Ficlet: Diurnal (Firefly, Mal, post-Serenity)
*facepalms*
Yes, because I have nothing else I'm working on [insert sarcasm here], I went and wrote the Firefly bunny that attacked me yesterday.
Huge warning: This has a massive honking monster spoiler for Serenity the movie. Do not read if you do not want to be spoiled!
Spoilers!
Title: Diurnal
Author: tigerlady
Disclaimer: not mine
Pairing: not really, Zoe and Mal friendship, hints of pairings as in the movie
Summary: Nothing's really changed from day to day. It's just the nights that are different.
Spoilers for Serenity! Turn away now!
The days went on pretty much as they always had. Sure, the whole 'verse seemed a little shook, but they got by, drifting from moon to moon picking up odd jobs and supplies as could be had. Serenity was a mite bit sluggish now and then, but Kaylee kept her running. Kaylee kept other things running as well, to judge from the constant smiles on the doc's face. Course, that could have something to do with the fact that his sister wasn't quite so crazy anymore, though to Mal's mind she was still plenty spooky.
Didn't help none to see her perched in the pilot's chair, that deceptively slim form just about swallowed up by the control console and a forest of dinosaurs. But she did a damn good job, and if she was flying the ship that meant he didn't have to. Kept her out from under foot as well, and that was always a good thing.
Unlike Jayne, who always seemed to be underfoot. Still, that wasn't any different than before, and Mal knew how to handle Jayne. Inara was the one that drove him to hiding, in a manful, not cowardly at all way of course. A Firefly-class ship was excellent for stowing contraband, but it was too damn small for a man who was being actively driven crazy by a woman with training. Kaylee laughed at him constantly, but that wasn't no different than before.
And Zoe was...Zoe. She did her business, poking holes in his plans and shooting holes in bad guys as was needed. She walked and talked, cooked and ate, did everything like she did before.
No, the days were pretty much the same.
It was the nights that were different.
Nights like the one when he found Simon huddled in a corner of the infirmary, staring at the tray of surgical tools like he'd never seen them before. Nights like the one when he caught River scrawling Bible verses across the galley floor in bright red marker. He never saw Inara or Kaylee at night; they both kept their doors locked up tight after the lights cycled. Mal tried to give Jayne a wide berth, especially on the nights he took to sleepwalking the corridors with Vera.
Mal himself found he didn't have much use for the night cycles anymore. He slept-some. Mostly he roamed the corridors, looking for things as needed doing. It wasn't so much the nightmares that drove him from his bed-he'd dealt with nightmares before-as it was a need to make sure all was right in his world.
The fifth night he sat in front of Zoe's hatch, listening as muffled sobs softened into silence, only to be replaced with shouted warnings, he decided all would never be right in his world again. So night after night, he rose from his bed after a few hours of sleep to check the readings on the bridge, to stalk the empty spaces in the cargo bay, to stand in the hush of the passenger quarters. Then he would take up his vigil for his first mate, thinking about how much he never liked Wash. The man was too cocky, and too irreverent. Too good at what he did, and too funny. Too talented at making people care about him. Kind of like the preacher, and Mal had never cared much for Book either.
After too many nights of sitting and counting the ways he despised everyone in the 'verse, but most especially the people on his ship, Mal gave up. He fully expected Zoe to shoot him as he climbed down the hatch, so he kept his head down and hoped his rear would take the brunt of the damage. When he set foot on the deck minus any lead, he figured maybe some of those lessons on sneaking had paid off. He should have known better, because she was watching him when he turned around, eyes red and puffy, but very much aware.
There were a thousand things to say, and no way to say them. Zoe always knew though, but sometimes he wondered if he should say them anyways. Since he wasn't a man to do something just because he should, Mal didn't spend much time on that thought. Instead he just met her gaze, and when she rolled away to leave room in the bed that was too big he just crawled in. He didn't take his boots off that night, but he did the next.
They never touched. That wasn't for them. Touch was something for people who hadn't seen what they had seen, hadn't done the things they had done. Mal thought about Inara sometimes, and thought maybe he should see her off his ship to some place she could find somebody to touch. But he'd let her be for a while, because she was still hurting, not ready to touch for a while her own self. She'd heal, though. She'd touch again.
Yes, the nights were different than before, but after a while they took on their own sameness. Each night as he laid in another man's bed he'd look at the curved lines of his ship, and think about guilt and responsibility and all those other words that had already eaten his soul, and he'd wonder why they kept going. Wondered why he even tried any more.
Then he'd start to think about faith.
Yes, because I have nothing else I'm working on [insert sarcasm here], I went and wrote the Firefly bunny that attacked me yesterday.
Huge warning: This has a massive honking monster spoiler for Serenity the movie. Do not read if you do not want to be spoiled!
Spoilers!
Title: Diurnal
Author: tigerlady
Disclaimer: not mine
Pairing: not really, Zoe and Mal friendship, hints of pairings as in the movie
Summary: Nothing's really changed from day to day. It's just the nights that are different.
Spoilers for Serenity! Turn away now!
The days went on pretty much as they always had. Sure, the whole 'verse seemed a little shook, but they got by, drifting from moon to moon picking up odd jobs and supplies as could be had. Serenity was a mite bit sluggish now and then, but Kaylee kept her running. Kaylee kept other things running as well, to judge from the constant smiles on the doc's face. Course, that could have something to do with the fact that his sister wasn't quite so crazy anymore, though to Mal's mind she was still plenty spooky.
Didn't help none to see her perched in the pilot's chair, that deceptively slim form just about swallowed up by the control console and a forest of dinosaurs. But she did a damn good job, and if she was flying the ship that meant he didn't have to. Kept her out from under foot as well, and that was always a good thing.
Unlike Jayne, who always seemed to be underfoot. Still, that wasn't any different than before, and Mal knew how to handle Jayne. Inara was the one that drove him to hiding, in a manful, not cowardly at all way of course. A Firefly-class ship was excellent for stowing contraband, but it was too damn small for a man who was being actively driven crazy by a woman with training. Kaylee laughed at him constantly, but that wasn't no different than before.
And Zoe was...Zoe. She did her business, poking holes in his plans and shooting holes in bad guys as was needed. She walked and talked, cooked and ate, did everything like she did before.
No, the days were pretty much the same.
It was the nights that were different.
Nights like the one when he found Simon huddled in a corner of the infirmary, staring at the tray of surgical tools like he'd never seen them before. Nights like the one when he caught River scrawling Bible verses across the galley floor in bright red marker. He never saw Inara or Kaylee at night; they both kept their doors locked up tight after the lights cycled. Mal tried to give Jayne a wide berth, especially on the nights he took to sleepwalking the corridors with Vera.
Mal himself found he didn't have much use for the night cycles anymore. He slept-some. Mostly he roamed the corridors, looking for things as needed doing. It wasn't so much the nightmares that drove him from his bed-he'd dealt with nightmares before-as it was a need to make sure all was right in his world.
The fifth night he sat in front of Zoe's hatch, listening as muffled sobs softened into silence, only to be replaced with shouted warnings, he decided all would never be right in his world again. So night after night, he rose from his bed after a few hours of sleep to check the readings on the bridge, to stalk the empty spaces in the cargo bay, to stand in the hush of the passenger quarters. Then he would take up his vigil for his first mate, thinking about how much he never liked Wash. The man was too cocky, and too irreverent. Too good at what he did, and too funny. Too talented at making people care about him. Kind of like the preacher, and Mal had never cared much for Book either.
After too many nights of sitting and counting the ways he despised everyone in the 'verse, but most especially the people on his ship, Mal gave up. He fully expected Zoe to shoot him as he climbed down the hatch, so he kept his head down and hoped his rear would take the brunt of the damage. When he set foot on the deck minus any lead, he figured maybe some of those lessons on sneaking had paid off. He should have known better, because she was watching him when he turned around, eyes red and puffy, but very much aware.
There were a thousand things to say, and no way to say them. Zoe always knew though, but sometimes he wondered if he should say them anyways. Since he wasn't a man to do something just because he should, Mal didn't spend much time on that thought. Instead he just met her gaze, and when she rolled away to leave room in the bed that was too big he just crawled in. He didn't take his boots off that night, but he did the next.
They never touched. That wasn't for them. Touch was something for people who hadn't seen what they had seen, hadn't done the things they had done. Mal thought about Inara sometimes, and thought maybe he should see her off his ship to some place she could find somebody to touch. But he'd let her be for a while, because she was still hurting, not ready to touch for a while her own self. She'd heal, though. She'd touch again.
Yes, the nights were different than before, but after a while they took on their own sameness. Each night as he laid in another man's bed he'd look at the curved lines of his ship, and think about guilt and responsibility and all those other words that had already eaten his soul, and he'd wonder why they kept going. Wondered why he even tried any more.
Then he'd start to think about faith.