[Firefly] "What's Out in the Darkness" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for < lj user="fic_promptly">'s Firefly, Simon, cenophobia: fear of voids and empty spaces
During the day -- or at least what passed for day, since 'day' meant when the captain turned on the interior lights on the ship, and 'night' meant he shut them out -- the thought that their path lead through a dark and hollow place between the stars barely factored in Simon's mind. He had the distraction of the crew, their fellow passengers, and his sister's alternating normal and strange behavior to distract him and fill his attention.
But at night, or what passed for night in a place where perpetual blackness filled the void between stars and planets, he would sometimes awaken and he swore he could feel the void opening up outside the hull, ready to swallow the ship. Times like that, he would hurry to the head, needing to run water over his wrists and forehead as much as he needed to relieve himself before fear took over those faculties.
On one of these trips, as he returned to his cabin, he nearly collided with their surly captain in the companionway. The man stepped aside, giving him room to pass.
"Call of nature, nothing more," Simon fumbled.
"Don't let me hold you up: and it ain't unusual," Reynolds replied.
"What, midnight calls of nature?" Simon replied, trying not to sound sarcastic.
"Not just that, bein' a feared," Reynolds replied, looking him in the face.
"I don't think I follow," Simon replied, lying, trying to seem innocent, likely failing.
Reynolds looked up the companionway as he replied. "No shame in bein' a feared: dark out here, don't know who or what could be out here. Could be trouble, could be nothin'. Could be Feds chasin' us, could be other drifters, could be no one who'd pay us any mind. Only shame is lettin' that fear overload yer wits, lettin' it turn yer blood t' water and yer knees t' gel."
"And I'm sure you've never felt that way," Simon replied.
"'Course I have. Had m' moments when I've wondered why the Sam Hill I took this tub out here. Don't let it get t' me, or not by much," Reynolds replied. "You g'wan off t' bed: be the day-cycle soon an' with yer sister, y'll need yer rest."
"I'll... take that on advisement," Simon replied, surprised by the man's thoughtfulness, and returned to his cabin.
He found River sitting up in her bed, the covers drawn up around her ears. "Woke up and didn't find you," she said.
"Just had to get up and tend to nature," Simon replied.
"Bit more than that," she said, looking at him dead on. "Cenophobia: fear of voids and empty spaces. Easy to develop out here. I'll keep your days full, cure you."
He opened his mouth to object, then he stopped and gave her a wry smile. "I have a feeling you'll do just that."
During the day -- or at least what passed for day, since 'day' meant when the captain turned on the interior lights on the ship, and 'night' meant he shut them out -- the thought that their path lead through a dark and hollow place between the stars barely factored in Simon's mind. He had the distraction of the crew, their fellow passengers, and his sister's alternating normal and strange behavior to distract him and fill his attention.
But at night, or what passed for night in a place where perpetual blackness filled the void between stars and planets, he would sometimes awaken and he swore he could feel the void opening up outside the hull, ready to swallow the ship. Times like that, he would hurry to the head, needing to run water over his wrists and forehead as much as he needed to relieve himself before fear took over those faculties.
On one of these trips, as he returned to his cabin, he nearly collided with their surly captain in the companionway. The man stepped aside, giving him room to pass.
"Call of nature, nothing more," Simon fumbled.
"Don't let me hold you up: and it ain't unusual," Reynolds replied.
"What, midnight calls of nature?" Simon replied, trying not to sound sarcastic.
"Not just that, bein' a feared," Reynolds replied, looking him in the face.
"I don't think I follow," Simon replied, lying, trying to seem innocent, likely failing.
Reynolds looked up the companionway as he replied. "No shame in bein' a feared: dark out here, don't know who or what could be out here. Could be trouble, could be nothin'. Could be Feds chasin' us, could be other drifters, could be no one who'd pay us any mind. Only shame is lettin' that fear overload yer wits, lettin' it turn yer blood t' water and yer knees t' gel."
"And I'm sure you've never felt that way," Simon replied.
"'Course I have. Had m' moments when I've wondered why the Sam Hill I took this tub out here. Don't let it get t' me, or not by much," Reynolds replied. "You g'wan off t' bed: be the day-cycle soon an' with yer sister, y'll need yer rest."
"I'll... take that on advisement," Simon replied, surprised by the man's thoughtfulness, and returned to his cabin.
He found River sitting up in her bed, the covers drawn up around her ears. "Woke up and didn't find you," she said.
"Just had to get up and tend to nature," Simon replied.
"Bit more than that," she said, looking at him dead on. "Cenophobia: fear of voids and empty spaces. Easy to develop out here. I'll keep your days full, cure you."
He opened his mouth to object, then he stopped and gave her a wry smile. "I have a feeling you'll do just that."