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Jun. 17th, 2008 11:22 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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firefly_fanfic
Hi everybody! First-time poster here. I'm new to Firefly fanfic, but not to the fandom itself. I wrote up a one-shot that I would definitely like to share. So, without further ado:
Title: Amygdala
Author: ignitedstars
Summary: '"I like it here. It's ..." Peaceful, only not just then. Not when she was too ablaze with silent heat, twisting her thoughts and emotions into a tangled web so thick the spiders would get lost in it.'
Rating: PG
Characters: River Tam, Malcolm Reynolds
Pairing: Mal/River
Spoilers/Timeline: Spoilers through Serenity (BDM). Takes place a short time after the events in the film.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my interpretations. The Firefly 'verse and characters ultimately belong to Joss Whedon.
Author's Note: This is just my general take on how River would react if she found herself attracted to Mal.
She didn't understand.
She understood most things; the mechanics, the definitions and logistics. The confusing puzzle pieces that jammed together haphazardly in her brain; what was left of her lucid mind was still powerful enough to grasp the basics. What was basic to her, anyhow - it was not lost on her that her definition of basic was far more advanced than most people's. But no matter. It was all the same - it was all crystal clear, and it never made any sense.
But crystal clear was not infallible, nor all-inclusive; crystal was only glass, and glass was so delicate, so easily breakable - like so many of the truths that sought refuge in the deepest corners of her mind. And this ... this was the tiniest shard of all, jagged and rough, piercing her thoughts and her feelings until she thought that she would shatter underneath the weight of it. She craved release; she would have welcomed a burst of incoherence, babbling out half-thoughts that made sense to nobody, least of all herself.
This truth was too frightening even for that. She harbored it inside, where she feared it - but not as much as she feared others knowing.
She sat in the pilot's seat - comfortable against her back where it had gradually sunk in by the weight of her form. For River, who had never quite managed to make a home of her own on Serenity, the pilot's chair was as close as she ever got. The way that Simon kept to the infirmary, needing to surround himself with medicine and tools and patients, she needed the helm; needed to feel the warm leather of the seat, her fingers against the controls as her bare feet skimmed the rough, cold floor. Sometimes, she lifted her feet; curled her arms around her knees and lay back, seeking protection and warmth in the chair's embrace. If she needed another human's touch, she knew that she could have gone to seek Simon; could have found solace in his arms, comfort in the way he still cared for her, protecting her, even though she had been gradually getting better since Miranda. She didn't need him as constantly, anymore, but he was always there regardless.
But his was not the human touch that she craved; the knowledge caused her to press herself even further into her chair, closing her eyes against an onslaught of feelings she didn't understand but could not push away. She couldn't prevent herself from feeling them - from feeling anything - she could only hold on tightly and ride them out. Her skin prickled; her heart thudded wildly in her chest, like the beating of a hummingbird; their hearts slammed against their rib cages at twelve-hundred-sixty beats per minute. River's felt like it could surely rival that. She felt lightheaded; her lips tingled. And behind her, he was approaching - he who was responsible for all of this muddled confusion.
"You all right, little one?"
She'd felt him coming, despite the haze, and she slowly opened her eyes. He stood just behind her seat, brow wrinkled in concern as his eyes bored into hers, seeking an answer. She had the answer, but he would not want to hear it. Not even she wanted to hear it.
River drew in a breath and let it out again; she couldn't stop her feelings, but she could lie. They had not taken that from her, at least. "I'm all right," she answered after a long pause, rubbing her arms slightly. "It's a little cold."
The captain nodded, shrugging out of his worn, brown coat before draping it over her like a blanket. It was warm and soft and smelled slightly of him - the powerful scent of soap from his skin combined with the wear and tear of dozens of jobs. She could feel danger on the fringes, smell dirt and rock and anger and fear felt and buried and forgotten in the thick brown folds. She grasped a handful of the material in her fingers and pulled it closer, knowing that it was not warmth that made her do so. The coat was an inanimate version of the captain himself; if she could not attain his embrace, she would settle.
"I'd offer a blanket, but ain't got one handy. Old thing'll have to do," he said as he took the seat across from her, the co-pilot's chair that he occupied only occasionally. River had latched onto flying like she latched onto everything else - with simple ease and grace. She could have believed that she belonged there, if not for the knowledge that she only rested there now because Wash was gone. A death she never quite stopped blaming herself for. It was hard to look at Zoe; the grief and sorrow were still fresh and cut deep; they made River's chest ache. Sometimes, she wanted to tell the other woman that Wash missed her, too. But the way she felt Wash's thoughts at the helm was flimsy, uncertain - sometimes, she thought she only imagined him there.
"Romeo stands under the balcony and she won't look at him," she murmured. "The black frost drowns him like quicksand while he waits for her, but she's searching in the wrong place."
Mal never pretended to understand her non-sequiturs, but he rarely judged her for them either; she appreciated that. She could feel his eyes on her now, and another attack of tingled senses threatened to overcome her. She pulled his coat even closer to her body, warding off a shiver.
"You oughta try for some sleep," the captain said after a moment of pause as he spun his chair toward his set of controls, eyeing the map. "Still about a day off Persephone and there ain't gonna be much time for restin' once we're on the job."
"I'm not tired." She was on and off so many medications - some that made her drowsy, others that put her on full-alert - that she could never quite read her body's natural symptoms. But even if she were tired now, she wouldn't have left. Not until he did, first, and she was sure that she wasn't missing out on the time spent near him.
She liked being near him, and it terrified her.
"Fair enough. Not much for sleepin' myself, right now." Mal adjusted the speed a bit, then shifted back into autopilot. He leaned back then, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Still, doc'll be worried you go too long without some rest, an' I ain't really lookin' for another fit pitched my way. When's the last time you left that chair?"
River lifted her slender shoulders as the corner of her lips tilted. "I like it here. It's ..." Peaceful, only not just then. Not when she was too ablaze with silent heat, twisting her thoughts and emotions into a tangled web so thick the spiders would get lost in it. "I like it."
"Reckon so." He spun around to look at her again; she sensed the idle tapping of his boot. "Bit more peaceful up here."
She looked at him sharply, and then exhaled; through the window, tiny stars dotted the black expanse before them. She had the sudden urge to be outside in it; the only place more peaceful than the helm would be space itself, if she could just close her eyes and float.
For a long while, there was only silence. Then, Mal cleared his throat. "You're awful quiet, little albatross," he observed.
Closing her eyes again, River clasped her hands together underneath his coat. "My head is ... there's not enough room sometimes," she said after a pause. "Secrets, and lies, and memories ... none of it ever fades, and when something new comes along, it all squeezes together to fit. It hurts."
She opened her eyes and looked at him; he was watching her with that soft expression that made her heart pound. His brow was knitted and his lips tight, but his eyes were an unmasked pool of concern; a rare expression from someone so hard, and usually reserved for her. It was the expression of someone who did not understand her, but wanted to, and it made her tiny hopes flare up just slightly, as if she could take his expression and run with the idea that he may care about her.
"Sometimes," she went on, meeting his gaze,"something comes along and it's not just all the headspace that it takes up, it's .... your heart gets filled with it, too. That hurts even more."
Mal nodded his understanding slowly, let out a breath, and glanced in the direction of the stars. For a moment, she felt nothing, and then she was filled with images of Inara - images that came from the captain himself. It was an instantaneous flow of emotion, and it was gone just as quickly, but it was so charged and strong that it rivaled only the strength of River's own feelings for the captain.
And it hit her, again, with hard and unflinching brutality, that Mal would never think of her the way he thought of Inara. Beautiful, kind, and whole - Inara was everything that River was not. She knew it - understood it, comprehended it.
But it hurt like a thousand knives stabbing her poor, hummingbird heart. For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
"Do you love her?" she asked quietly.
The captain glanced back at her; he could see the raw hurt in her eyes, but he would never guess that he was the source of it. "That's a question I ain't lookin' to answer, little one."
River's nod was almost imperceptible. She turned away, closed her eyes. After a moment, she felt him move; he got to his feet and crossed over to her. In the next moment, he would urge her to sleep. She kept her eyes closed, but tightened her fists around the coat, lest he take it back from her.
He didn't. He stood by her chair for a long moment, torturing River's heightened senses; she wondered if he could hear the pulsing of her heart, the ragged breaths that should surely give away the fact that she wasn't sleeping. She longed, with every fiber in her frightened being, for him to bend down next to her and press his lips to hers; the thought made them tingle as a simultaneous lump rose in her throat; she was hopeful for what she wanted, and she was heartbroken as she knew it wouldn't be hers.
It felt like hours were passing, but it was only a couple of moments before Mal ran a hand lightly over her tangled hair. He was silent, but she heard the thought; it was affectionate and caring, but it was empty of real love. Good night, little albatross.
River listened to his footsteps retreating from the bridge, and she exhaled, opening her eyes at last. The weight of what she felt came crushing down on her; it was beyond her control. Her senses were heightened, her hopes were smashed, and it all culminated in a stomach-twisting sob that broke from her throat and was muffled against the collar of the coat he'd left with her. She didn't want to feel this. Not the pain, not the elation, not ... not the love. Was it love she felt, for Malcolm Reynolds?
She didn't understand.
And he would never know.
Title: Amygdala
Author: ignitedstars
Summary: '"I like it here. It's ..." Peaceful, only not just then. Not when she was too ablaze with silent heat, twisting her thoughts and emotions into a tangled web so thick the spiders would get lost in it.'
Rating: PG
Characters: River Tam, Malcolm Reynolds
Pairing: Mal/River
Spoilers/Timeline: Spoilers through Serenity (BDM). Takes place a short time after the events in the film.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my interpretations. The Firefly 'verse and characters ultimately belong to Joss Whedon.
Author's Note: This is just my general take on how River would react if she found herself attracted to Mal.
She didn't understand.
She understood most things; the mechanics, the definitions and logistics. The confusing puzzle pieces that jammed together haphazardly in her brain; what was left of her lucid mind was still powerful enough to grasp the basics. What was basic to her, anyhow - it was not lost on her that her definition of basic was far more advanced than most people's. But no matter. It was all the same - it was all crystal clear, and it never made any sense.
But crystal clear was not infallible, nor all-inclusive; crystal was only glass, and glass was so delicate, so easily breakable - like so many of the truths that sought refuge in the deepest corners of her mind. And this ... this was the tiniest shard of all, jagged and rough, piercing her thoughts and her feelings until she thought that she would shatter underneath the weight of it. She craved release; she would have welcomed a burst of incoherence, babbling out half-thoughts that made sense to nobody, least of all herself.
This truth was too frightening even for that. She harbored it inside, where she feared it - but not as much as she feared others knowing.
She sat in the pilot's seat - comfortable against her back where it had gradually sunk in by the weight of her form. For River, who had never quite managed to make a home of her own on Serenity, the pilot's chair was as close as she ever got. The way that Simon kept to the infirmary, needing to surround himself with medicine and tools and patients, she needed the helm; needed to feel the warm leather of the seat, her fingers against the controls as her bare feet skimmed the rough, cold floor. Sometimes, she lifted her feet; curled her arms around her knees and lay back, seeking protection and warmth in the chair's embrace. If she needed another human's touch, she knew that she could have gone to seek Simon; could have found solace in his arms, comfort in the way he still cared for her, protecting her, even though she had been gradually getting better since Miranda. She didn't need him as constantly, anymore, but he was always there regardless.
But his was not the human touch that she craved; the knowledge caused her to press herself even further into her chair, closing her eyes against an onslaught of feelings she didn't understand but could not push away. She couldn't prevent herself from feeling them - from feeling anything - she could only hold on tightly and ride them out. Her skin prickled; her heart thudded wildly in her chest, like the beating of a hummingbird; their hearts slammed against their rib cages at twelve-hundred-sixty beats per minute. River's felt like it could surely rival that. She felt lightheaded; her lips tingled. And behind her, he was approaching - he who was responsible for all of this muddled confusion.
"You all right, little one?"
She'd felt him coming, despite the haze, and she slowly opened her eyes. He stood just behind her seat, brow wrinkled in concern as his eyes bored into hers, seeking an answer. She had the answer, but he would not want to hear it. Not even she wanted to hear it.
River drew in a breath and let it out again; she couldn't stop her feelings, but she could lie. They had not taken that from her, at least. "I'm all right," she answered after a long pause, rubbing her arms slightly. "It's a little cold."
The captain nodded, shrugging out of his worn, brown coat before draping it over her like a blanket. It was warm and soft and smelled slightly of him - the powerful scent of soap from his skin combined with the wear and tear of dozens of jobs. She could feel danger on the fringes, smell dirt and rock and anger and fear felt and buried and forgotten in the thick brown folds. She grasped a handful of the material in her fingers and pulled it closer, knowing that it was not warmth that made her do so. The coat was an inanimate version of the captain himself; if she could not attain his embrace, she would settle.
"I'd offer a blanket, but ain't got one handy. Old thing'll have to do," he said as he took the seat across from her, the co-pilot's chair that he occupied only occasionally. River had latched onto flying like she latched onto everything else - with simple ease and grace. She could have believed that she belonged there, if not for the knowledge that she only rested there now because Wash was gone. A death she never quite stopped blaming herself for. It was hard to look at Zoe; the grief and sorrow were still fresh and cut deep; they made River's chest ache. Sometimes, she wanted to tell the other woman that Wash missed her, too. But the way she felt Wash's thoughts at the helm was flimsy, uncertain - sometimes, she thought she only imagined him there.
"Romeo stands under the balcony and she won't look at him," she murmured. "The black frost drowns him like quicksand while he waits for her, but she's searching in the wrong place."
Mal never pretended to understand her non-sequiturs, but he rarely judged her for them either; she appreciated that. She could feel his eyes on her now, and another attack of tingled senses threatened to overcome her. She pulled his coat even closer to her body, warding off a shiver.
"You oughta try for some sleep," the captain said after a moment of pause as he spun his chair toward his set of controls, eyeing the map. "Still about a day off Persephone and there ain't gonna be much time for restin' once we're on the job."
"I'm not tired." She was on and off so many medications - some that made her drowsy, others that put her on full-alert - that she could never quite read her body's natural symptoms. But even if she were tired now, she wouldn't have left. Not until he did, first, and she was sure that she wasn't missing out on the time spent near him.
She liked being near him, and it terrified her.
"Fair enough. Not much for sleepin' myself, right now." Mal adjusted the speed a bit, then shifted back into autopilot. He leaned back then, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Still, doc'll be worried you go too long without some rest, an' I ain't really lookin' for another fit pitched my way. When's the last time you left that chair?"
River lifted her slender shoulders as the corner of her lips tilted. "I like it here. It's ..." Peaceful, only not just then. Not when she was too ablaze with silent heat, twisting her thoughts and emotions into a tangled web so thick the spiders would get lost in it. "I like it."
"Reckon so." He spun around to look at her again; she sensed the idle tapping of his boot. "Bit more peaceful up here."
She looked at him sharply, and then exhaled; through the window, tiny stars dotted the black expanse before them. She had the sudden urge to be outside in it; the only place more peaceful than the helm would be space itself, if she could just close her eyes and float.
For a long while, there was only silence. Then, Mal cleared his throat. "You're awful quiet, little albatross," he observed.
Closing her eyes again, River clasped her hands together underneath his coat. "My head is ... there's not enough room sometimes," she said after a pause. "Secrets, and lies, and memories ... none of it ever fades, and when something new comes along, it all squeezes together to fit. It hurts."
She opened her eyes and looked at him; he was watching her with that soft expression that made her heart pound. His brow was knitted and his lips tight, but his eyes were an unmasked pool of concern; a rare expression from someone so hard, and usually reserved for her. It was the expression of someone who did not understand her, but wanted to, and it made her tiny hopes flare up just slightly, as if she could take his expression and run with the idea that he may care about her.
"Sometimes," she went on, meeting his gaze,"something comes along and it's not just all the headspace that it takes up, it's .... your heart gets filled with it, too. That hurts even more."
Mal nodded his understanding slowly, let out a breath, and glanced in the direction of the stars. For a moment, she felt nothing, and then she was filled with images of Inara - images that came from the captain himself. It was an instantaneous flow of emotion, and it was gone just as quickly, but it was so charged and strong that it rivaled only the strength of River's own feelings for the captain.
And it hit her, again, with hard and unflinching brutality, that Mal would never think of her the way he thought of Inara. Beautiful, kind, and whole - Inara was everything that River was not. She knew it - understood it, comprehended it.
But it hurt like a thousand knives stabbing her poor, hummingbird heart. For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
"Do you love her?" she asked quietly.
The captain glanced back at her; he could see the raw hurt in her eyes, but he would never guess that he was the source of it. "That's a question I ain't lookin' to answer, little one."
River's nod was almost imperceptible. She turned away, closed her eyes. After a moment, she felt him move; he got to his feet and crossed over to her. In the next moment, he would urge her to sleep. She kept her eyes closed, but tightened her fists around the coat, lest he take it back from her.
He didn't. He stood by her chair for a long moment, torturing River's heightened senses; she wondered if he could hear the pulsing of her heart, the ragged breaths that should surely give away the fact that she wasn't sleeping. She longed, with every fiber in her frightened being, for him to bend down next to her and press his lips to hers; the thought made them tingle as a simultaneous lump rose in her throat; she was hopeful for what she wanted, and she was heartbroken as she knew it wouldn't be hers.
It felt like hours were passing, but it was only a couple of moments before Mal ran a hand lightly over her tangled hair. He was silent, but she heard the thought; it was affectionate and caring, but it was empty of real love. Good night, little albatross.
River listened to his footsteps retreating from the bridge, and she exhaled, opening her eyes at last. The weight of what she felt came crushing down on her; it was beyond her control. Her senses were heightened, her hopes were smashed, and it all culminated in a stomach-twisting sob that broke from her throat and was muffled against the collar of the coat he'd left with her. She didn't want to feel this. Not the pain, not the elation, not ... not the love. Was it love she felt, for Malcolm Reynolds?
She didn't understand.
And he would never know.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-17 03:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-17 09:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-17 10:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-18 12:57 am (UTC)Amygdala
Date: 2008-06-18 02:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-18 03:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-21 12:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-21 04:47 pm (UTC)Just in case you didnt know ^.^
Date: 2008-08-18 03:18 pm (UTC)This is a message from your local browncoats. We'd advise you to listen closely. This November everyone who wants to save Firefly will be sending a pair of blue medical gloves into fox network with the message, "You can't stop the signal". If you want to help with this effort visit the movement's website, www.savefirefly.org for more information.
Pass this in email or wherever so that we can reach as many browncoats as possible!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-28 06:01 am (UTC)Any chance at more?
I love how you got into her headspace.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-02 06:56 pm (UTC)I really liked this. Wish you would keep going,...awesome story