(What a Shame)
Title: (What a Shame)
Author: Paraplu_ie (EDIT: All writing will now be posted from my new journal, mizjane. Please add that journal, and not paraplu_ie. Thanks!)
Rating: PG-13? Mild references to violence and blood, nothing gory.
Pairings/Characters: Mal and River. Mal/River implications.
Spoilers: None for film or series
Summary: River inadvertantly peeks into Mal's reoccuring dream.
Excerpt: She balances on the toes of her bare feet, her back to the cold metal door. She closes her eyes, flexes her fingers once or twice to relax herself. He dreams. She listens, quiet as a church mouse in the still, dark places he goes when nobody's watching and he can finally let himself close his eyes.
Author's Note: This is my very first fic (!). I didn't have a beta for this story, so please forgive any strange errors, and point them out so I can change them post-haste. I haven't written anything in a very long time, and I wanted to put this up somewhere before I lost my nerve! Feedback isn't just appreciated, it's probably desperately needed. Tell me what you love, and what you hate.
She doesn't need to peek, usually. She doesn't even like to. Sometimes he just makes it too difficult to follow him like a regular girl would, like when he disappears into his bunk and into his head. Physical retreat is no fair, it leaves her frustrated. He only makes her curious by fleeing, and that makes her follow him where she knows she isn't supposed to go.
She balances on the toes of her bare feet, her back to the cold metal door. She closes her eyes, flexes her fingers once or twice to relax herself. He dreams. She listens, quiet as a church mouse in the still, dark places he goes when nobody's watching and he can finally let himself close his eyes.
It's cold. It's black. Lights flashing, people screaming. She sees his crew strewn around him, falling like dominoes, missing limbs and faces hidden under hair and ash and rock. He can't see their faces, but he knows who they are, and he can't make himself stop knowing even when he tosses in his sleep, not managing to end the vision, though it all flickers for a moment, lights dimming like a brown-out and the film skipping back a second or two.
She sees herself, curled up at his feet. He reaches down, hands trembling in the dream, and as a silent observer, she feels the blood pound through his brain as it pulses rhythmically, telling him he's failed her, he's killed her, he couldn't save her what a shame. You've failed her, your murderer, you've killed her. What a shame.
His hand wasn't on the gun, but neither is it around the neck of the man whose hand was, and for him, that's a failure and a murder all the same.
His pulse quickens as in the dream he tries to turn her head, to see her face, and his hands only come up with more of her dark hair, cold and matted with blood. He wants to look her in the eyes, wants to say goodbye and he's sorry that he failed her (couldn't save her what a shame). The dream flickers again, and the dark creeps in from all sides until all she can make out are his panicked attempts to turn her head. The dream becomes focused and determined as he chokes on what might have been a sob, but can't give up. She slips in on her dancer's feet and takes the place of the nightmare girl, lying dead where the ground was before he lost focus on anything but her.
She turns her head. He meets her eyes, and his shock is a physical blow.
With a gasp, her eyes fly open and her heels hit the ground. She knows he's awake, and she runs. He'll find her in bed when he leaves his room to wander the ship and listen for a moment at the door of each room. He'll see her pretending to sleep, and he'll wonder what was so different about tonight, that the dream would change.
He'll touch her cheek, and try to forget.
Author: Paraplu_ie (EDIT: All writing will now be posted from my new journal, mizjane. Please add that journal, and not paraplu_ie. Thanks!)
Rating: PG-13? Mild references to violence and blood, nothing gory.
Pairings/Characters: Mal and River. Mal/River implications.
Spoilers: None for film or series
Summary: River inadvertantly peeks into Mal's reoccuring dream.
Excerpt: She balances on the toes of her bare feet, her back to the cold metal door. She closes her eyes, flexes her fingers once or twice to relax herself. He dreams. She listens, quiet as a church mouse in the still, dark places he goes when nobody's watching and he can finally let himself close his eyes.
Author's Note: This is my very first fic (!). I didn't have a beta for this story, so please forgive any strange errors, and point them out so I can change them post-haste. I haven't written anything in a very long time, and I wanted to put this up somewhere before I lost my nerve! Feedback isn't just appreciated, it's probably desperately needed. Tell me what you love, and what you hate.
She doesn't need to peek, usually. She doesn't even like to. Sometimes he just makes it too difficult to follow him like a regular girl would, like when he disappears into his bunk and into his head. Physical retreat is no fair, it leaves her frustrated. He only makes her curious by fleeing, and that makes her follow him where she knows she isn't supposed to go.
She balances on the toes of her bare feet, her back to the cold metal door. She closes her eyes, flexes her fingers once or twice to relax herself. He dreams. She listens, quiet as a church mouse in the still, dark places he goes when nobody's watching and he can finally let himself close his eyes.
It's cold. It's black. Lights flashing, people screaming. She sees his crew strewn around him, falling like dominoes, missing limbs and faces hidden under hair and ash and rock. He can't see their faces, but he knows who they are, and he can't make himself stop knowing even when he tosses in his sleep, not managing to end the vision, though it all flickers for a moment, lights dimming like a brown-out and the film skipping back a second or two.
She sees herself, curled up at his feet. He reaches down, hands trembling in the dream, and as a silent observer, she feels the blood pound through his brain as it pulses rhythmically, telling him he's failed her, he's killed her, he couldn't save her what a shame. You've failed her, your murderer, you've killed her. What a shame.
His hand wasn't on the gun, but neither is it around the neck of the man whose hand was, and for him, that's a failure and a murder all the same.
His pulse quickens as in the dream he tries to turn her head, to see her face, and his hands only come up with more of her dark hair, cold and matted with blood. He wants to look her in the eyes, wants to say goodbye and he's sorry that he failed her (couldn't save her what a shame). The dream flickers again, and the dark creeps in from all sides until all she can make out are his panicked attempts to turn her head. The dream becomes focused and determined as he chokes on what might have been a sob, but can't give up. She slips in on her dancer's feet and takes the place of the nightmare girl, lying dead where the ground was before he lost focus on anything but her.
She turns her head. He meets her eyes, and his shock is a physical blow.
With a gasp, her eyes fly open and her heels hit the ground. She knows he's awake, and she runs. He'll find her in bed when he leaves his room to wander the ship and listen for a moment at the door of each room. He'll see her pretending to sleep, and he'll wonder what was so different about tonight, that the dream would change.
He'll touch her cheek, and try to forget.