Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to jazzfic
Title: Waiting
Rating: G
Pairing: Pre Mal/River
Word Count: 796
Disclaimer: Building a castle in someone else's sandbox.
Summary: She can wait.
He didn’t hear her coming. She walks on cat feet, no matter whether she steps on thick carpet, packed earth or unclad metal.
But sometimes, if he pays close attention, he can smell her before she ghosts up beside him. Her scent is meadows filled with dewy grass and warm vanilla. Light, so barely noticeable that sometimes he thinks he must be dreaming, or that he is the only one who notices it.
“I’m homely.”
“If you’re angling for compliments, darlin’, I’m the wrong one to be asking. You oughta go find Kaylee or your brother.”
She giggles up at him, deep golden-brown eyes framed perfectly by long dark lashes, long dark hair and perfect pale skin. “Wrong meaning of the word, Captain. Remind you of home.” She lets silence force that thought into his mind, into his pores, staggering him before she makes it so much worse. “Already know you think I’m beautiful.”
She dances out, but her scent lingers.
*****
It’ll be two days before he trusts himself to be alone with her again. Unfortunately, he walks into the galley three hours later to find it empty, save for the tiny slip of disturbing loveliness curled up with a book on the sofa.
He nearly turns back, but she’s engrossed and doesn’t even greet him. Surely he can get his coffee and get back to the bridge before she disturbs his peace (not that there’s much left of that) again.
He fills his cup and turns to leave. But…
She stretches.
Completely unconsciously, completely naturally. But incredibly gracefully, with fine slim arms and legs that demand his attention.
He stares. Can’t help it, just ogles the way she bends and flexes to tease out the tension of a day. Gazes at how her back arches and her head rolls from side to side of her thin neck. Memorizes this moment, and…
Itches to touch.
Her head snaps around to stare back, but he’s already fled.
“Didn’t know that.”
*****
There’s no amount of time in the world that’ll let him get over that thought, that desire. He can’t be alone with her, so he hides on the bridge (she’ll find him there easy), and plans jobs with Zoë (she watches from across the cargo bay and makes him twitchy) and fighting with Inara (she gives him privacy for that, but they can’t fight forever).
She stays away.
He’s grateful at first, ‘til he realizes he can’t stop thinking about her, whether she’s there or not. When she doesn’t turn up for dinner he’s worried, afraid that he frightened or confused her. When he searches the ship to apologize (surreptitiously; can’t have the doc asking questions) and still can’t find her, he’s annoyed.
Madder than the March Hare, really.
So of course, when he finally gives up and goes to his quarters, dreading the night’s dreams and the next day’s attempts to both avoid thinking of her and trying to clear the air, she’s sitting on his bed, long bare legs crossed beneath her as she waits patiently.
“I was looking for you.” It comes out much harsher than he means and he nearly winces, but he’s the Captain and he can’t back down from a fight.
“You didn’t want to find me, not really. Not until now.”
She’s all beautiful and reasonable, and that reminds him of Inara, and he’s ready for an argument. But she stops him.
“Don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t want to fight either, darl… River.”
“Yes, you do. Think a fight will clear the air. But the air is just fine as it is, filled with pictures of me.”
“Gah! River, you’re just a…”
“Don’t bother. We’ve already had this argument in my head.” She stands up (gracefully, he notices) and heads for the ladder. Halfway up she pauses and giggles. “You didn’t win.”
And she’s gone.
*****
His night is just as bad as he feared (hoped), but he’s determined that they’ll sort it out today. Fresh start and all that. He can’t have her in his bunk (blanket smelled of fresh grass), can’t be searching all over and worrying about what he’s saying (can’t do anything about what he’s thinking, and whoever’s bright idea it was to make a Reader should be shot).
She’s waiting for him on the bridge.
He says his piece and she listens patiently, nodding in the appropriate places with a serious look on her face. He’s fixed it. Things can get back to normal.
“Doesn’t work, you know.” She puts up her hand to keep him from talking. “Not going to push today, or even soon. But you can’t forget. Won’t forget. Time will pass and you’ll still think I’m beautiful, still itch to touch. It’s okay.”
River smiles.
“I can wait.”
Rating: G
Pairing: Pre Mal/River
Word Count: 796
Disclaimer: Building a castle in someone else's sandbox.
Summary: She can wait.
He didn’t hear her coming. She walks on cat feet, no matter whether she steps on thick carpet, packed earth or unclad metal.
But sometimes, if he pays close attention, he can smell her before she ghosts up beside him. Her scent is meadows filled with dewy grass and warm vanilla. Light, so barely noticeable that sometimes he thinks he must be dreaming, or that he is the only one who notices it.
“I’m homely.”
“If you’re angling for compliments, darlin’, I’m the wrong one to be asking. You oughta go find Kaylee or your brother.”
She giggles up at him, deep golden-brown eyes framed perfectly by long dark lashes, long dark hair and perfect pale skin. “Wrong meaning of the word, Captain. Remind you of home.” She lets silence force that thought into his mind, into his pores, staggering him before she makes it so much worse. “Already know you think I’m beautiful.”
She dances out, but her scent lingers.
*****
It’ll be two days before he trusts himself to be alone with her again. Unfortunately, he walks into the galley three hours later to find it empty, save for the tiny slip of disturbing loveliness curled up with a book on the sofa.
He nearly turns back, but she’s engrossed and doesn’t even greet him. Surely he can get his coffee and get back to the bridge before she disturbs his peace (not that there’s much left of that) again.
He fills his cup and turns to leave. But…
She stretches.
Completely unconsciously, completely naturally. But incredibly gracefully, with fine slim arms and legs that demand his attention.
He stares. Can’t help it, just ogles the way she bends and flexes to tease out the tension of a day. Gazes at how her back arches and her head rolls from side to side of her thin neck. Memorizes this moment, and…
Itches to touch.
Her head snaps around to stare back, but he’s already fled.
“Didn’t know that.”
*****
There’s no amount of time in the world that’ll let him get over that thought, that desire. He can’t be alone with her, so he hides on the bridge (she’ll find him there easy), and plans jobs with Zoë (she watches from across the cargo bay and makes him twitchy) and fighting with Inara (she gives him privacy for that, but they can’t fight forever).
She stays away.
He’s grateful at first, ‘til he realizes he can’t stop thinking about her, whether she’s there or not. When she doesn’t turn up for dinner he’s worried, afraid that he frightened or confused her. When he searches the ship to apologize (surreptitiously; can’t have the doc asking questions) and still can’t find her, he’s annoyed.
Madder than the March Hare, really.
So of course, when he finally gives up and goes to his quarters, dreading the night’s dreams and the next day’s attempts to both avoid thinking of her and trying to clear the air, she’s sitting on his bed, long bare legs crossed beneath her as she waits patiently.
“I was looking for you.” It comes out much harsher than he means and he nearly winces, but he’s the Captain and he can’t back down from a fight.
“You didn’t want to find me, not really. Not until now.”
She’s all beautiful and reasonable, and that reminds him of Inara, and he’s ready for an argument. But she stops him.
“Don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t want to fight either, darl… River.”
“Yes, you do. Think a fight will clear the air. But the air is just fine as it is, filled with pictures of me.”
“Gah! River, you’re just a…”
“Don’t bother. We’ve already had this argument in my head.” She stands up (gracefully, he notices) and heads for the ladder. Halfway up she pauses and giggles. “You didn’t win.”
And she’s gone.
*****
His night is just as bad as he feared (hoped), but he’s determined that they’ll sort it out today. Fresh start and all that. He can’t have her in his bunk (blanket smelled of fresh grass), can’t be searching all over and worrying about what he’s saying (can’t do anything about what he’s thinking, and whoever’s bright idea it was to make a Reader should be shot).
She’s waiting for him on the bridge.
He says his piece and she listens patiently, nodding in the appropriate places with a serious look on her face. He’s fixed it. Things can get back to normal.
“Doesn’t work, you know.” She puts up her hand to keep him from talking. “Not going to push today, or even soon. But you can’t forget. Won’t forget. Time will pass and you’ll still think I’m beautiful, still itch to touch. It’s okay.”
River smiles.
“I can wait.”