Mal/River Prompt 3 - Sense of Direction
Title: Sense of Direction
Author: Ana Sedai
Rating: PG
Character(s): Mal, River
Prompt: 048 - Direction
Word Count: 784
Author’s Note: Third for Joss100. Feedback = Happy Author.
Summary: What do you do when you can’t tell up from down?
**********************************************************
It was getting so it was damn hard to remember which way was up. Mal wasn’t used to the feeling, and he didn’t like it. Not a bit. He didn’t like that the cause of his discomfort was a slip of a girl who probably didn’t weigh more than fourty kilos, soaking wet. He really didn’t like that thoughts about this slip of a girl were invading his dreams. And he especially didn’t like that said slip of a girl had taken to watching him all the time. In the cockpit, at dinner, in the cargo bay, it was getting so he couldn’t turn around without seeing her standing there with her old eyes that seemed to burn into his soul.
Mal wasn’t stupid. Nor was he blind. The girl had caught wind of something in his head a few days ago in the cockpit, and now it seemed she was trying to ferret out what it was. He would’ve been angry if he’d thought she was digging through his brain. She’d promised she wouldn’t, though, so he trusted she wouldn’t do it deliberate-like. That did not, mean, however, that she wouldn’t try to pick up something by “accident”. She couldn’t always control what she heard, just like folks couldn’t always control what they thought. So, she stuck close to him, on the off, or not-so-off, chance that something would get through.
He preferred not to think on what that something might be.
Well, best of luck to her. For his own part, Mal didn’t even know what he thought. He knew she could kick his ass with both hands tied behind her back. He knew she was healing, but still incredibly fragile. He knew she put him on edge, and not just because she could probably lay him out in five seconds flat. That was all he knew, however. The rest was a gray, foggy mess that he did his best to push to the back of his mind.
It was his turn for dish duty that night, and everyone else had headed for their bunks, excepting Simon, of course, who had headed off with Kaylee to her bunk. He was busy drying the last of the glasses when he felt her behind him. That was another consequence of her being around him so much, he could feel it when she was near. He didn’t want to consider the implications of that particular thought.
“You think I need protection.” Well, that answered the question of whether or not she’d heard anything from him. “You think I'm still broken.” He sighed and then turned around. This might be better done face to face.
Sure ‘nuff, there she was, with her billowy dress and her cloud of dark hair and her intense eyes. The dim light hit her face so that her eyes seemed almost luminous. All of a sudden his mind flashed on the memory of her standing all alone amongst a pile of dead Reavers, looking at him with that exact same expression.
He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Little one, it’s not a matter of thinkin’. It’s a matter of what is.” He sat down and massaged the bridge of his nose. Damn, he really didn’t want to deal with this. “I don’t know what you think you’re listenin’ for from me, but it won’t change anything, even if you find it.”
She looked at him for another moment, her head cocked. Then she kneeled beside him and took his hand from his face. She held his larger hand in her two smaller ones and gazed at his palm. She ran the tip of one finger over the creases and calluses, the accumulation of a lifetime of work and worry and war. He let her, all of a sudden too tired to stop her. He felt very old.
She dropped his hand and looked up at him, then lifted her own and cupped his cheek. “You think you’re broken, too. You’re not, just cracked.”
His eyes slid shut. He was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic. “Girl, that is an understatement of epic proportions.” He stood up, and her hand slid off his face. He looked down at her and cursed her damn insight. “Don’t be pinnin’ your hopes on me, little Albatross. Broken or cracked, I’m damaged goods. I don’t have much of a rudder to speak of, and my sense of direction is damn shaky.”
She didn’t say anything, just gave him that same level look. In frustration (whether with her or himself, he didn’t know), he spun around and headed for his bunk. She still hadn’t moved by the time he climbed down.
Author: Ana Sedai
Rating: PG
Character(s): Mal, River
Prompt: 048 - Direction
Word Count: 784
Author’s Note: Third for Joss100. Feedback = Happy Author.
Summary: What do you do when you can’t tell up from down?
**********************************************************
It was getting so it was damn hard to remember which way was up. Mal wasn’t used to the feeling, and he didn’t like it. Not a bit. He didn’t like that the cause of his discomfort was a slip of a girl who probably didn’t weigh more than fourty kilos, soaking wet. He really didn’t like that thoughts about this slip of a girl were invading his dreams. And he especially didn’t like that said slip of a girl had taken to watching him all the time. In the cockpit, at dinner, in the cargo bay, it was getting so he couldn’t turn around without seeing her standing there with her old eyes that seemed to burn into his soul.
Mal wasn’t stupid. Nor was he blind. The girl had caught wind of something in his head a few days ago in the cockpit, and now it seemed she was trying to ferret out what it was. He would’ve been angry if he’d thought she was digging through his brain. She’d promised she wouldn’t, though, so he trusted she wouldn’t do it deliberate-like. That did not, mean, however, that she wouldn’t try to pick up something by “accident”. She couldn’t always control what she heard, just like folks couldn’t always control what they thought. So, she stuck close to him, on the off, or not-so-off, chance that something would get through.
He preferred not to think on what that something might be.
Well, best of luck to her. For his own part, Mal didn’t even know what he thought. He knew she could kick his ass with both hands tied behind her back. He knew she was healing, but still incredibly fragile. He knew she put him on edge, and not just because she could probably lay him out in five seconds flat. That was all he knew, however. The rest was a gray, foggy mess that he did his best to push to the back of his mind.
It was his turn for dish duty that night, and everyone else had headed for their bunks, excepting Simon, of course, who had headed off with Kaylee to her bunk. He was busy drying the last of the glasses when he felt her behind him. That was another consequence of her being around him so much, he could feel it when she was near. He didn’t want to consider the implications of that particular thought.
“You think I need protection.” Well, that answered the question of whether or not she’d heard anything from him. “You think I'm still broken.” He sighed and then turned around. This might be better done face to face.
Sure ‘nuff, there she was, with her billowy dress and her cloud of dark hair and her intense eyes. The dim light hit her face so that her eyes seemed almost luminous. All of a sudden his mind flashed on the memory of her standing all alone amongst a pile of dead Reavers, looking at him with that exact same expression.
He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Little one, it’s not a matter of thinkin’. It’s a matter of what is.” He sat down and massaged the bridge of his nose. Damn, he really didn’t want to deal with this. “I don’t know what you think you’re listenin’ for from me, but it won’t change anything, even if you find it.”
She looked at him for another moment, her head cocked. Then she kneeled beside him and took his hand from his face. She held his larger hand in her two smaller ones and gazed at his palm. She ran the tip of one finger over the creases and calluses, the accumulation of a lifetime of work and worry and war. He let her, all of a sudden too tired to stop her. He felt very old.
She dropped his hand and looked up at him, then lifted her own and cupped his cheek. “You think you’re broken, too. You’re not, just cracked.”
His eyes slid shut. He was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic. “Girl, that is an understatement of epic proportions.” He stood up, and her hand slid off his face. He looked down at her and cursed her damn insight. “Don’t be pinnin’ your hopes on me, little Albatross. Broken or cracked, I’m damaged goods. I don’t have much of a rudder to speak of, and my sense of direction is damn shaky.”
She didn’t say anything, just gave him that same level look. In frustration (whether with her or himself, he didn’t know), he spun around and headed for his bunk. She still hadn’t moved by the time he climbed down.