River Tam: Psychic Eye, Chapter Five
Title: River Tam, Psychic Eye
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Summary: Set in present-day America. To make a little more cash every month, Simon Tam rents out his empty garage to Braille printer Jayne Cobb. Jayne is scruffy and gruff, but he seems to have a good heart. And what’s more, he gets Simon’s mostly-silent sister, River, to open up. And when a strange man named Badger is murdered just a few doors away, it might just be up to Jayne and River to solve the mystery.
Series: Chapter Five
Rating: PG-ish
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just meddle and squee frequently.
Author’s Note: I must have some sort of brain damage if I keep writing Rayne-fic… but think of this as AU pre-Rayne. Which I can deal with. :)
Sorry this one's so short - work's been something akin to difficult (plus I'm on call all the time)... it might be awhile til you get another, so here's one to tide over. :)
Chapters 1-4
Chapter Five
The next day River was walking home from school and thinking nothing thoughts about Jayne. Mostly she was wondering how he’d gotten into the Braille printing trade. It was an uncommon occupation, and even an uncommon hobby.
But then again, she reminded herself, Jayne was an uncommon man.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear Simon’s Volvo pull up beside her. She didn’t hear him stop the car, or get out, or come up behind her. It was only when she heard her name for the fifth time that she realized he was even behind her.
“River. You know you’re not supposed to leave the school grounds.”
Technically she wasn’t. Something to do with her having another shunt failure and dying somewhere between school and home. But she considered it a rather pointless rule. Just like she wasn’t crazy about wearing the medical ID bracelet Simon had made for her. Kaylee tried to make it pretty with different beaded lengths to attach the metal tag to, but nothing could hide the fact that she was permanently tethered to a piece of metal detailing her internal failures.
“Are you listening to me?”
Listening but not caring. River didn’t see the need to enlighten Simon of this fact.
“Get in the car, please.”
She spun around suddenly and there he was, inches away.
Simon took a step back and furrowed his brow at her. “What’s going on?”
River wanted to say a million things. She wanted to tell Simon that the guys in her math class were still making jokes about her, about the scar on the back of her head. She wanted to say that girls, who, up until a few months ago were friendly to her, now looked the other way when she stood in the cafeteria looking for a seat. She wanted to tell him that she felt like a dumbass when she stood in the cafeteria empty-handed, knowing she wouldn’t be eating anything. She wanted to tell him about teachers who looked away and student teachers who stared and kids who said all the wrong things. She wanted to tell him that Jayne was wearing an NPR shirt when he moved his things into the garage, and she wanted to tell him that she wasn’t sure what that meant, because Jayne didn’t seem like the type to listen to NPR. She wanted to tell him that she had tasted her formula, the stuff he pumped daily through her nasogastric tube, and realized that there was very definitely a reason that it got pumped through a tube - the stuff was not made for taste buds. She wanted to tell him that she had no freedom anymore - it was home, school, home, with people watching her every moment, calculating her behavior against an acceptable scale.
But she stood there with her mouth slightly opened, staring at him as though transfixed.
“What is it?” Simon asked, reaching out to take her elbow. “Just tell me what it is.”
She reached up to touch the zipper scar.
“Does it hurt?”
She shook her head. Simon was looking for answers to questions that hadn’t been asked.
“River, just talk to me. It’s me. It’s Simon.”
River rolled her eyes, as if to say, I know who you are, dumbass.
She turned and hitched her lavender backpack higher up on her shoulders, and continued walking home.
Her brother didn’t pick her up, or force her to get in the car, so she made it the four remaining blocks back to the house. Simon’s car was in the garage when she went up the back steps, and when she came in he was sitting in the kitchen with an unopened pudding cup in front of him.
River looked sideways at him, unsure what the trick was.
“Have some pudding,” Simon said, gesturing to the little plastic cup before him.
River put her backpack on the hook next to the door.
“I did something for you,” Simon said, as though letting her walk home was something huge. “Now I’d like you to do something for me.”
River looked out the back door towards the back garage, where her swing was. Only a hundred feet and she’d be free.
“You can go swing after you eat this pudding,” Simon said.
River swallowed hard.
“Let’s go,” Simon said. “The faster you eat, the faster I’ll let you go.”
She could beat him to the garage. She could kick him in the shins or throw a boot at him and be down the steps before he knew what hit him.
But it was not to be. Simon stood up and took her elbow and guided her back to the table. The whole way she wanted to scream, to shove him away, to dart out the door and never come back, but something was stuck inside her. Something just refused.
He somehow got her to sit and somehow got the spoon in her hand, full of vanilla pudding. And then somehow with his hand on hers the spoon was up into her mouth and the pudding was all over her tongue.
“Swallow,” Simon prompted, the way the feeding therapist had taught him to do.
And River was gagging, fighting, exactly the way the feeding therapist had taught her not to do.
There was a knock on the back door before Simon could grab her chin and force her to swallow, which she knew was coming. Grateful for the excuse, River bolted to the sink and heaved and retched the pudding up, until it was all gone, and then she bolted out the back door past Jayne, who was standing on the porch.
When Jayne came out to the garage twenty minutes later, he didn’t say anything, but went to the workbench he’d set up. River sat on the swing and watched him tinker with something as she went back and forth.
He finally turned to her, grease on his hands, and smiled. “Never met anyone who hates pudding quite as much as you,” he said.
And that was that.
They went on into the deepening evening as though it was any night, any town, any girl with a tube taped to her face and any man struggling to make what was invisible to the blind instantly visible.
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Summary: Set in present-day America. To make a little more cash every month, Simon Tam rents out his empty garage to Braille printer Jayne Cobb. Jayne is scruffy and gruff, but he seems to have a good heart. And what’s more, he gets Simon’s mostly-silent sister, River, to open up. And when a strange man named Badger is murdered just a few doors away, it might just be up to Jayne and River to solve the mystery.
Series: Chapter Five
Rating: PG-ish
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just meddle and squee frequently.
Author’s Note: I must have some sort of brain damage if I keep writing Rayne-fic… but think of this as AU pre-Rayne. Which I can deal with. :)
Sorry this one's so short - work's been something akin to difficult (plus I'm on call all the time)... it might be awhile til you get another, so here's one to tide over. :)
Chapters 1-4
Chapter Five
The next day River was walking home from school and thinking nothing thoughts about Jayne. Mostly she was wondering how he’d gotten into the Braille printing trade. It was an uncommon occupation, and even an uncommon hobby.
But then again, she reminded herself, Jayne was an uncommon man.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear Simon’s Volvo pull up beside her. She didn’t hear him stop the car, or get out, or come up behind her. It was only when she heard her name for the fifth time that she realized he was even behind her.
“River. You know you’re not supposed to leave the school grounds.”
Technically she wasn’t. Something to do with her having another shunt failure and dying somewhere between school and home. But she considered it a rather pointless rule. Just like she wasn’t crazy about wearing the medical ID bracelet Simon had made for her. Kaylee tried to make it pretty with different beaded lengths to attach the metal tag to, but nothing could hide the fact that she was permanently tethered to a piece of metal detailing her internal failures.
“Are you listening to me?”
Listening but not caring. River didn’t see the need to enlighten Simon of this fact.
“Get in the car, please.”
She spun around suddenly and there he was, inches away.
Simon took a step back and furrowed his brow at her. “What’s going on?”
River wanted to say a million things. She wanted to tell Simon that the guys in her math class were still making jokes about her, about the scar on the back of her head. She wanted to say that girls, who, up until a few months ago were friendly to her, now looked the other way when she stood in the cafeteria looking for a seat. She wanted to tell him that she felt like a dumbass when she stood in the cafeteria empty-handed, knowing she wouldn’t be eating anything. She wanted to tell him about teachers who looked away and student teachers who stared and kids who said all the wrong things. She wanted to tell him that Jayne was wearing an NPR shirt when he moved his things into the garage, and she wanted to tell him that she wasn’t sure what that meant, because Jayne didn’t seem like the type to listen to NPR. She wanted to tell him that she had tasted her formula, the stuff he pumped daily through her nasogastric tube, and realized that there was very definitely a reason that it got pumped through a tube - the stuff was not made for taste buds. She wanted to tell him that she had no freedom anymore - it was home, school, home, with people watching her every moment, calculating her behavior against an acceptable scale.
But she stood there with her mouth slightly opened, staring at him as though transfixed.
“What is it?” Simon asked, reaching out to take her elbow. “Just tell me what it is.”
She reached up to touch the zipper scar.
“Does it hurt?”
She shook her head. Simon was looking for answers to questions that hadn’t been asked.
“River, just talk to me. It’s me. It’s Simon.”
River rolled her eyes, as if to say, I know who you are, dumbass.
She turned and hitched her lavender backpack higher up on her shoulders, and continued walking home.
Her brother didn’t pick her up, or force her to get in the car, so she made it the four remaining blocks back to the house. Simon’s car was in the garage when she went up the back steps, and when she came in he was sitting in the kitchen with an unopened pudding cup in front of him.
River looked sideways at him, unsure what the trick was.
“Have some pudding,” Simon said, gesturing to the little plastic cup before him.
River put her backpack on the hook next to the door.
“I did something for you,” Simon said, as though letting her walk home was something huge. “Now I’d like you to do something for me.”
River looked out the back door towards the back garage, where her swing was. Only a hundred feet and she’d be free.
“You can go swing after you eat this pudding,” Simon said.
River swallowed hard.
“Let’s go,” Simon said. “The faster you eat, the faster I’ll let you go.”
She could beat him to the garage. She could kick him in the shins or throw a boot at him and be down the steps before he knew what hit him.
But it was not to be. Simon stood up and took her elbow and guided her back to the table. The whole way she wanted to scream, to shove him away, to dart out the door and never come back, but something was stuck inside her. Something just refused.
He somehow got her to sit and somehow got the spoon in her hand, full of vanilla pudding. And then somehow with his hand on hers the spoon was up into her mouth and the pudding was all over her tongue.
“Swallow,” Simon prompted, the way the feeding therapist had taught him to do.
And River was gagging, fighting, exactly the way the feeding therapist had taught her not to do.
There was a knock on the back door before Simon could grab her chin and force her to swallow, which she knew was coming. Grateful for the excuse, River bolted to the sink and heaved and retched the pudding up, until it was all gone, and then she bolted out the back door past Jayne, who was standing on the porch.
When Jayne came out to the garage twenty minutes later, he didn’t say anything, but went to the workbench he’d set up. River sat on the swing and watched him tinker with something as she went back and forth.
He finally turned to her, grease on his hands, and smiled. “Never met anyone who hates pudding quite as much as you,” he said.
And that was that.
They went on into the deepening evening as though it was any night, any town, any girl with a tube taped to her face and any man struggling to make what was invisible to the blind instantly visible.