would share that with her. Someday. But for now, he would wait.
After a moment, River blinked, moved back and to her feet in one swift movement, leaving Mal on the floor. Before he could follow her lead, she had flitted down the front stairs, back to where she had been sitting previously. She picked an item up and returned, kneeling in front of him. She fingered it briefly, unwrapping the ribbon, before holding it out to him.
The journal.
Its blue cloth had frayed slightly at the corners, showing that it had been used and served its purpose well. Mal received the proffered gift, not sure what to do. He had wanted to see inside River’s head for so long, and now that she was giving him a chance to, he no longer felt the overwhelming craving. River’s complete trust had satiated him.
When he didn’t open it straightaway, River reached over and opened it herself, now eager for him to read it. “I wrote about you. Your situation is enigmatic, hard to classify.” She pointed at one reference before flipping a few more pages. “But the patterns emerged...” He stopped her hands with his own, and she looked up. “We've been approaching our situations wrong, Mal.” She was determined to make him see, and her words were startlingly clear. “It is not enough for us to conquer our own sphere. Even God gets lonely.”
Malcolm nodded. Her words were strong, and he realized that they both had been drifting until their solitary worlds had collided with each other. He saw her, and she saw him. They were not so different. “I s'pose you're right, in a sense. We both got some learnin' to do about dependin' on others.” He put the journal aside, laying it down on the console, not giving it any more thought. He took her hand and she intertwined her small fingers with his. “Let's start here, shall we?”
River smiled.
~ * ~
THE END.
Notes:
This is the end of this series, or, at least, the end of this section. I might eventually add on some one-shots related to this series. I do plan on going back and touching up the second chapter and a couple other spots where formatting errors escaped my eye.
A song that inspired me greatly was “Beautiful Things” by Andain. If I can ever get it figured out, I'll post a fan-video with that song.
Also, I don't know if you noticed, but I referenced several pieces of literature and fiction throughout this story. Some of them are obvious, and some are not. I'd be curious to see if someone caught my last one.
Thank you so much for your reviews!
Haven't read my story in a while?
Click on the following link to get caught up:
River, Author (FFN)
Chapter 8
Rating: PG
By Abby (rosasdelcorazon@yahoo.com)
Note: Hello! It's me again. This has been a long time in coming. I sincerely apologise. I lost my muse for a really long time, and until I finished my own story, I abstained from reading other fan fic. I had just enough left to complete this chapter in time for Christmas. So please, enjoy :) Please review and give me your honest opinions!
* * * * * * *
His arms stretched out, palms flattened on both opposing walls of the hall. Eyes closed, he tried to tune into the hums, vibrations, the creaks and groans of the ship. Concentrating, he reached out with his mind, seeking any sign of a thought, a feeling, emanating from the cabins...
Aw, hell.
Malcolm dropped his hands at his sides, feeling foolish. He leaned against the bulkhead, the cool of the metal soaking into his skin. He desperately wished he could understand that part of her world, wished just once he could see through her eyes. It seemed an impossibility.
He didn't know what it was he needed to say to River, but it filled him with fear. Fear...and yet, elation also. Everything that had happened seemed to build up into this moment, and the hope that he felt took him completely off guard. When was the last time he had felt it? What power did this young woman have over him, to make him want to care, to make the world right just for her?
He pushed himself up, his weight carried solidly on his own two feet. No more waiting. He knew where she would be. And so, with a shaky hand passed over his eyes and a quiet prayer mumbled, the first in so many dark years, he walked forward.
The closer he came to the cockpit door, the lighter he felt, as if layers of death were being shaken loose and shed with each step, and as he laid his hand upon the door handle, he came to the realization that with this arrival and what followed, his passage to life would be complete.
Reborn.
The door slid easily on its hinges, and a breath of air flew past him, equalizing the atmosphere. At first, all he could see was the dark, but as his eyes adjusted, the orange glow of the control panel became apparent, and oh, the stars. He couldn't remember the last time they seemed so bright. Perhaps he was simply not seeing them right before.
“Wān ān, River?” he asked quietly, almost afraid to disturb the silence.
A movement caught his eye and he saw her rise from where she was seated on the stairs. He took a step inside, the clunk of his heavy boots echoing. He had an urge to remove them, suddenly having the notion that only his bare feet would suffice for this sacred ground. Ludicrous...
“The burning bush in the desert.” River said in response to his thought, her own pink feet walking with ease on the hard, unyielding grate.
Mal laughed, realizing how easily she had heard him think. How much had she heard throughout their time together that she simply kept to herself? He tried to push it out of mind as he pulled his laces loose and shirked off each boot before closing the door behind him.
Finally, he stood up and found her nearby, contemplating him. His toes were starting to get cold. “How the hell do manage to stay warm?” He wondered aloud.
She didn't answer immediately, but simply wiggled her own toes. “Thermal homeostasis.” She smiled at him wryly. “And on occasion, socks.”
He couldn't help but grin at her, appreciating her humor in the gravity of things. But things soon fell serious, Mal once again aware of why he was nervous to come here in the first place. “I really don't know why I'm here, River. Truly, I don't. It's every kind of backward to my nature.”
Her answer was simple. “Yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” He agreed.
Her gaze swept over him, assessing him. “Not contrary to your nature, though. You hold to ideals, lofty ones. Prone to extravagantly chivalrous action. ” They made eye contact, and it unnerved him somehow. “You're quixotic.” She offered a small smile.
He started to step forward, stopping short. His resolve wavered. “Now I can't understand how you could possibly see that, albatross. You make me out to be better than I am.” And I can't ever hope to measure up to that standard, he added silently. “I've failed many a person.” He swallowed, remembering. “Far too many.” Why had he come here?
Her eyes were piercing him, searching for what, he couldn't tell, but after what seemed like eternity, she shook her head wildly, turning away from him and retreated to the other side of the room, trying poorly to maintain composure.
He watched her start to fade, feeling an absolute coward. Her delicate frame was curled, doubled over in her effort to comfort herself, and it brought Malcolm back to the very first moment he ever saw her, vulnerable and exposed, unaware of what was to become of her. She had seen too much, felt too much, carried too much, and here he was, denying her what support she requested. He felt that ache tugging at him from under his ribcage, finally realizing it for what it was. “Nāozhǒng,” He cursed himself. “This is not what I came here to do at all.” He clenched his fists, frustration building up in him, and the anxiety and tension in the room became a creature all its own. He could feel it wind around his legs, rooting him to the spot. It seeped into his head, whispering lies of his uselessness, his hopelessness. He finally couldn’t stand it anymore. An abrupt movement jerked the invisible demon off of him, and he steeled his mind for battle. “What is it you want from me, River?” he asked, surprised at his own bluntness. “Please…how can I help?”
What Mal had been so easy to defeat, River was struggling with with her whole being. He could see her try to drown out the creature’s piercing cry, holding her hands to her ears in a physical attempt to shut it out. “Why can't he see? She wants him to see, but she can't lead the way.” Trembling, she sunk to floor. “Blind leading the blind...”
He flew forward, no longer imprisoned by his own fear, and crouched down close to her, wanting nothing more than to hold her. His mind flashed back to the last time he had attempted to reach out to her, and his skull throbbed at the memory of coming in contact with the floor. His hands were within centimeters of her shoulders, and the gap was practically buzzing with energy. Briefly noting the disparity between his calloused, hardened hands and her milky, nearly translucent skin, he swallowed before continuing. “I want to help.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask permission to touch her, the question reverberating through his head.
It was a brief moment, though it seemed long to Malcolm’s self-control, but at last she nodded her head slowly, seeming to understand what he asked. “Please.” She said softly.
It was all he needed to hear. It hardly seemed a second before he had his hands around her shoulders and brought her in, wrapping his large arms around and pressing her to him. He exhaled deeply, feeling muscles relax and her warm body slowly folding into him. He closed his eyes, his chest welling up with emotions long unstirred, willing the peace coming upon him to transfer to her, feeling her soft sigh in response. Wo de tien a, this felt good.
Moments passed, and everything was perfectly still, save for the steady rhythm of their breathing. River’s trembling had stopped, and Mal was hesitant to move and break the moment. Little by little he leaned back against the nearest console, settling himself to stay awhile. By now his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness, and he took in their surroundings. He had always seen this place as home, and the rustic charm of it suited him. But this, this fragile young woman in his arms, was a complete contradiction to him and his world. He felt completely unworthy of such trust. The question that was perplexing him couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Why me?”
River pulled herself up until she was facing him, and tucked her legs gracefully under. Mal felt the cold creep in from where she had been, and he almost regretted interrupting the quiet until he noticed just how close she was. Her eyes were level with his, serene now, and with the stars reflecting off of them, they were practically dancing. “You see me.”
“I see you…” Could it be that simple? He was expecting something more complex, some explanation that justified all that he had done, redeemed his character. Something was always expected of him, a change that was required in order to make him suitable, wanted. That was what his lot in life had taught him. But there was totality in her statement. To her, there was nothing more to be said. He reveled in this new-found freedom, taking it as open permission, and brought his hand up to cradle her jaw, fingers at the nape of her neck and thumb brushing her cheek. She welcomed it, leaning in. Before he knew it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth. “When I look those eyes of yours, ‘n you’re there, lookin’ back at me, I don’t believe there’s a greater feelin’ in the ‘verse. But when you’re not, 'n there’s only death behind ‘em,” He struggled to control his voice. “Well, it tears me all up to hell.”
River broke eye contact, bowing her head, black hair falling forward, but Malcolm tilted her chin up once more. He didn’t care to see her try to hide. Not anymore. He gently brushed away the stray locks, revealing her face, her fairness luminescent in the black. Tears had appeared under her closed lids, threatening to spill. He leaned forward and, tenderly, as if she was made of glass, he kissed her on her forehead. His lips lingered. He wished it were more, that he could express himself fully. When they were both healed, and both able to fully be themselves again, he would share that with her. Someday. But for now, he would wait.
After a moment, River blinked, moved back and to her feet in one swift movement, leaving Mal on the floor. Before he could follow her lead, she had flitted down the front stairs, back to where she had been sitting previously. She picked an item up and returned, kneeling in front of him. She fingered it briefly, unwrapping the ribbon, before holding it out to him.
The journal.
Its blue cloth had frayed slightly at the corners, showing that it had been used and served its purpose well. Mal received the proffered gift, not sure what to do. He had wanted to see inside River’s head for so long, and now that she was giving him a chance to, he no longer felt the overwhelming craving. River’s complete trust had satiated him.
When he didn’t open it straightaway, River reached over and opened it herself, now eager for him to read it. “I wrote about you. Your situation is enigmatic, hard to classify.” She pointed at one reference before flipping a few more pages. “But the patterns emerged...” He stopped her hands with his own, and she looked up. “We've been approaching our situations wrong, Mal.” She was determined to make him see, and her words were startlingly clear. “It is not enough for us to conquer our own sphere. Even God gets lonely.”
Malcolm nodded. Her words were strong, and he realized that they both had been drifting until their solitary worlds had collided with each other. He saw her, and she saw him. They were not so different. “I s'pose you're right, in a sense. We both got some learnin' to do about dependin' on others.” He put the journal aside, laying it down on the console, not giving it any more thought. He took her hand and she intertwined her small fingers with his. “Let's start here, shall we?”
River smiled.
~ * ~
THE END.
Notes:
This is the end of this series, or, at least, the end of this section. I might eventually add on some one-shots related to this series. I do plan on going back and touching up the second chapter and a couple other spots where formatting errors escaped my eye.
A song that inspired me greatly was “Beautiful Things” by Andain. If I can ever get it figured out, I'll post a fan-video with that song.
Also, I don't know if you noticed, but I referenced several pieces of literature and fiction throughout this story. Some of them are obvious, and some are not. I'd be curious to see if someone caught my last one.
Thank you so much for your reviews!
Haven't read my story in a while?
Click on the following link to get caught up:
River, Author (FFN)