Random Firefly Fic
I was wandering around in my documents today and I found this fic that I wrote ages ago for the valentines fic-a-thon over at shinyheartsfic It was written to fill a request so its not something I'd have ever written on my own. The challenge was to take an established love story and use it as the plot for a firefly fic. The only catch was that we couldn't twist the universe, no AU or anything. Well I ended up being assigned a Mal/River fic which is funny because I am not a M/R shipper. So that was a challenge. Then I had the hardest time coming up with a story to use. I finally settled upon Shakespeare's "The Tempest" fulling intending to use Miranda and Ferdinand and be all clever because of all the "Tempest" allusions made in Serenity (movie, not pilot). Well, I started writing and the story grew a brain of its own and it ended up being Prospero and Ariel and *nothing* like what I had planed.
And yet...I'm really kinda like it. I'm glad I found it again.
Oh, and just in case this makes it to anyone who read it way back when, I really am the author, it was originally posted under a user name that I don't use anymore for reasons to lengthy to go into now. :) I'm not stealing it I promise. :)
It starts out as little things.
At first he doesn’t even see them. Its six weeks after Miranda that he begins to notice. The way his cup never seems to be empty at dinner, the way the bridge is always kept just so, things arranged in the way he likes it best. These and a hundred other little things fill his days now; timid signs of care and fondness. And all of it is done just out of view, no matter how hard he tries he can’t catch the hand that seems hell bent on plastering his way with flowers. He begins to watch for his unseen attendant and his frustration grows with each failed attempt. It becomes his nightly ritual to scan the faces at the dinner table and try to root out the culprit.
His first thought is Inara. She would be the logical choice, but as soon as he considered her he knows he’s wrong. They’ve already begun to drift. They were like magnets, too strongly attracted to one another at first to realize that all one of them had to do was flip sides and the repulsion would be so strong they’d never stand a chance. That was exactly what happened. They had changed, splintered maybe, and suddenly they found that they had nothing left to give each other. They tried to hold onto the impossible for a while, but even that last effort is beginning to slip. She won’t be on board much longer, that is the one thing in their relationship he is very sure of.
He knows its not Zoë, she is still to fractured in her own grief to even be able to reach out to another soul, let alone try to mend it. That won’t last forever. If he knows anything about the universe at all it was this, Zoë Washburne is a survivor. She’ll be ok. She’ll live again, but not today.
Skip over the empty seats…try too hard not to see their faces. To see Shepherds amused grin and hear Wash’s good natured mocking following him through the ship.
They are the kinds of things Kaylee would do, has done on many an occasion in fact. But she and the Doc are so wrapped up in each other he wonders if they even remember that there are others on board this tiny boat. He’s happy for her and Simon (even if he’s not sure the Doc is completely worthy) but it forces him to see his little Kaylee in a completely different light and he’s not sure he really likes that.
That leaves only the two chairs at the end of the table and he can’t help but laugh. They are both so absurd. It couldn’t possibility be Jayne, although the thought creates the strong urge to giggle in an exceedingly un manly/captain-y way. And as for River…well River…
His mind is suddenly filled with her. The soft sweep of her hair, the elegant curve of her hips, the tantalizing fullness of her lips and her eyes clearer in these last few weeks than he’s ever known them to be. Those eyes gleam at him from the half light at the dinner table. Those eyes burn into him as he guides Serenity with her by his side. Those eyes have been on him for days, weeks. He realizes now that she’s been watching him ever since Miranda, she’s been willing him strength and leaching away his guilt and pain. And he realizes that he hasn’t even glanced in her direction because he’s terrified of finding something there. But no, he’s wrong, he must be wrong. Even if he’s not…its wrong; she’s a child and he…well he’s broken. Broken and twisted and half eaten away from the inside out.
“So was she.”
The voice comes out of nowhere and he jerks his head up; realizing that he’s alone in the galley save for a spirit shrouded in gauze blue perched on the other end of the table. He looks down and realizes he’s holding onto the table edge so hard his fingers are white from the knuckle down. She is looking away from him as if seeing some great play unfold on a stage that’s just out of his sight. When he says nothing she goes on, her legs swinging in as sea of lace, her toes skimming the floor as if it were water.
“She was broken too. She served evil. When she realized it, it was too late. She tried to get away but the evil caught her up and imprisoned her inside the pine tree. She couldn’t get out, she tried but the spell was too great. And she cried in despair in the blackness.” She lets the words trail away and he suddenly realizes he’s on his feet. He takes a careful step toward her. She is still absorbed in the action that’s happening on a stage he can’t see.
“But then he came.” Her voice is so low he has to take another step forward to hear. “His ship crashed on her island. He thought he was lost forever but then he found her. He let her out of her cloven pine and she was grateful. She was proud to do his bidding, do her part. She made sure he never wanted. But it wasn’t enough because it wasn’t who she was.”
“I know this story. He sets her free and she leaves him alone in the burning sand.” He speaks without thinking; the memory dredged up from the depths of his school days, both familiar and not. She becomes very still and suddenly he is frozen with the fear that the moment will shatter and fall away. That somehow he’s ruined it; whatever it is. But she holds out her hand to him and motions him to sit beside her. He does. She keeps his fingers prisoner in her hands as she begins to speak again.
“She needed to find herself. Until she was free she couldn’t be true. And until she was true she couldn’t be free. It was only when he cast her to the elements that she found she still remembered how to fly. Now she returns to him, not by his bidding but by her will. She returns not to serve but to renew that which has become cracked and weakened with despair.”
“Funny I don’t remember that part of the ending.” His fingers fell strangely cold.
“It has always been there. You just didn’t have the eyes to see it or the guide to show it to you.” She looks at him for the first time and his breath catches in his throat.
“River…” Not ‘little one’ not ‘the girl’ not ‘that sister of yours’, only River. It’s only ever been River. He watches, shaking, as she brings his hand up to her lips and presses a kiss to his weathered palm. Fire burns up his arm wrapping tendrils around his chest. “River.” He says again and the aching in his chest that has been there for so many years begins to throb.
“She came back.” She whispers, cool graceful fingers dancing along his jaw line, his temple, into his hair. “She’s here to walk beside him if he’ll let her.” With out warning she slips off the table and begins moving toward the bridge. “But she won’t enchant him. If he chooses her she’s his. But not before.” She disappears up the steps before he can speak. He’s left reeling in her wake. How can he possibility do what she is asking of him?
How can he possibility do anything else?
From that lost corner of his childhood words rise out of the darkness. “…what strength I have's mine own…”
It’s enough. With her by his side it’s enough. He‘s up the stairs the next moment. They’ll overcome. They have all the strength they need.
And yet...I'm really kinda like it. I'm glad I found it again.
Oh, and just in case this makes it to anyone who read it way back when, I really am the author, it was originally posted under a user name that I don't use anymore for reasons to lengthy to go into now. :) I'm not stealing it I promise. :)
It starts out as little things.
At first he doesn’t even see them. Its six weeks after Miranda that he begins to notice. The way his cup never seems to be empty at dinner, the way the bridge is always kept just so, things arranged in the way he likes it best. These and a hundred other little things fill his days now; timid signs of care and fondness. And all of it is done just out of view, no matter how hard he tries he can’t catch the hand that seems hell bent on plastering his way with flowers. He begins to watch for his unseen attendant and his frustration grows with each failed attempt. It becomes his nightly ritual to scan the faces at the dinner table and try to root out the culprit.
His first thought is Inara. She would be the logical choice, but as soon as he considered her he knows he’s wrong. They’ve already begun to drift. They were like magnets, too strongly attracted to one another at first to realize that all one of them had to do was flip sides and the repulsion would be so strong they’d never stand a chance. That was exactly what happened. They had changed, splintered maybe, and suddenly they found that they had nothing left to give each other. They tried to hold onto the impossible for a while, but even that last effort is beginning to slip. She won’t be on board much longer, that is the one thing in their relationship he is very sure of.
He knows its not Zoë, she is still to fractured in her own grief to even be able to reach out to another soul, let alone try to mend it. That won’t last forever. If he knows anything about the universe at all it was this, Zoë Washburne is a survivor. She’ll be ok. She’ll live again, but not today.
Skip over the empty seats…try too hard not to see their faces. To see Shepherds amused grin and hear Wash’s good natured mocking following him through the ship.
They are the kinds of things Kaylee would do, has done on many an occasion in fact. But she and the Doc are so wrapped up in each other he wonders if they even remember that there are others on board this tiny boat. He’s happy for her and Simon (even if he’s not sure the Doc is completely worthy) but it forces him to see his little Kaylee in a completely different light and he’s not sure he really likes that.
That leaves only the two chairs at the end of the table and he can’t help but laugh. They are both so absurd. It couldn’t possibility be Jayne, although the thought creates the strong urge to giggle in an exceedingly un manly/captain-y way. And as for River…well River…
His mind is suddenly filled with her. The soft sweep of her hair, the elegant curve of her hips, the tantalizing fullness of her lips and her eyes clearer in these last few weeks than he’s ever known them to be. Those eyes gleam at him from the half light at the dinner table. Those eyes burn into him as he guides Serenity with her by his side. Those eyes have been on him for days, weeks. He realizes now that she’s been watching him ever since Miranda, she’s been willing him strength and leaching away his guilt and pain. And he realizes that he hasn’t even glanced in her direction because he’s terrified of finding something there. But no, he’s wrong, he must be wrong. Even if he’s not…its wrong; she’s a child and he…well he’s broken. Broken and twisted and half eaten away from the inside out.
“So was she.”
The voice comes out of nowhere and he jerks his head up; realizing that he’s alone in the galley save for a spirit shrouded in gauze blue perched on the other end of the table. He looks down and realizes he’s holding onto the table edge so hard his fingers are white from the knuckle down. She is looking away from him as if seeing some great play unfold on a stage that’s just out of his sight. When he says nothing she goes on, her legs swinging in as sea of lace, her toes skimming the floor as if it were water.
“She was broken too. She served evil. When she realized it, it was too late. She tried to get away but the evil caught her up and imprisoned her inside the pine tree. She couldn’t get out, she tried but the spell was too great. And she cried in despair in the blackness.” She lets the words trail away and he suddenly realizes he’s on his feet. He takes a careful step toward her. She is still absorbed in the action that’s happening on a stage he can’t see.
“But then he came.” Her voice is so low he has to take another step forward to hear. “His ship crashed on her island. He thought he was lost forever but then he found her. He let her out of her cloven pine and she was grateful. She was proud to do his bidding, do her part. She made sure he never wanted. But it wasn’t enough because it wasn’t who she was.”
“I know this story. He sets her free and she leaves him alone in the burning sand.” He speaks without thinking; the memory dredged up from the depths of his school days, both familiar and not. She becomes very still and suddenly he is frozen with the fear that the moment will shatter and fall away. That somehow he’s ruined it; whatever it is. But she holds out her hand to him and motions him to sit beside her. He does. She keeps his fingers prisoner in her hands as she begins to speak again.
“She needed to find herself. Until she was free she couldn’t be true. And until she was true she couldn’t be free. It was only when he cast her to the elements that she found she still remembered how to fly. Now she returns to him, not by his bidding but by her will. She returns not to serve but to renew that which has become cracked and weakened with despair.”
“Funny I don’t remember that part of the ending.” His fingers fell strangely cold.
“It has always been there. You just didn’t have the eyes to see it or the guide to show it to you.” She looks at him for the first time and his breath catches in his throat.
“River…” Not ‘little one’ not ‘the girl’ not ‘that sister of yours’, only River. It’s only ever been River. He watches, shaking, as she brings his hand up to her lips and presses a kiss to his weathered palm. Fire burns up his arm wrapping tendrils around his chest. “River.” He says again and the aching in his chest that has been there for so many years begins to throb.
“She came back.” She whispers, cool graceful fingers dancing along his jaw line, his temple, into his hair. “She’s here to walk beside him if he’ll let her.” With out warning she slips off the table and begins moving toward the bridge. “But she won’t enchant him. If he chooses her she’s his. But not before.” She disappears up the steps before he can speak. He’s left reeling in her wake. How can he possibility do what she is asking of him?
How can he possibility do anything else?
From that lost corner of his childhood words rise out of the darkness. “…what strength I have's mine own…”
It’s enough. With her by his side it’s enough. He‘s up the stairs the next moment. They’ll overcome. They have all the strength they need.