river_meimei | (no subject)

(no subject)

0900, ship's time. It's an hour or so after breakfast. (At least for some. Breakfast is a do-it-yourself affair, and on hungover days Jayne doesn't tend to stumble out of his bunk until a good while later.)

It's time for River's daily meds.

This has been a daily routine for years now, so there's no real reluctance in the way she's slowly meandering towards the infirmary. All the same: it's slow.

(Simon often comes to find her, rather than her coming to the infirmary. But she's trying to be nice to Mal.)

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River -- smiles, small and sudden.

"I know," she says.

It's meant to be reassuring.

It mostly is.

The pills get picked up again and placed in River's slight palm, with the water set in the other.

River makes a face at them both.

(This, too, has happened many many times over the years.)

It's slight, though, and more an automatic show of grumpiness than anything else. Without these River would be in much worse shape, and she knows it.

So: down go the pills, and the water.

She holds out the cup, with a certain See? Did what I was supposed to air.

Mal is suitably impressed.

"When your brother gives me medication, it's usually in a rough-as-hell spray. I think he enjoys it, frankly."

"Long-term repetition of perdermal infusions leads to skin cell breakdown. Cyclical alternation of the regimen is advisable under standard treatment parameters to allow for system recovery and tissue rejuvenation."

Beat.

To Mal's hands, she adds, "You make faces." The teasing is a little more distant than usual, and a more subdued than it would be if Simon hadn't just left for another week away.

It's still there, though.

"...Right. Great."

There goes one of Mal's more common facial expressions.

River glances at him. (Or possibly at the air near him. But probably at him.)

See? her face says, unless that's Yes, and?

"And unless Doc left somethin' off his detailed-to-hell list -- "

Mal holds up a piece of paper. It has bullet points.

"You're done."

Simon is, perhaps, something of a worrywart. Now and then.

(Of course, Simon also has reasons to be.)

"Okay." She doesn't move, yet, though.

Okay.

"Wanna beat Jayne at checkers?"

River's face says, not without amusement, That's incredibly easy and we both know it, captain.

What River says aloud is, "He won't play me." Jayne is so mean! And, um, unjustified. Yes.

"Well I don't care what we do -- "

Mal points with both hands towards the hatch leading into (and out of) the infirmary.

" -- but we ain't doing it in here, so."

Half a beat.

And then River grins, a quick

(comprehending)

flash.

"Okay," she says, and this time she turns, takes three swift steps, and slips through the open door.

Pausing just outside the door, she casts an impish glance over her shoulder. "Race you."

Mal nods once before barreling out the door towards the cargo bay catwalk steps.

He's so screwed.

He narrowly misses River, and gets an extra half-second from the fact that River's giggling too much at the quick dodging to make it around the corner and up the steps before him. Instead, she has to try darting under his arm, still giggling, and snaking around him to get ahead.

Later, she'll sit quiet and nauseous on a box, studying her bare toes while the familiar short-term side effects slide through her system; later than that, she'll hold dinner plates carefully in both hands, helping to set the table and feeling the furniture and chopsticks in case her eyes are lying again, because no medicine helps everything, and no medicine helps all the time.

But for now -- for now, River's laughing, and yeah, Mal's screwed.

Edited 2009-01-27 01:56 (UTC)

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