Day 16 . And I Heard Her Saying, Come And See . Firefly x Sleepy Hollow
Title: And I Heard Her Saying, Come And See
Author: jedibuttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not
Rating: PG-13
Prompt/Prompter: vialethe, who asked for: "River and Ichabod hit it off. Mal and Abbie stare at them in bemusement."
Spoilers: Post-Serenity, with a touch of Mal/River; and very post-series for Sleepy Hollow.
Notes: I've had the worst writer's block lately, mostly RL related. Hopefully this still entertains. Follows my 2011 Wishlist fic for the same requester: Isn't That Always The Story? Mouseover translations provided. Also fills joss100 #2.81, "Book".
Summary: Mal was just collecting all manner of corpsical transportation methods, wasn't he? 2600w.
Malcolm Reynolds took one look at the boxes that his pilot had bid on in the freight yard auction and crossed his arms over his chest. "No."
River's excited smile faded. He hated to see the sparkle go out of those lively dark eyes, but there was no way she hadn't known it was coming.
"I won them," she insisted, mouth firming with stubbornness. "Fair and square. They're mine."
"Then I suggest you find someone else to sell 'em to 'fore we leave world again," he replied. "'Cause no way, no how are they going aboard my ship."
"Our ship," River countered.
"The ship. Of which I am the owner of record and Captainy type person," he insisted in turn. "You think I don't know trouble when I see it?"
Trouble like the woman before him. Maybehaps she had known this was coming, and figured she could talk him into it anyway. He surely did have trouble denying her things. But given the way his nerves prickled at the very sight of her prizes? A man had to at least make the effort.
"The ship where I live. Where you told me I could use my cut to buy anything I wanted." River's eyes widened in entreaty, close as could be to a pout without actual wobbling of lip.
Mal sputtered. "Tell anyone you like I'm bein' a mean, cruel húndàn. But they ain't coming aboard Serenity. Those are coffins, River-girl. A pair of pine boxes just a bit longer than a man is tall? Ain't nothin' but comes in a crate that size. And I know you remember what happened the last time we brought one on board. Never mind the time before that."
"And the time before that?" she said archly. She didn't bother gesturing to herself; the point was self-evident. Though she'd come aboard in a cryobox, not a sealed modern coffin, or the ancient sarcophagus their last accidental crew additions had come packaged in. Mal was just collecting all manner of corpsical transportation methods, wasn't he?
He blew out a frustrated breath. "Not sayin' all the consequences been bad ones. But there have been consequences. Every time. And I just don't know as how we're in the best position to field such right now." He made darting side-eyes toward Kaylee, bright-eyed and merry a couple of bays down, one hand splayed over the front of her swelled-out coveralls while she sorted through a pile of shipyard odds and ends. There was Zoë to consider, too, and little Alleyne Hoban Washburne, and River knew it. Mal's second had become fiercer than ever with motherhood, inclined to deal with any possible threat to the little 'un-- and those as brought 'em aboard-- with swift prejudice.
River's expression softened as she gazed at her sister-in-law, echoing a hint of Kaylee's warm mood. Then she shook it off and narrowed her eyes at Mal again. "Won't cost half the job-fee this time," she said, referring to the aftermath of their antiquities smuggling job (naturally, the royal sarcophagus had been the most valuable item in the lot, and it weren't worth nothin' with the seals broke). "Won't get anyone shot. Or draw the Alliance down on Serenity."
"But you're not denying there will be consequences," he frowned at her. "Where are they even from? This was, what," he glanced away, looking for the labels identifying the boxes' origins, "cargo off a Reaver-hit short-hauler outbound from 睡谷 over on Irving? Sold as is, unopened. I bet. That's an old-dirt moon; deep core. Why would they be shippin' coffins in the first place? Can't be a good sign."
"Not coffins," River insisted again, shaking her head. "Treasure chests."
She kept her long, silky hair largely braided back these days; used to be she'd used it as another shield between her and the 'verse, tilting her head to peer out through its shiny curtain when she couldn't stand to look at folk straight-on, but it had been awhile since she'd needed that buffer. When she got mind-weary now, she tended to anchor on one of the crew, particularly Mal or her brother, blocking out all else in the swirl of their emotions. Mal liked to think he could feel her there, sometimes, like a patch of tangled warmth at the back of his thoughts; but she was far from in sync with him at the moment, all obstinate and gloriously independent.
"No sleeping folk this time? You promise?" he caved.
She raised an eyebrow, then, favoring him with the disgusted look she usually gave her brother when he was being particularly moronic.
Mal rocked back on his heels, uncrossing his arms to tuck his thumbs in his gunbelt, and sighed. "S'pose I'll have to take your word for it. I did say you could buy any prize you wanted. But I'm tellin' you now, if there are old mummies inside-- or drugged folk, or some long-lost cousin in cryo-- I'm tipping 'em right out the airlock, no matter who they are, dŏng ma?"
The stern line of her mouth melted back into a wide smile, at that: sunshine peering out from behind a cloud. "Xiè xie, Mal," she said, cheerily, and darted up on tippy-toe to peck him on the lips.
He gathered her close, all lithe kinetic energy, like a lightning strike in his arms. He felt like a dirty old man every time she did that out in public, and she knew it; but it also short-circuited every nerve in body and soul, and she knew that, too. One of the benefits-- or downsides, depending on the day-- of pairing up with a Reader.
Then a throat cleared at his side, and they pulled apart to meet the amused gaze of Evy O'Connell. Evy and her husband had taken up residence in the spare shuttle once they'd decided to stick around, and often parked on back moons to do a bit of digging or research while the crew ran delivery jobs, joining up again the next time Serenity passed 'em by. They tended to make sure they were around when the crew did any serious shopping, though; the missus had a real curious mind, and enjoyed digging through discarded bits and bobs to flesh out all the history that had passed her by.
Some, she sold; others, she kept, in a double-locked vault magnetized to the floor of the shuttle. Mal didn't like to think about why; if'n he did, he was fair sure he'd react much as he had when he'd first seen the coffins. But that was the O'Connells' business... and it seemed he'd got in the habit of repossessing esoteric weapons fumbled out of Alliance hands, anyhow.
"Ah, did I hear someone say treasure chests?" Evy asked, shifting that day's basketful of purchases to a hip as she raised a querying eyebrow at River. Something big and square and a glossy sort of black with carvings on the cover poked out of it; Mal tried very hard not to notice. Weren't his business to know. "What sort of treasure have you uncovered today?"
Something about River's smile told Mal she'd done that sort of thing on Evy's behalf in the past... but before that unease could sink roots, she laid out a whole other set of statements to worry on.
"Not yours this time," she said. "Nor ours. So many worlds need more than one set of Witnesses to cover them. But they'll find us before long. We may have sealed Conquest for a time, but War's been sharpening his knives again, and Death rides with him."
Mal sucked in a sharp breath. "Little albatross...."
River gave him a crooked smile. "Told you the storm was getting worse," she replied, laying a finger across his lips. "But you were right, too; we'll pass through it soon enough."
For all the ominous thunder of her warning, the next several weeks flew by smooth enough. The only difference from the usual routine was that the O'Connells kept their shuttle docked, as did Inara; Mal didn't know what River had said to their Companion, but he found them together in his bunk several times during that stretch of waiting, ornate ivory-handled brush sweeping through River's unbound hair. Picture worthy of a painting: one that deserved a much better setting than he could give 'em.
Inara had taken up the role of older sister to River since the girl had made her interest in Mal clear enough for even him to notice; oddly enough, that had made it easier for Mal to relate to her. Easier to adopt the same fraternal affection he gave Kaylee in place of fraught looks and fights; the first time he'd dropped an absent-minded kiss on Inara's head, she'd given him a startled look, then laughed at his befuddled expression. Probably ought to chap his pride she hadn't wasted more energy on pining, but he was a practical sort of man. Things going smoother than he deserved, he'd decided not to question.
Wind blew northerly, he went north; and River had no rudder, neither, courtesy of the Alliance. He conjured it was as close to divine will as he was like to find that they'd ended up flying the same course.
A couple months after River's winnings came aboard, tucked back in one of the storage holds, they put in at Beaumonde and in fine old tradition advertised for a couple of passengers. The Operative's word had held, little as Mal wanted to owe the man anything; their records were clear, and it was an easy way to defray the fuel costs of a few of their new regular runs. Lot of folk needing supplies or transpo in the Burnham Quadrant and a lot fewer ships to move 'em since the Reavers swept through; Serenity's services had been in refreshingly high demand. Enough for Fanty and Mingo to drop their cut back to twenty-five from forty.
Mal thought nothing of it 'til he returned from a meet with the self-same Rample brothers to find a woman in an old-style Rim-world law officer's uniform seated at the table, next to a shaggy-haired man with neatly trimmed facial hair and an even older style of long, hand-sewn jacket. He'd never seen them before, but there was something oddly familiar about 'em; and not just because their body language reminded him a bit of him and Zoë. Veterans. Partners. And a little too rough around the edges to be Alliance.
The woman saw him come in; she gave him a thoughtful frown, then elbowed her friend. The man was bent over something on the table, though-- that old Bible of Book's? Mal thought he recognized the tattered pages River had once cut up-- and ignored the warning.
"So you see, it's not meant to be literal; only a guidepost," he was saying intently, in some rarefied coreworld accent. "Though not all translations are the same, I believe it can be unequivocally said that a faithful transcription of history is not its purpose."
River sat across from him, the only one of the crew present, fiddling with the end of her braid; a small, nostalgic smile turned up one corner of her mouth as she replied. "Many Shepherds would disagree with you," she said. "But I knew a wise one, once, who said much the same. 'It's not about making sense. It's about believing in something and letting that belief be real enough to change your life.'"
"Well spoken," the man replied.
Mal swallowed at the memory of bloody hands on his face; of Book urging him to believe.
He cleared his throat. "River, băobèi? Care to introduce our guests?"
River's expression brightened as she grinned up at him. "But you know who they are already," she said. "They've come to collect their things."
A frown wrinkled Mal's brow as he glanced between the pair, trying to recall whether anyone had left a package with them since... ah, hell.
"Shàngdì de dàn," he swore. He and Evy'd looked into River's precious pine boxes before helping her pack them away; there'd been heaps of ancient maps of Earth-That-Was, musty old books, weapons of strange make and sharp edge for the up-close kill, and at least one very old, marked up copy of the Good Book.
River's grin widened at that, mischievousness over a sharp edge. "Not testicles; Mùjí zhŭ," she said, brightly.
The strangers exchanged a speaking look; then the man reached slowly to slip the Bible out from under River's hand, carefully turning it and flipping pages until he came to a particular passage.
"And power was given unto them... to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth," he read, in low, querying tones.
River nodded, attention once again fixed on the man across from her, to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. "We were there for the last two seals; but we didn't know. Didn't see. War, conquest, chaos come again... until I spoke for the silent world. Now they wake to ride again."
Her conversational partner nodded enthusiastically. "I knew when I saw the Miranda broadcast that when we found its origin point, we would locate one of this generation's Witnesses; but when we went to Irving to retrieve the gear we'd cached there before the war and discovered it empty...."
Mal shook his head as the conversation ran onward, completely unconcerned with any further input from him; he glanced at the man's companion, who bore a similarly bemused expression, and pulled out the chair next to her.
"Since the answer 'pears to have got away from my partner; how 'bout you introduce you and yours," he addressed the woman, wryly.
Shared amusement lit up her features. Before she'd seemed somehow old and young at once, the way River often did; vital with youth but wearied by her trials. Good humor made her prettier-- but softened her character not at all. Pure tempered steel. "You can call me Abbie. He's Ichabod-- though most people call him Crane. We're... well, it's kind of a long story."
"So I'm hearin'," he said, gesturing to River and Crane, who were still nattering on with evident enthusiasm. "Ain't heard her that worked up in... well, quite awhile." Since she'd asked a merciful God to take her away, back on Miranda. He wondered what fresh Hell that meant for them now.
Abbie's smile deepened. "Been awhile since he had a chance to explain it all from the start. It's usually too much for most people to take in."
"Can't imagine why," Mal replied, dryly.
"You haven't heard the half of it," she continued, ruefully. "Wait 'til he gets to, 'and Death cursed us to die by the sword, as had his love'. Which makes going on five hundred years now we've spent carefully avoiding sharp edges."
Mal blinked. She'd seemed awful sane for a crazy person. He glanced over at River in disbelief... and caught her giving him the yúbèn de look again.
He cleared his throat, blinking again, and turned back to Abbie. Right. Perspective. He'd heard stranger, hadn't he?
"Ah. You met the O'Connells yet? Bet Evy'll have questions; she slept through most of those years, and she finds the official histories of the period a mite underwhelming."
It was Abbie's turn to blink at that, then shake her head. "I get the feeling that's something of an understatement," she said, wonderingly.
Mal snorted, then held out a hand. "I get the feelin' you and me are gonna get along just fine."
-x-
Author: jedibuttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not
Rating: PG-13
Prompt/Prompter: vialethe, who asked for: "River and Ichabod hit it off. Mal and Abbie stare at them in bemusement."
Spoilers: Post-Serenity, with a touch of Mal/River; and very post-series for Sleepy Hollow.
Notes: I've had the worst writer's block lately, mostly RL related. Hopefully this still entertains. Follows my 2011 Wishlist fic for the same requester: Isn't That Always The Story? Mouseover translations provided. Also fills joss100 #2.81, "Book".
Summary: Mal was just collecting all manner of corpsical transportation methods, wasn't he? 2600w.
Malcolm Reynolds took one look at the boxes that his pilot had bid on in the freight yard auction and crossed his arms over his chest. "No."
River's excited smile faded. He hated to see the sparkle go out of those lively dark eyes, but there was no way she hadn't known it was coming.
"I won them," she insisted, mouth firming with stubbornness. "Fair and square. They're mine."
"Then I suggest you find someone else to sell 'em to 'fore we leave world again," he replied. "'Cause no way, no how are they going aboard my ship."
"Our ship," River countered.
"The ship. Of which I am the owner of record and Captainy type person," he insisted in turn. "You think I don't know trouble when I see it?"
Trouble like the woman before him. Maybehaps she had known this was coming, and figured she could talk him into it anyway. He surely did have trouble denying her things. But given the way his nerves prickled at the very sight of her prizes? A man had to at least make the effort.
"The ship where I live. Where you told me I could use my cut to buy anything I wanted." River's eyes widened in entreaty, close as could be to a pout without actual wobbling of lip.
Mal sputtered. "Tell anyone you like I'm bein' a mean, cruel húndàn. But they ain't coming aboard Serenity. Those are coffins, River-girl. A pair of pine boxes just a bit longer than a man is tall? Ain't nothin' but comes in a crate that size. And I know you remember what happened the last time we brought one on board. Never mind the time before that."
"And the time before that?" she said archly. She didn't bother gesturing to herself; the point was self-evident. Though she'd come aboard in a cryobox, not a sealed modern coffin, or the ancient sarcophagus their last accidental crew additions had come packaged in. Mal was just collecting all manner of corpsical transportation methods, wasn't he?
He blew out a frustrated breath. "Not sayin' all the consequences been bad ones. But there have been consequences. Every time. And I just don't know as how we're in the best position to field such right now." He made darting side-eyes toward Kaylee, bright-eyed and merry a couple of bays down, one hand splayed over the front of her swelled-out coveralls while she sorted through a pile of shipyard odds and ends. There was Zoë to consider, too, and little Alleyne Hoban Washburne, and River knew it. Mal's second had become fiercer than ever with motherhood, inclined to deal with any possible threat to the little 'un-- and those as brought 'em aboard-- with swift prejudice.
River's expression softened as she gazed at her sister-in-law, echoing a hint of Kaylee's warm mood. Then she shook it off and narrowed her eyes at Mal again. "Won't cost half the job-fee this time," she said, referring to the aftermath of their antiquities smuggling job (naturally, the royal sarcophagus had been the most valuable item in the lot, and it weren't worth nothin' with the seals broke). "Won't get anyone shot. Or draw the Alliance down on Serenity."
"But you're not denying there will be consequences," he frowned at her. "Where are they even from? This was, what," he glanced away, looking for the labels identifying the boxes' origins, "cargo off a Reaver-hit short-hauler outbound from 睡谷 over on Irving? Sold as is, unopened. I bet. That's an old-dirt moon; deep core. Why would they be shippin' coffins in the first place? Can't be a good sign."
"Not coffins," River insisted again, shaking her head. "Treasure chests."
She kept her long, silky hair largely braided back these days; used to be she'd used it as another shield between her and the 'verse, tilting her head to peer out through its shiny curtain when she couldn't stand to look at folk straight-on, but it had been awhile since she'd needed that buffer. When she got mind-weary now, she tended to anchor on one of the crew, particularly Mal or her brother, blocking out all else in the swirl of their emotions. Mal liked to think he could feel her there, sometimes, like a patch of tangled warmth at the back of his thoughts; but she was far from in sync with him at the moment, all obstinate and gloriously independent.
"No sleeping folk this time? You promise?" he caved.
She raised an eyebrow, then, favoring him with the disgusted look she usually gave her brother when he was being particularly moronic.
Mal rocked back on his heels, uncrossing his arms to tuck his thumbs in his gunbelt, and sighed. "S'pose I'll have to take your word for it. I did say you could buy any prize you wanted. But I'm tellin' you now, if there are old mummies inside-- or drugged folk, or some long-lost cousin in cryo-- I'm tipping 'em right out the airlock, no matter who they are, dŏng ma?"
The stern line of her mouth melted back into a wide smile, at that: sunshine peering out from behind a cloud. "Xiè xie, Mal," she said, cheerily, and darted up on tippy-toe to peck him on the lips.
He gathered her close, all lithe kinetic energy, like a lightning strike in his arms. He felt like a dirty old man every time she did that out in public, and she knew it; but it also short-circuited every nerve in body and soul, and she knew that, too. One of the benefits-- or downsides, depending on the day-- of pairing up with a Reader.
Then a throat cleared at his side, and they pulled apart to meet the amused gaze of Evy O'Connell. Evy and her husband had taken up residence in the spare shuttle once they'd decided to stick around, and often parked on back moons to do a bit of digging or research while the crew ran delivery jobs, joining up again the next time Serenity passed 'em by. They tended to make sure they were around when the crew did any serious shopping, though; the missus had a real curious mind, and enjoyed digging through discarded bits and bobs to flesh out all the history that had passed her by.
Some, she sold; others, she kept, in a double-locked vault magnetized to the floor of the shuttle. Mal didn't like to think about why; if'n he did, he was fair sure he'd react much as he had when he'd first seen the coffins. But that was the O'Connells' business... and it seemed he'd got in the habit of repossessing esoteric weapons fumbled out of Alliance hands, anyhow.
"Ah, did I hear someone say treasure chests?" Evy asked, shifting that day's basketful of purchases to a hip as she raised a querying eyebrow at River. Something big and square and a glossy sort of black with carvings on the cover poked out of it; Mal tried very hard not to notice. Weren't his business to know. "What sort of treasure have you uncovered today?"
Something about River's smile told Mal she'd done that sort of thing on Evy's behalf in the past... but before that unease could sink roots, she laid out a whole other set of statements to worry on.
"Not yours this time," she said. "Nor ours. So many worlds need more than one set of Witnesses to cover them. But they'll find us before long. We may have sealed Conquest for a time, but War's been sharpening his knives again, and Death rides with him."
Mal sucked in a sharp breath. "Little albatross...."
River gave him a crooked smile. "Told you the storm was getting worse," she replied, laying a finger across his lips. "But you were right, too; we'll pass through it soon enough."
For all the ominous thunder of her warning, the next several weeks flew by smooth enough. The only difference from the usual routine was that the O'Connells kept their shuttle docked, as did Inara; Mal didn't know what River had said to their Companion, but he found them together in his bunk several times during that stretch of waiting, ornate ivory-handled brush sweeping through River's unbound hair. Picture worthy of a painting: one that deserved a much better setting than he could give 'em.
Inara had taken up the role of older sister to River since the girl had made her interest in Mal clear enough for even him to notice; oddly enough, that had made it easier for Mal to relate to her. Easier to adopt the same fraternal affection he gave Kaylee in place of fraught looks and fights; the first time he'd dropped an absent-minded kiss on Inara's head, she'd given him a startled look, then laughed at his befuddled expression. Probably ought to chap his pride she hadn't wasted more energy on pining, but he was a practical sort of man. Things going smoother than he deserved, he'd decided not to question.
Wind blew northerly, he went north; and River had no rudder, neither, courtesy of the Alliance. He conjured it was as close to divine will as he was like to find that they'd ended up flying the same course.
A couple months after River's winnings came aboard, tucked back in one of the storage holds, they put in at Beaumonde and in fine old tradition advertised for a couple of passengers. The Operative's word had held, little as Mal wanted to owe the man anything; their records were clear, and it was an easy way to defray the fuel costs of a few of their new regular runs. Lot of folk needing supplies or transpo in the Burnham Quadrant and a lot fewer ships to move 'em since the Reavers swept through; Serenity's services had been in refreshingly high demand. Enough for Fanty and Mingo to drop their cut back to twenty-five from forty.
Mal thought nothing of it 'til he returned from a meet with the self-same Rample brothers to find a woman in an old-style Rim-world law officer's uniform seated at the table, next to a shaggy-haired man with neatly trimmed facial hair and an even older style of long, hand-sewn jacket. He'd never seen them before, but there was something oddly familiar about 'em; and not just because their body language reminded him a bit of him and Zoë. Veterans. Partners. And a little too rough around the edges to be Alliance.
The woman saw him come in; she gave him a thoughtful frown, then elbowed her friend. The man was bent over something on the table, though-- that old Bible of Book's? Mal thought he recognized the tattered pages River had once cut up-- and ignored the warning.
"So you see, it's not meant to be literal; only a guidepost," he was saying intently, in some rarefied coreworld accent. "Though not all translations are the same, I believe it can be unequivocally said that a faithful transcription of history is not its purpose."
River sat across from him, the only one of the crew present, fiddling with the end of her braid; a small, nostalgic smile turned up one corner of her mouth as she replied. "Many Shepherds would disagree with you," she said. "But I knew a wise one, once, who said much the same. 'It's not about making sense. It's about believing in something and letting that belief be real enough to change your life.'"
"Well spoken," the man replied.
Mal swallowed at the memory of bloody hands on his face; of Book urging him to believe.
He cleared his throat. "River, băobèi? Care to introduce our guests?"
River's expression brightened as she grinned up at him. "But you know who they are already," she said. "They've come to collect their things."
A frown wrinkled Mal's brow as he glanced between the pair, trying to recall whether anyone had left a package with them since... ah, hell.
"Shàngdì de dàn," he swore. He and Evy'd looked into River's precious pine boxes before helping her pack them away; there'd been heaps of ancient maps of Earth-That-Was, musty old books, weapons of strange make and sharp edge for the up-close kill, and at least one very old, marked up copy of the Good Book.
River's grin widened at that, mischievousness over a sharp edge. "Not testicles; Mùjí zhŭ," she said, brightly.
The strangers exchanged a speaking look; then the man reached slowly to slip the Bible out from under River's hand, carefully turning it and flipping pages until he came to a particular passage.
"And power was given unto them... to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth," he read, in low, querying tones.
River nodded, attention once again fixed on the man across from her, to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. "We were there for the last two seals; but we didn't know. Didn't see. War, conquest, chaos come again... until I spoke for the silent world. Now they wake to ride again."
Her conversational partner nodded enthusiastically. "I knew when I saw the Miranda broadcast that when we found its origin point, we would locate one of this generation's Witnesses; but when we went to Irving to retrieve the gear we'd cached there before the war and discovered it empty...."
Mal shook his head as the conversation ran onward, completely unconcerned with any further input from him; he glanced at the man's companion, who bore a similarly bemused expression, and pulled out the chair next to her.
"Since the answer 'pears to have got away from my partner; how 'bout you introduce you and yours," he addressed the woman, wryly.
Shared amusement lit up her features. Before she'd seemed somehow old and young at once, the way River often did; vital with youth but wearied by her trials. Good humor made her prettier-- but softened her character not at all. Pure tempered steel. "You can call me Abbie. He's Ichabod-- though most people call him Crane. We're... well, it's kind of a long story."
"So I'm hearin'," he said, gesturing to River and Crane, who were still nattering on with evident enthusiasm. "Ain't heard her that worked up in... well, quite awhile." Since she'd asked a merciful God to take her away, back on Miranda. He wondered what fresh Hell that meant for them now.
Abbie's smile deepened. "Been awhile since he had a chance to explain it all from the start. It's usually too much for most people to take in."
"Can't imagine why," Mal replied, dryly.
"You haven't heard the half of it," she continued, ruefully. "Wait 'til he gets to, 'and Death cursed us to die by the sword, as had his love'. Which makes going on five hundred years now we've spent carefully avoiding sharp edges."
Mal blinked. She'd seemed awful sane for a crazy person. He glanced over at River in disbelief... and caught her giving him the yúbèn de look again.
He cleared his throat, blinking again, and turned back to Abbie. Right. Perspective. He'd heard stranger, hadn't he?
"Ah. You met the O'Connells yet? Bet Evy'll have questions; she slept through most of those years, and she finds the official histories of the period a mite underwhelming."
It was Abbie's turn to blink at that, then shake her head. "I get the feeling that's something of an understatement," she said, wonderingly.
Mal snorted, then held out a hand. "I get the feelin' you and me are gonna get along just fine."
-x-