river_meimei | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's been days since Kaylee was home. More than days.

She's looked, but Kaylee's good at hiding. Sometimes. Sometimes everyone is.

(When you're hurt so bad you just want to find a cave to hole up in, you can usually look hard enough to find one.)

And the few times River's found her, it's been...

Sometimes you want to be alone.

Sometimes you don't want even people you love to be near you.

(There have been days River's sat silently outside a door, waiting. Waiting until she had to go, hours later, and nothing had changed enough.)

And then it's later, and the world's too crowded or you've found another friend and the fragile peace there, or you've found another hole to hide in.

But, now: a door, down one of Milliways' shifting corridors. (Locked.) River tries the knob, stares at it for a moment, and then lifts her hand to knock.

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Cue the awkward silence.

"You -- want to come in?"

River nods.

The first thing noticeable about the room is how much light there is -- all sun, all in shades of white and gold, with the unmade bed against the wall --

And where the covers are most disturbed is the side closest to the wall.

Kaylee takes a seat on the edge of it, and looks out the windows. They're open. Below: sounds of water, wind, snippets of garbled conversation.

River hesitates, hovering a moment, her gaze skimming across the room. What she sees is as hard as ever to determine; her eyes land on the dust motes in the sunlit air as often as on the furniture.

Then she folds to the floor, a careful movement, and rests her head against the bed, and against Kaylee's knee.

Kaylee closes her eyes tightly on tears and turns her head to the side.

I have got to control myself, she thinks, helplessly.

River closes her eyes. Swallows.

Doesn't lift her head.

Maybe the silence is for Kaylee; maybe it's for herself.

"Still true," she whispers finally. If her eyes were open they'd be overbright; they're shut.

Outside a leaf blows past the window. Kaylee's eyes follow its progress.

Soft, and toneless for it, as she wipes at her eyes: "What is?"

"You are."

Her hands rest limply in her lap; her head is a weight against her sister-in-law's thigh.

Even if Kaylee wasn't tired (and able to think well), she'd be confused.

She looks down at River, blinking.

River doesn't meet her gaze; she's staring at, or through, her own left knee.

"You're Kaylee," she finally says.

And it means, among other things, I love you.

The last time they were like this Simon was out of his mind.

This doesn't miss Kaylee's notice.

And besides, she's always been the cheerful one. (You shouldn't know a mechanic exists, her father told her once. Not if they're doing their job right.) Not any more. So -- so what if she's Kaylee?

She doesn't get mad and she doesn't cry.

"Yep," she says, toneless again.

River doesn't flinch. But she does breathe in slowly, and deeply, and close her eyes.

"I love you," she does say this time, after a stretch of silence.

There's light everywhere in this room: golden, drenching the air and glazing the pale furniture.

And now River is getting looked at with a fair amount of surprise.

River doesn't look up for another breath or two.

And then -- tilting and turning her head against Kaylee's leg, not lifting it -- she does.

No, she thinks, hazily. Simon wouldn't send her.

Doesn't mean she wouldn't come on her own for the same reason.

Surprise is still there; wariness gets added to it. Just a little.

River's eyes drop; her face tightens just the slightest fraction, in hurt or sadness or surprise, but she only lets her head bow against Kaylee's leg again.

"I'm not comin' home," she says finally. Quietly.

River is silent.

For several seconds. Maybe more.

Then, slowly -- tiredly, a little, but then they all look tired a lot of the time, these days -- she reaches into that bulging coat pocket, and pulls out something. Something dark green, long and thin, with bumps that glitter in the sunlight; a loop of it, and more slides out of the pocket as her hand rises.

It's a string of Christmas lights.

(From Bar. Not from Serenity; those ones are still where Kaylee last put them.)

Silence.

Silence from Kaylee, and even the noise from the window dies down.

"Why?" she asks, finally, a little choked.

"Make it pretty," River whispers to the corner where the far wall meets the floor.

With a quick glance, as if Kaylee might have been unsure, "For you."

Kaylee isn't and hasn't been in the mood to make anything pretty.

There's a bare wall to keep her eyes on and a bottle-lined wall downstairs to pretend to stare at while her eyes see something entirely different. Same with the lake outside, and the sky, and the TV in Peter's room.

The 'verse isn't kind and the 'verse isn't nice and right now the 'verse is winning the long game. The 'verse always wins the long game. And right now it's heavier than it's ever been.

"Thanks."

It's quiet.

Slowly, River's hand drops back to her lap. With the light-studded cord tangling through her fingers, this time.

She nods a little.

(River's not good, any more, at pretending everything's normal. At pretending anything.

And River can't fix things, far too often. Most of the time.

And River keeps on learning that she can't keep people. One way or another.

But sometimes you can fix a little, and sometimes people stay after all, and all the time it's even worse to not try. And she's trying.

But all the love in the world doesn't make it hurt less for any of them.)

Finally:

"What've I missed?"

She --

Could sound a little more interested than she does.

"Still flyin'."

River's attempt at a smile could be a little less wobbly, too.

"Dad's home." Raguel goes unmentioned. "Met an alien."

Dad's home --

Good. Kaylee's expression lightens a little, momentarily.

Then, cautious: "An alien."

"Got six legs."

River's hand lifts, an ambiguous gesture that might be sketching Stitch's size and general shape, or might only be following some internal logic of her own.

"And pizza."

"...oh," Kaylee says.

(What the hell do you make of something like that?)

"He's very fluffy."

He said so!

"That's...good."

Her attention drifts out toward the window momentarily.

"It's a periodic equivalence."

From the tone, this is probably agreement.

But the words don't make sense.

She looks at River, blinking.

It's a moment before River notices.

Then, softly, "He's very friendly."

"Guess that's what matters," she says, just as softly.

River nods against her knee, silently.

Her hands are limp in her lap, coiled among Christmas lights.

Not like Kaylee's doing much else -- not reaching out, not speaking, not moving.

If there's a point to this --

Can't they just get to it?

Apparently not.

(Or, perhaps, this is the point: this sitting, together, even in silence and pain.)

If this is the point, then it's only doing good for River.

This is how Simon does it, she thinks, bitterly. Sits here and expects me to talk about how I am so he can feel like he's doing something.

"There's some stuff I need to take care of." Toneless.

River's head lifts.

(Her eyes are down and her face a little tighter, just for a moment. It's hard to lie to River.)

"I can help," she offers.

She means it; she also half-expects rejection, under the hope, and it probably shows.

Kaylee isn't much looking for River's reaction. "It's kind of private," she says as she stands. "Sorry, just -- it's how it is."

River nods.

Swallows, and nods again, and stands.

The lights slip from her fingers to land in an untidy coil at the foot of Kaylee's bed, perilously close to sliding over the edge.

Maybe she'll go to Peter.

Maybe she'll go outside.

And maybe she'll just stay where she is. Look at the wall a little more. It doesn't matter.

"I miss you," River blurts, low and thick with misery.

And then she's slipping out the door and away down the hall, and it closes quietly behind her.

And Kaylee doesn't throw anything at the wall -- not much to throw in this room -- and after a while the anger (because that's what it is, it's anger) passes and she can stare at the wall until she can manage to fall asleep.

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