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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"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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