Fic Remix: Unexpected Perils (The Triad Remix) (Firefly, River/Mal, PG)
Title: Unexpected Perils (The Triad Remix)
Rating: PG
Words: 407
Pairing: River/Mal(/Serenity)
Summary: River's been the voice of the ship before; now it's asking her for a little more.
Notes: For Remix Madness 2012, a remix of Unexpected Perils by pearl_o, who told Mal's side of the story; as usual, I'm taking up for the girls here.
Unexpected Perils (The Triad Remix)
Sometimes, in the reaches of the darkness, late at night alone with River and the glow of the lights (not yellow like her tail, like the ribbons of plasma mimicking phosphorescence, not the right shade), the ship speaks.
She’s well aware inanimate objects don’t speak (can’t speak, has an engine and a core, metal and dials and sounds but no mouth, no throat, no hands), but Serenity isn’t quite inanimate, so River hears anyhow.
It’s a faint thread, buried deep, covered in clicks and hums (wires, electricity, motion - space is a vacuum, no sound in a vacuum, but they’re inside pressure in the vacuum), under the fragmentary thoughts of the crew, sleeping dreams occupying their heads, all but one (two, if she counts herself; she doesn’t like to sleep, can’t dream if you’re not asleep). Faint, but she’s very good at listening.
Alone, the ship says. Together, but alone. Help us.
River is always alone (always surrounded by people, babysitters, watchers - not company, they lack the understanding required for companionship), so this is intriguing. When the voice turns to rhythm, she needs to follow, the steady, quiet beat leading her on like a thread running through a maze.
She dances along the ship on floating feet, because Serenity is pleased with this development, and so River is pleased; the ship is so big, so overwhelming in her feelings, so much home.
The thumping leads her to the Captain’s door (alone), and it’s open for her already; Serenity has made the portal for her, and River steps through, and down, and in.
He doesn’t understand in the morning (cold and confused, still wanting to be warmer), even when Serenity pushes River into him, little tips and nudges and adjustments in her flight that only River can feel guiding her closer to the Captain, to his arms, to his lips, to making them one.
He leaves her there with tears hanging on her lashes (off to find her a babysitter, even though he knows she’s nobody’s baby), and there’s just Serenity again, and the voice, saying wait and patience and persistence until River feels stronger, strong enough to slip away before they return for her, to crawl up into her beloved ship and wait out the day in safety.
One and one make two, Serenity tells her; tucked up inside secret tunnels, watching Mal as he flies, River knows that two will always be a part of three.
Rating: PG
Words: 407
Pairing: River/Mal(/Serenity)
Summary: River's been the voice of the ship before; now it's asking her for a little more.
Notes: For Remix Madness 2012, a remix of Unexpected Perils by pearl_o, who told Mal's side of the story; as usual, I'm taking up for the girls here.
Unexpected Perils (The Triad Remix)
Sometimes, in the reaches of the darkness, late at night alone with River and the glow of the lights (not yellow like her tail, like the ribbons of plasma mimicking phosphorescence, not the right shade), the ship speaks.
She’s well aware inanimate objects don’t speak (can’t speak, has an engine and a core, metal and dials and sounds but no mouth, no throat, no hands), but Serenity isn’t quite inanimate, so River hears anyhow.
It’s a faint thread, buried deep, covered in clicks and hums (wires, electricity, motion - space is a vacuum, no sound in a vacuum, but they’re inside pressure in the vacuum), under the fragmentary thoughts of the crew, sleeping dreams occupying their heads, all but one (two, if she counts herself; she doesn’t like to sleep, can’t dream if you’re not asleep). Faint, but she’s very good at listening.
Alone, the ship says. Together, but alone. Help us.
River is always alone (always surrounded by people, babysitters, watchers - not company, they lack the understanding required for companionship), so this is intriguing. When the voice turns to rhythm, she needs to follow, the steady, quiet beat leading her on like a thread running through a maze.
She dances along the ship on floating feet, because Serenity is pleased with this development, and so River is pleased; the ship is so big, so overwhelming in her feelings, so much home.
The thumping leads her to the Captain’s door (alone), and it’s open for her already; Serenity has made the portal for her, and River steps through, and down, and in.
He doesn’t understand in the morning (cold and confused, still wanting to be warmer), even when Serenity pushes River into him, little tips and nudges and adjustments in her flight that only River can feel guiding her closer to the Captain, to his arms, to his lips, to making them one.
He leaves her there with tears hanging on her lashes (off to find her a babysitter, even though he knows she’s nobody’s baby), and there’s just Serenity again, and the voice, saying wait and patience and persistence until River feels stronger, strong enough to slip away before they return for her, to crawl up into her beloved ship and wait out the day in safety.
One and one make two, Serenity tells her; tucked up inside secret tunnels, watching Mal as he flies, River knows that two will always be a part of three.