river_meimei | (no subject)

(no subject)

He's getting worse pretty fast, Sallie warns quietly as she leads the way from Milliways to pantry to kitchen.

River doesn't look surprised.

Just nods a little, and nods again when Sallie tells her to make sure to stop by on her way out and pick up some brownies for the crew, and heads down the hallway to the room that's become Ennis's.

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Gettin' worse quick, and no matter how much he tells himself he listened to them damn doctors back home when they told him 'bout this part, it still comes as a surprise. His eyes're closed most of the time, and it's a struggle to get 'em open when he hears the door.

Quiet footsteps -- she's barefoot -- and then the edge of the bed sinks slightly under her weight.

Simon sits like this when she's sick.

He lifts his hand up, just lightly, and grimaces a bit. But then his eyes open and he tilts his head a little to the side.

River smiles back, small and crooked.

"Hi."

It's not much of a shift to slip her hand under his.

Ennis says hi, or he tries to, but maybe River hears him anyway. Her hand's soft around his, and he coughs as he smiles.

Maybe she heard, or maybe she didn't; but maybe she knows anyhow.

"It's okay," she says softly. Gently.

Ennis nods, just lightly -- he knows.

"Always is."

Even if things don't seem that way.

One way or another. Sooner or later.

River just smiles at him, half-sad and fond, and understanding.

He winds his thumb around to the outside of her hand, makin' some sort of attempt at changing things around, her hand in his 'stead of his in hers, and he don't quite manage a squeeze, but the thought's there.

His eyes shift over to the side and he opens his mouth, but just a cough comes out.

River watches his face, with a tiny frown of question or concern.

There's a handkerchief by the side of the bed and he reaches for it, wiping his face (and mostly sort of even hitting it).

"M'stuff," is what he says, and he manages to look over at the cabinet in the corner.

"It's there," she says.

And then, "Okay."

She slides her hand from his before she rises. Three steps to the cabinet; she brushes her fingers over the top, down the sides, curls them slowly around the knobs on the drawer before she finally pulls it open, and glances over her shoulder at Ennis.

In the drawer is a small collection of objects, arranged with the tidiness of too few possessions in too much space: his hat, socks and shirts and underwear, an extra pair of jeans. His knife. A worn wool blanket, wrapped into a tidy bundle.

It's that last he's looking for.

Maybe he's cold.

River picks the roll of fabric up carefully, wrapping her hands around it, feeling the weight.

Three more steps bring it back -- the drawer's left hanging open, say sorry -- and she settles onto the bed again, holding it out to Ennis in both hands.

He takes it -- almost. Slowly and softly, s'more like he lets his hands be put under it as she puts it on the bed.

"Need you t'take care."

"Always do."

Her voice, and her smile, are gentle and only faintly tremulous.

He shakes his head, only lightly, and winces as he falls back a little. It's a few minutes before he sits up again, clearing his throat, and he tugs lightly on the top of the blanket.

River reaches forward to help. One layer unwrapped, and then a second.

Beneath that is the oiled gleam of metal.

It's clean and well kept (though he'd fought against having help after their last session) and he takes her hand, places it on the gun.

River lets him move her hand. Lets him curl her fingers around the grip -- his hand is weak, these days, but she follows his lead.

And then looks at him, gaze straight and clear-eyed.

Just looks.

Ennis looks back. And if his eyes ain't quite so clear, they're more clear than they were a minute ago.

"I remember."

"Keep it safe."

The words are soft, but it's not a question.

Silence for a moment.

And then River's fingers curl a little more securely around the pistol.

Just as soft, "I promise."

And he seems relieved at that, and he falls backs on to his pillows. He opens his eyes at her again, smiling, but the clarity is long gone, replaced by a drugged fog.

River only flinches a little at the shift.

She knows the feeling, after all; and when she looks back up, the intent clarity isn't quite there in her eyes, either.

"Gonna be okay."

She keeps sayin' that, and he keeps knowing it.

But maybe it's nice to hear it anyways.

There's a peaceful sort of smile as he relaxes back into the bed, lookin' somehow small under the pile of his wool blanket. He reaches out for her hand, eyes falling shut again.

One hand's still on the gun, knuckles pressed lightly against scratchy wool.

Her other hand curls lightly around Ennis's, and squeezes gently.

He squeezes back, or he means to, but somewhere between the thought and the action, Ennis' fallen asleep.

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