Joss100 Challenge: Ficlet # 20 - What's In A Name
Number 20 - wheeeee! The first 19 can be found here: Big Damn Prompt Table #2
They run in order from 1 - 16, deviate to prompt 72, and then back to prompt 17 and 18. *cause I like to confuse people*
I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanza/Festivus!
I am still suffering from the drugging effects of turkey, so if this story looks odd/doesn’t make sense/reads like it was written by someone not fully there….well, it was. *grins*
Title: What’s in a Name
Fandom: Firefly
Author: Michmak
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: River / Mal
Prompt: 019 - Fight (list 2)
Word Count: 626
Progress: 20/100
WHAT’S IN A NAME
“On Earth-that-Was, the Dove represented peace,” she whispers that night as he enters the kitchen. She is frowning as she hands him his coffee, her large brown eyes traveling across his bruised face before her gaze drifts past the arm in a sling and down to his side. Even though he has his shirt on, he knows she is remembering how Simon had bandaged him up earlier. His side is still tender, truth be told - it had only been a graze, a’ course, but bullets was bullets. They tended to hurt.
He takes the coffee gingerly from her and winces when she steps closer, lifting a hand and pressing it gingerly against the bandage, through his shirt. “Why can’t you be more like your name?”
“Huh?” His response, while not overly intelligent, gets his point across.
“Your name - Malcolm - it means ‘Follower of the Dove’ in ancient Celtic. You’re supposed to be peaceful, yet all you do is fight.” Her voice is regretful as her hand starts rubbing soft circles against his waist. He sighs, half in pain and half in pleasure, before taking a sip from his mug.
“Ain’t me doing the fighting, darling. Leastways, not all the time. Those men - they turned on me. Weren’t the other way around. Had to defend myself, didn’t I?”
“But they shot you.”
“Won’t be the first time nor the last, I reckon. I think getting shot at is part of my job description - kinda fits the whole ‘smuggler’ theme we have happening on this here ship.” His voice is teasing, but River ain’t having none of it.
“You could have died.”
He don’t know when she started crying, but tears slip down her cheeks now. The hand that is holding the mug deposits it none to gently on the table and reaches up to pull her into a one-armed embrace. “No, I couldn’t’a died, little darling - would take more than a little flesh wound to kill me.”
He leads her to the sofa and they sink into it. She’s crying in earnest against his shirt now and he’s awkwardly patting her back, murmuring soft words he hopes sound comforting against the top of her head. Finally, her tears subside, but he can still feel her shaking and shuddering against him. “I wish you didn’t have to fight all the time,” she eventually whispers against him.
“I do too, little albatross,” he whispers back. “But sometimes, there ain’t no other choice. A man who ain’t willing to fight some - well, he’s better off just laying down and dying. I don’t aim to ever lay down.”
She nods against his chest and murmurs, “Not like they did on Miranda. They all stopped fighting. And the ones that didn’t became Reavers.”
“That’s true - but I don’t aim on becoming a Reaver either. I’m just a man who knows that sometimes you gotta fight. You understand what I’m saying to you?”
“You won’t ever give up,” she responds.
“That’s right,” he agrees. “Don’t mean I plan on fighting all the time, either - only when I need to, to keep me and mine safe from harm. But I ain’t fighting right now, am I? I’m just sitting here and my girl is crying all over my shirt.”
She lifts her gave to his face and smiles tremulously through the few remaining tears. “Am I? Am I really your girl?”
His hand lifts to her face, his thumb wiping away the moisture in the corners of her eyes. “You’ve been telling me so for months,” he replies. “You trying to take it back?”
She shakes her head and her hair falls over her shoulder, draping across his wrist. “Why now?” she whispers.
He smiles at her, “Got tired of fighting you, is all.”
They run in order from 1 - 16, deviate to prompt 72, and then back to prompt 17 and 18. *cause I like to confuse people*
I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanza/Festivus!
I am still suffering from the drugging effects of turkey, so if this story looks odd/doesn’t make sense/reads like it was written by someone not fully there….well, it was. *grins*
Title: What’s in a Name
Fandom: Firefly
Author: Michmak
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: River / Mal
Prompt: 019 - Fight (list 2)
Word Count: 626
Progress: 20/100
WHAT’S IN A NAME
“On Earth-that-Was, the Dove represented peace,” she whispers that night as he enters the kitchen. She is frowning as she hands him his coffee, her large brown eyes traveling across his bruised face before her gaze drifts past the arm in a sling and down to his side. Even though he has his shirt on, he knows she is remembering how Simon had bandaged him up earlier. His side is still tender, truth be told - it had only been a graze, a’ course, but bullets was bullets. They tended to hurt.
He takes the coffee gingerly from her and winces when she steps closer, lifting a hand and pressing it gingerly against the bandage, through his shirt. “Why can’t you be more like your name?”
“Huh?” His response, while not overly intelligent, gets his point across.
“Your name - Malcolm - it means ‘Follower of the Dove’ in ancient Celtic. You’re supposed to be peaceful, yet all you do is fight.” Her voice is regretful as her hand starts rubbing soft circles against his waist. He sighs, half in pain and half in pleasure, before taking a sip from his mug.
“Ain’t me doing the fighting, darling. Leastways, not all the time. Those men - they turned on me. Weren’t the other way around. Had to defend myself, didn’t I?”
“But they shot you.”
“Won’t be the first time nor the last, I reckon. I think getting shot at is part of my job description - kinda fits the whole ‘smuggler’ theme we have happening on this here ship.” His voice is teasing, but River ain’t having none of it.
“You could have died.”
He don’t know when she started crying, but tears slip down her cheeks now. The hand that is holding the mug deposits it none to gently on the table and reaches up to pull her into a one-armed embrace. “No, I couldn’t’a died, little darling - would take more than a little flesh wound to kill me.”
He leads her to the sofa and they sink into it. She’s crying in earnest against his shirt now and he’s awkwardly patting her back, murmuring soft words he hopes sound comforting against the top of her head. Finally, her tears subside, but he can still feel her shaking and shuddering against him. “I wish you didn’t have to fight all the time,” she eventually whispers against him.
“I do too, little albatross,” he whispers back. “But sometimes, there ain’t no other choice. A man who ain’t willing to fight some - well, he’s better off just laying down and dying. I don’t aim to ever lay down.”
She nods against his chest and murmurs, “Not like they did on Miranda. They all stopped fighting. And the ones that didn’t became Reavers.”
“That’s true - but I don’t aim on becoming a Reaver either. I’m just a man who knows that sometimes you gotta fight. You understand what I’m saying to you?”
“You won’t ever give up,” she responds.
“That’s right,” he agrees. “Don’t mean I plan on fighting all the time, either - only when I need to, to keep me and mine safe from harm. But I ain’t fighting right now, am I? I’m just sitting here and my girl is crying all over my shirt.”
She lifts her gave to his face and smiles tremulously through the few remaining tears. “Am I? Am I really your girl?”
His hand lifts to her face, his thumb wiping away the moisture in the corners of her eyes. “You’ve been telling me so for months,” he replies. “You trying to take it back?”
She shakes her head and her hair falls over her shoulder, draping across his wrist. “Why now?” she whispers.
He smiles at her, “Got tired of fighting you, is all.”