river_meimei | (no subject)

(no subject)

Wash is gone. Pretty much every member of the crew has chipped in to help with flying at some point; skill levels vary, of course, but it's not complicated to fly in a straight line through the black, or babysit the autopilot. Every night, Zoe silently takes Naomi and leaves for Milliways, to sleep there instead of in their bunk.

All the same, there's work needs doing. Or, maybe, everyone's got extra reasons to seek out work right now. Keep the hands busy and (maybe) the mind quiet.

Either way, it's been a while since River's guns were last cleaned. Which is why she and Mal are sitting at the kitchen table with rags and brushes and oil, guns in various states of disassembly spread before them both.

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Ennis' more'n confused, not that that's anything new. Certainly not around River.

"What'you mean, a certain place to learn?"

"Can't learn shooting holed up in a big city or some such, right? Or at least, not any shooting that matters -- "

Mal casts a glance at River just then, and cuts himself off, probably leaving Ennis more confused than before.

" -- Can't be of use like that unless you've got reason to know what you're doing," he finishes slowly.

Ennis' about seventeen ways more confused than before, but he doesn't ask more questions.

Eyes narrowed, he lifts them to River, watching her move, slow, confident, and not the kind that's for show.

"Not with the hand," River says, to Ennis or Mal or just to the gun she's still holding.

Ennis moves, standing behind her, silent and still, watching.

River stares at Joe's gun, or through it, for a long second. She breathes in, and out, slowly.

And then she picks up the cloth by her elbow, and wipes the gun clean of excess oil with a few deft motions, and sets it down again. She reassembles the gun in a series of rapid clicks -- her hands are quick and sure, and for once her gaze doesn't go wandering -- and only then lifts her eyes to Mal.

And there's not much Mal'd actually be able to say without convincing Ennis that he's as incomprehensible as River.

The gun Mal was working on is reassembled and finished, and Mal bends to pull the knife out of his boot, digging out a whetstone from his cleaning kit.

"You know," Mal offers while eyeing the first blade of three, "I could really go for some bao."

It's pretty damn close already, as Ennis takes in a deep breath and sits down nearby.

His eyes are still on River, not so much on Mal, but he don't know what bao are, and says so.

"I don't know how to cook," River says to the far wall.

Beat.

"Means dumplings. Without the gunpowder."

"I can't cook bao worth a good gorram, but I was thinkin' I could go to Milliways and pick some up," Mal explains.

"If folk'd be interested."

Ennis shrugs, and nods vaguely, 'cause, well. No need to offend the man.

Ennis doesn't look as if he's likely to turn green at the sight of food.

So River is free to turn wide interested eyes on Mal.

Mal laughs aloud at the look on River's face as he rolls his cleaning kit back up.

"Lemme put my toys away, and I'll be back in awhile."

Mal's door to the bar is usually Inara's shuttle, so he takes the exiting corridor toward the cargo bay, leaving Ennis and River at the kitchen table.

Ennis watches Mal go, and then it's a silence that ain't so comfortable as it once would've been, punctuated by coughs, and itchy hands that ain't got their lighter or their cigarettes to play with.

"Din' know 'bout all that."

Is what he finally says.

River glances at him.

The gun that was Joe's is cleaned and reassembled. River could start on the other, but instead she only turns a cloth over and over in her fingers, leaving faint smears of oil on the tan fabric.

Ennis reaches over for the other gun, the one left on the table, with the fancy scrollwork. Nicer'n any gun he's ever shot. His eyes are up at River's, though, asking as he does.

River tenses subtly.

She glances at his face, and back down at the gun in his hands, and her mouth opens a little but it closes again in silence. She doesn't say no.

But she keeps her eyes on his hands.

His hands move slow-

not slowly. but slower'n they'd ever have for him before. New gun, stiff, sore fingers. But it's cleaned and it's put together soon enough, and he places it back in front of her quietly, just the heavey snick of metal on a solid surface.

River's eyes follow the gun even after it's out of his hands. She spends a long moment looking down at it, at the lethal oiled gleam of barrel and chamber.

Then she turns her head, and gives Ennis a faint smile.

"Ain't used one like that in...."

He furrows his brow, tryin' to think on how long it must've been at this point.

"Not since I was a far sight younger'n you."

"Old," River says softly.

Ennis raises a single eyebrow, questioning.

River is good at answering direct questions sometimes.

Not right now, though.

"Used 'em," she says instead, and looks down again at the gun, at her fingers wandering in slow circles on the gleaming stock.

"When?"

River glances at him. Glances at the table.

Her face is sober and hard to read.

"You were younger."