river_meimei | (no subject)

Entry tags:

osiris class plot

(no subject)

You've got some time to think about what you want to do, Simon said.

And "Whatever you decide, meimei, it's going to be okay.

It's true. All of it. But sometimes that doesn't help a hard choice.

There's a good chance that that's why River's currently stretched out on one of the catwalks, her hand curled loosely against the cold metal grating, and staring at (or through) the cargo bay's far wall.

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Directly across from the catwalk River is currently draped over is the hatch to Shuttle One; the shimmer of light around it when Mal appears is more indicative of him having arrived from Milliways than having stepped through from the room he shares with Inara.

"Sleepy?" he calls to River wryly.

River's gaze slid to that shimmering doorway an instant before it opened, though she still was only half-watching at best. It takes a second before Mal's words register.

Then, placidly, "No."

Beat.

She focuses a little more on Mal. "I'm listening to the metal," she explains.

It's far less abstract a response than Mal was expecting, as far as River normally goes -- Serenity has her own creaks and groans that Mal finds himself listening to, in the quiet.

"Let me know when the palaver's done? I'll be in the kitchen," Mal replies pointedly, thumping his way down the staircase and disappearing through the back of the cargo bay.

"It's consensus," River says vaguely to his back, as her gaze slides back to the far wall.

It's some minutes later that she stretches slowly, and rolls to her feet in an extension of the same motion.

Mal's boots thumped; River's feet are bare and silent along the same path.

It's by luck that Mal isn't startled by River's entry into the kitchen. He is moving around enough to not have his back to the hallway from the lower end of the ship for too long.

No point in waiting. Mal rips into a package of instant miso soup. "Simon and Kaylee told me about what they're planning come January."

Silence, for a breath. River's watching the bowl waiting for miso, or so it seems.

"I know."

"He said they were waiting on you to tell them what your plans were."

Mal doesn't bother with many details on his end. At this point, she doesn't need them.

River nods, a little.

The subdued, quiet air hasn't lifted. It's unlikely to for a while.

"You're thinking," she says after a minute, quiet and directed more or less at the table.

"Not much to think about."

Utter lie. Just nothing useful to think about. The kettle boils and Mal adds water to his soup mix. "Simon and Kaylee are doing their plan they think they should do.

"He seems to be under the impression that you might not want to go with them."

River doesn't quite flinch. But the sudden tension in her shoulders and back is a little like it.

She takes a few more steps into the kitchen, enough to wrap her hands around the back of a chair and stare down at its seat. Slowly she spreads her fingers against the wood, either in genuine preoccupation or in a kind of self-distraction.

"I don't want," she says, low, and stops there, unfinished.

Higher, unhappier: "It hurts. Every way."

Mal bites his lip as he mixes up the powder and water. "I can imagine.

"If you need permission, you have it. You shouldn't need it, but there it is."

River is distracted from staring at (or through) the table enough to give Mal a sidelong look.

It says: I know THAT, dummy.

(There's a slightly watery affection there anyway.)

"What? Don't look at me like that."

Mal's balancing the bowl in his hand, moving around the counter to the kitchen table.

"I've figured that the only way I've got to me is just...watch and wait."

"I care," River says to the table, softly, as if in answer to something else.

"'Course you do. Didn't ever question that much."

Mal does eat some of his food before it sets cold.

"You going to be alright medicalwise, if he's doin' this?" It's an angle Mal hadn't thought of.

River nods, a little, though she doesn't look up.

"It's a commute."

"Multidirectional surveillance."

She doesn't sound too doubtful. Very faintly uncertain, if that.

Unhappy, though... well.

At least Moiraine's back.

"When did you say you'd give Simon an answer?"

"Didn't."

Beat.

Softer, "Soon." The other is technically accurate, but this is truer.

"They probably would need to know sooner than later, shi a. Get you a big shiny room or some such."

River's silent.

She nods, after a moment, but it's belated; too small, too subdued, to be full agreement.

"'Course, if you stay, there's all sorts o' things you could do that the Doc wouldn't approve of."

River's glance at him is quick and a little surprised.

And, after a moment, there's the watery affection again. With a bit more amusement this time.

"You're a bad influence," she informs him. (From River, this is almost never criticism.)

"It's the popular theory."

"I know it." There's a ghost of her usual smugness there.

(Hidden in her room under a stack of letters from other Academy students is a note signed just Captain.

River has many factors to weigh.)

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