The Rising, Chapter Five
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firefly_fanfic
Title: The Rising
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Email: memorysdaughter@gmail.com
Summary: After the events in “Radio Nowhere,” Serenity’s family must go to great lengths to save a stranger.
Series: Chapter Five
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Post-BDM, with two very important changes. And also post-“Radio Nowhere,” which you can read HERE.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never have been, never will be. The title comes from a Bruce Springsteen song.
Chapters 1-4
The Rising
She was moving like she’d done this hundreds of times before, which of course, she had. Her hand fumbled for the light on the small shelf, and she grabbed for the suction tube and the manual resuscitator.
There was Linnea’s panicked face below her, her back arching, her mouth open as she tried to gasp for breath.
“Shh, shh,” River said as she moved towards the girl. She wasn’t quite sure who she was attempting to reassure. “It’s going to be okay. Shh, it’s okay.”
She pulled off the vent attachment and dropped the suction tube into Linnea’s trach. The compressor gurgled and hummed as it sucked the mucus plug up out of the tube. Linnea wriggled on the bed, her lips going blue from lack of oxygen.
A plug got stuck in the tube and River took her finger off the suction catheter, trying to filter it out. Nothing.
The heart monitor was still whooping and the ventilator was still shrilling. Linnea’s lips had moved from ice blue to blueberry, and her mouth was still open. No air.
River ripped the suction catheter from the compressor and jammed a new one on. “It’s okay,” she repeated. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. You’re fine. It’s okay.”
It became her mantra, along with the melody of the heart monitor and ventilator’s near-melodic duet and the gasp that was Linnea’s attempt for air. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Please, please, you’re going to be just fine. Come on, sweetheart. Keep fighting. Keep fighting, please.”
The tubing gurgled and spat, sucking mucus out of the trach.
“Oh, good, sweetie,” River said, feeling relief flood through her knees. “Oh, good. Good job, sweetie. Good job. Good job, pretty girl.”
And suddenly there was silence. The heart monitor and ventilator resumed their quiet humming and chuffing and beeping.
“Oh, pretty girl. Good job.” River brushed hair off of Linnea’s sweaty forehead, and reconnected the ventilator tubing. The machine forced a breath into Linnea, and the girl looked relieved.
The door flew open, and Simon stood there in his undershirt and shorts. “You okay?” he asked.
“We are now,” River said.
When he had gone, River sat down on Linnea’s bed. Though the girl was breathing calmly, there was still a little fear in her eyes. River took her hand and stroked it gently. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she said. “Do you believe me?”
Linnea said nothing for awhile. Then she said, If that had happened at Miss Grant’s home… I would have died. Wouldn’t I?
At last River said, “Yes. But you’re not going to die here.”
When I was little… no. Linnea’s voice trailed off.
“You can tell me anything,” River said. “Beck used to say I was the very best listener.”
Linnea’s lips twitched into a half-smile. Beck also says you know things without being told. That’s a very different kind of listener.
“Well, I try,” River said, a little flustered. “Beck told you all that, huh?”
She tells me lots of things.
River leaned back on the bed. “I’ll have to come up with some stories she’s never heard.”
Beck says she knows all of your stories.
“That’s only because she’s the one who told them to me,” River said, and smiled. She reached up to switch off the lamp.
They lay in the relative darkness and silence for a few moments, and then Linnea said, Beck says I can call you Momma.
“Yes, you can,” River said softly. “If you want to.”
The girl was quiet for so long that River thought she’d fallen asleep. Then Linnea’s voice broke through the silence: Beck says to tell you that dancing’s just like you told her it would be.
Daisy lay under her coverlet on the small cot at the foot of her parents’ bed. She watched her parents sleeping quietly. When she was certain that they were deeply ensconced in slumber, she pushed back her quilt and swung her legs over the cot. She groped on the floor for her slippers and put them on.
She crept up the ladder and out of the bunk almost noiselessly. She could feel the fragile skin on her palms tearing as she climbed, but her curiosity was too great. She had to talk to New Beck before anyone else woke up.
Serenity was an odd place when it was silent. Daisy found herself relishing the quiet, drinking in the un-sounds of the cockpit and the hallways and the galley. It was almost as though she was the only person onboard. Everything was hers, from the cargo bay to Wash’s pilot seat and back. The jam pot on the table was definitely hers.
After a spoonful or two of jam, Daisy moved down the corridor to the passenger bunks. Only then did she realize that the doors were latched, and there was no way she could open them with her heavily bandaged hands.
Once she had watched Uncle Jayne open a locked door with a spoon. She couldn’t remember exactly how, but there were only so many ways to put a spoon into the door latch; one of them had to suffice.
She tripped back to the galley for a long-handled spoon and then returned to the passenger bunks. She could hear machines whirring inside; Linnea’s life support beat a cadence in the quiet night.
Daisy jammed the spoon’s handle into the door latch and pulled. Pain lanced through her hands as more skin tore from her palms, and a spot of blood appeared on one snowy-white bandage mitt. But the latch clicked open, and the door slid back a tiny bit.
“Beck?” she whispered into the humming darkness. “Beck, can you hear me?”
There was no response.
Daisy pushed the door back a little farther and slipped into the bunk. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. She stepped hesitantly towards the bed where Beck had always slept.
Then she jumped, because Linnea was awake, looking right at her.
“Hi,” Daisy whispered. “Hi, New Beck.”
She climbed up on the bed, being careful not to jostle any of the tubes connected to the little girl’s body. “My name is Daisy,” she went on. “I was the one… who drew that picture for you.”
Linnea blinked.
“Okay,” Daisy whispered, “blink once for yes and twice for no, ‘kay?”
Yes.
“Did Beck give you… a message… for me?”
No.
“Are you… sure?”
Yes.
“But she tells you things… for Auntie River?”
Yes.
“Why?” The question was out of Daisy’s mouth before she realized it couldn’t be answered with “yes” or “no.”
Awkwardly she brushed at Linnea’s hair with her bandaged hand. “Can I… sleep in here?”
Yes, Linnea answered.
“And will you tell me… the things Beck says… tomorrow?”
Linnea thought for a moment, considering the ghostly girl in front of her. Her eyes flicked over to where River slept on the other bed, and then back to Daisy’s open, earnest face. And finally she blinked, Yes.
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Email: memorysdaughter@gmail.com
Summary: After the events in “Radio Nowhere,” Serenity’s family must go to great lengths to save a stranger.
Series: Chapter Five
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Post-BDM, with two very important changes. And also post-“Radio Nowhere,” which you can read HERE.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never have been, never will be. The title comes from a Bruce Springsteen song.
Chapters 1-4
The Rising
She was moving like she’d done this hundreds of times before, which of course, she had. Her hand fumbled for the light on the small shelf, and she grabbed for the suction tube and the manual resuscitator.
There was Linnea’s panicked face below her, her back arching, her mouth open as she tried to gasp for breath.
“Shh, shh,” River said as she moved towards the girl. She wasn’t quite sure who she was attempting to reassure. “It’s going to be okay. Shh, it’s okay.”
She pulled off the vent attachment and dropped the suction tube into Linnea’s trach. The compressor gurgled and hummed as it sucked the mucus plug up out of the tube. Linnea wriggled on the bed, her lips going blue from lack of oxygen.
A plug got stuck in the tube and River took her finger off the suction catheter, trying to filter it out. Nothing.
The heart monitor was still whooping and the ventilator was still shrilling. Linnea’s lips had moved from ice blue to blueberry, and her mouth was still open. No air.
River ripped the suction catheter from the compressor and jammed a new one on. “It’s okay,” she repeated. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. You’re fine. It’s okay.”
It became her mantra, along with the melody of the heart monitor and ventilator’s near-melodic duet and the gasp that was Linnea’s attempt for air. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Please, please, you’re going to be just fine. Come on, sweetheart. Keep fighting. Keep fighting, please.”
The tubing gurgled and spat, sucking mucus out of the trach.
“Oh, good, sweetie,” River said, feeling relief flood through her knees. “Oh, good. Good job, sweetie. Good job. Good job, pretty girl.”
And suddenly there was silence. The heart monitor and ventilator resumed their quiet humming and chuffing and beeping.
“Oh, pretty girl. Good job.” River brushed hair off of Linnea’s sweaty forehead, and reconnected the ventilator tubing. The machine forced a breath into Linnea, and the girl looked relieved.
The door flew open, and Simon stood there in his undershirt and shorts. “You okay?” he asked.
“We are now,” River said.
When he had gone, River sat down on Linnea’s bed. Though the girl was breathing calmly, there was still a little fear in her eyes. River took her hand and stroked it gently. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she said. “Do you believe me?”
Linnea said nothing for awhile. Then she said, If that had happened at Miss Grant’s home… I would have died. Wouldn’t I?
At last River said, “Yes. But you’re not going to die here.”
When I was little… no. Linnea’s voice trailed off.
“You can tell me anything,” River said. “Beck used to say I was the very best listener.”
Linnea’s lips twitched into a half-smile. Beck also says you know things without being told. That’s a very different kind of listener.
“Well, I try,” River said, a little flustered. “Beck told you all that, huh?”
She tells me lots of things.
River leaned back on the bed. “I’ll have to come up with some stories she’s never heard.”
Beck says she knows all of your stories.
“That’s only because she’s the one who told them to me,” River said, and smiled. She reached up to switch off the lamp.
They lay in the relative darkness and silence for a few moments, and then Linnea said, Beck says I can call you Momma.
“Yes, you can,” River said softly. “If you want to.”
The girl was quiet for so long that River thought she’d fallen asleep. Then Linnea’s voice broke through the silence: Beck says to tell you that dancing’s just like you told her it would be.
Daisy lay under her coverlet on the small cot at the foot of her parents’ bed. She watched her parents sleeping quietly. When she was certain that they were deeply ensconced in slumber, she pushed back her quilt and swung her legs over the cot. She groped on the floor for her slippers and put them on.
She crept up the ladder and out of the bunk almost noiselessly. She could feel the fragile skin on her palms tearing as she climbed, but her curiosity was too great. She had to talk to New Beck before anyone else woke up.
Serenity was an odd place when it was silent. Daisy found herself relishing the quiet, drinking in the un-sounds of the cockpit and the hallways and the galley. It was almost as though she was the only person onboard. Everything was hers, from the cargo bay to Wash’s pilot seat and back. The jam pot on the table was definitely hers.
After a spoonful or two of jam, Daisy moved down the corridor to the passenger bunks. Only then did she realize that the doors were latched, and there was no way she could open them with her heavily bandaged hands.
Once she had watched Uncle Jayne open a locked door with a spoon. She couldn’t remember exactly how, but there were only so many ways to put a spoon into the door latch; one of them had to suffice.
She tripped back to the galley for a long-handled spoon and then returned to the passenger bunks. She could hear machines whirring inside; Linnea’s life support beat a cadence in the quiet night.
Daisy jammed the spoon’s handle into the door latch and pulled. Pain lanced through her hands as more skin tore from her palms, and a spot of blood appeared on one snowy-white bandage mitt. But the latch clicked open, and the door slid back a tiny bit.
“Beck?” she whispered into the humming darkness. “Beck, can you hear me?”
There was no response.
Daisy pushed the door back a little farther and slipped into the bunk. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. She stepped hesitantly towards the bed where Beck had always slept.
Then she jumped, because Linnea was awake, looking right at her.
“Hi,” Daisy whispered. “Hi, New Beck.”
She climbed up on the bed, being careful not to jostle any of the tubes connected to the little girl’s body. “My name is Daisy,” she went on. “I was the one… who drew that picture for you.”
Linnea blinked.
“Okay,” Daisy whispered, “blink once for yes and twice for no, ‘kay?”
Yes.
“Did Beck give you… a message… for me?”
No.
“Are you… sure?”
Yes.
“But she tells you things… for Auntie River?”
Yes.
“Why?” The question was out of Daisy’s mouth before she realized it couldn’t be answered with “yes” or “no.”
Awkwardly she brushed at Linnea’s hair with her bandaged hand. “Can I… sleep in here?”
Yes, Linnea answered.
“And will you tell me… the things Beck says… tomorrow?”
Linnea thought for a moment, considering the ghostly girl in front of her. Her eyes flicked over to where River slept on the other bed, and then back to Daisy’s open, earnest face. And finally she blinked, Yes.