(no subject)
Ain't a thing in the verse makes sense anymore. Ain't a thing here that he recognises. River's here, but she's like a half-memory, different. He remembers her as a girl, awkward, growing but here she is, holding a baby that she swears is his. And that's a piece of knowledge that he hasn't quite figured his way around yet. Fact, isn't hard to conjure that, maybe, he never will. There's a certain ache in his side, still, but the wound healed miraculous, clean and whole, nothing but a fine white scar to show that it was ever there in the first place. Seems like everything he ever owned is scattered through the ship, nothing in its right place, but he's managed to scrounge up a clean t-shirt and a pair of pants. He's left his gun in his bunk. River assures him he doesn't need it and, honestly, it feels good to walk without it for a little while.
River's face is all about her that he recognises.
But there's always Serenity.
From his perch on top of the ship, he can see a long, long way. This place is beautiful, no doubt about it, but there's still something that doesn't quite sit right to him. Since the war ended, he's been moving. He's been moving because he had nowhere to go back to, but it's more than that. He never needed anywhere to go back to. Because he had her. He told River that the last time he saw Serenity she was hurting. On the island, she looks better; she's scuffed by weather and he guesses her original landing, but it's nowhere close to how he left her, so hurt by that landing after they'd torn her up as much as they reasonably could. It had near broken his gorram heart to do a thing like that to her, but it had been necessary and, standing in the heart of her and hearing her slow and steady rhythm, he'd known that she'd understood.
This, though. It's like getting handed time back.
He's spent most of the morning going over every inch of her, assessing the damage but, now, he lowers himself down to sit just above the bridge screen, boots butted up against the rim, elbows on his knees. He lets his head drop back and feels the sun on his face. Feels good. Feels almost like home.
Which is, of course, when the wrench slips and makes a helluva gorram noise on it's way to the ground.
"Tzao-gao!"
Couldn't he just get a moment's peace?
:ooc Welcoming Mal back to the island! Find him perched atop Serenity, peering after his wrench. ST/LT welcome!
River's face is all about her that he recognises.
But there's always Serenity.
From his perch on top of the ship, he can see a long, long way. This place is beautiful, no doubt about it, but there's still something that doesn't quite sit right to him. Since the war ended, he's been moving. He's been moving because he had nowhere to go back to, but it's more than that. He never needed anywhere to go back to. Because he had her. He told River that the last time he saw Serenity she was hurting. On the island, she looks better; she's scuffed by weather and he guesses her original landing, but it's nowhere close to how he left her, so hurt by that landing after they'd torn her up as much as they reasonably could. It had near broken his gorram heart to do a thing like that to her, but it had been necessary and, standing in the heart of her and hearing her slow and steady rhythm, he'd known that she'd understood.
This, though. It's like getting handed time back.
He's spent most of the morning going over every inch of her, assessing the damage but, now, he lowers himself down to sit just above the bridge screen, boots butted up against the rim, elbows on his knees. He lets his head drop back and feels the sun on his face. Feels good. Feels almost like home.
Which is, of course, when the wrench slips and makes a helluva gorram noise on it's way to the ground.
"Tzao-gao!"
Couldn't he just get a moment's peace?
:ooc Welcoming Mal back to the island! Find him perched atop Serenity, peering after his wrench. ST/LT welcome!