Fic: Sum of Their Parts
Oct. 24th, 2005 09:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityvixenTitle: Sum of Their Parts
Fandom: Firefly-Serenity
Author: Meridian
Rating: PG-13 (deals with death and violence)
Summary: River loses herself in the stream and lets herself be a little of everything that everyone else is.
Warning: Spoilers for Serenity (a.k.a. The Big Damn Movie) as it is set during the montage at the end of the film
Disclaimer: Joss owns every last one of them, from characters to personified objects like Serenity herself (See? Personification happening all around us!)
Author’s Notes: Written for Shanelle’s Two Lines Fanfiction Challenge, this piece is dedicated to three extraordinary betas/critics–![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deepredbelle for her cheerful encouragement, darkling1 for his extensive edits, and ivy03 for her spot-on problem solving. All three of them did me a tremendous favor and put more effort into fixing the piece than I could have thought to ask for. So anything that leaps off the page as the suck? That’s totally mine. Kudos to newredshoes for trying to sort out a title for me (hope you like what I went with!)
Feedback: Yes, please.
*
For the first time since being declared a reader—phonetic similarity precedented upon limits of articulatory anatomical structure: ReaderRiverReaver—River dances over the naked planes of mindscapes around her and there are no thorns of worry about what she might see. Mal expects she's doing this—in the trenches, had to read how a man held his weapon to know if he'd be at your back—and accepts. His are the first thoughts laid open to her, baldly left behind like errant toys in the cockpit.
She likes the flavors of his concern, the dual way he weighs each person—hesitant scales for a premature Libra, zodiac child born of the early autumn, conception dated to mid-winter copulation periods, sex to offset winter depression—taking their measure. Despite his narrow perception, this is as near to her experience as any could come—sees through to the heart, friction only comes from the outside—Whenever their balance slides, he shouts or needles until it is restored, and she resumes watching the others, watching Mal watch them, too.
He's glad of Zoe being functional, back to the way they were when they met, but he misses the Zoe-that-was-with-Wash because, improbably, she was the one he liked best—heart exploded, imploded, pierced, crushed to powder, a fractured thing that walks and makes it worse, won't sit, won't lie, lying leads to laying, and there's no laying without her partner—but she can’t be that way yet. Zoe heals by picking at scabs—can’t remember it was ever a wound if you let it set without a scar—and Mal only hopes she knows when to stop before it’s bloody. In Zoe’s eyes all is blood—cries through another’s lids, transference unto those willing to break because she is already broken—and the veterans unconsciously agree to avoid the subject of empty spaces, sharp objects, and casualties of war.
Thinking on Zoe and her loss puts him on the matter of Inara and the unsettled nature of their way, the possibility they might be no more together than ever they were—the only confusion is the woman deals straight, but her lies reveal her truths, the ones she won’t surrender—and that he might never see her look at him for real the way she pretended to on that WAVE. Might be it's better for her to leave, and he prepares for it—ain't got much left to lose from the center—so he can not hate her when she does.
But River feels things he won't allow, he can't admit—dreams the day he’ll be able to afford her, and she knows it isn’t money he needs—because the others are as unguarded as he. Inara dopes his food to keep him in bed the first week—tear the stitches, unravel the thread, spill him out onto, not into, wrongful death—and he only forgives when he sees her rinse Serenity clean of the Reaver paint. Because of the elegance in all that she does, he notices only the finery and the apology—forgotten the ways of painting meaning onto a lover’s skin, calligraphy of the soul, passion of the pen—
There is a line, however; she cannot tell truths that aren’t hers any more, unless they’re really secret, and not simply the kind that the crew wear just beneath their skin and the others pretend not to see—tired—hungry—desperate—lustful—lonely—ache upon ache—Those are not for her. They lead to trouble, and trouble has been put to a sleeping death—statistically improbable that the fight is ended without proof and consecration, for missing persons are often pillars of new faiths—and there are ample diversions among the present to keep spent thoughts hid in the past.
Simon is annoyed that she spies on him and Kaylee, mostly because she likes to tattle and get them in trouble with Mal—always such a brat, so hard to be proud of her, but is proud and never afraid, only one never to be afraid—though he is glad of her presence when he takes Wash out of the cockpit with Jayne’s help. Jayne is comfortable with the dead he’s killed, Simon is used to bodies, but neither can detach themselves from the leavings of a former friend. Simon goes to Kaylee after—smothers under her kisses, sinks into her hammock, hangs by her magnetic mercy—and Jayne sets to drinking—seen the wreck; weren’t any other in the ‘verse coulda landed her ‘sides the little man—and she borrows a bit from each of their comforts. That night she spends hot and dizzy.
Kaylee takes to teaching her how to rewire the bits and pieces she can’t get at all on her own, not if she wants to keep to the schedule the captain has set her—Serenity understands frustrations; Serenity wants to fly through the Black and she wants to hump Simon into the deck plates—and River makes herself a smart assistant. No words, no lectures—brain is circuitry and connecting currents, which well the River comprehends—so long as she’s careful not to pry too far—debts Simon has and intentions to collect upon them; dreams of interest accrued, reaped, spent—or linger too long—tearful salt deficiency complicates water imbalance, links to reduced ovum viability—because she is red-eyed enough as is.
Jayne pays her no mind, sets himself to work that Kaylee or the Captain can't finish. Grumbles less, does more work than the others because it was only his shoulder barking about with pain—walked away from a Reaver pile up a near-whole man, something like a silver lining on a dung hill—and he is glad he signed with this crew although he doesn’t say it. He’s sure they’ll make five times as much, being such a fearless bunch by reputation—should be proud of what they done, don’t mean he stands on ceremony--which is the only kind of invisible coin he likes. He sics chores on her sometimes, mostly helping Simon stockpile supplies raided from Mr. Universe's complex, and never hesitates to give her a weapon—doesn't have to be sharp, the shallow wound disorients and distracts—or something that could be used as one. Cleaned up the Reaver blades for her though it gave him shivers—'cause they ain't right, but she's as far from right as they come in the Black, and if it comes to it, it’s the scope at a hundred yards, can't nobody run that fast—and told her to keep them out of Zoe's sight. She threw them out, smashed to pieces, because to touch them again is to become them, and Mal trusts she is a person.
More than that, she is River flowing, slicing through the sieves in others, finding her call and their need—
-rear stabilizer’s been riding low since testing yesterday, might do for a look-
-two hundred milligrams ryloidin will counter the sedative effects of painkillers without nausea-
-ain't I got shot up, too? Don’t see me nightmaring or rutting next t’others trying to sleep-
-blue curtain with brown trim for the bed, the one on top of the case Mal found-
-smell of him ain't gonna last forever, breathe it in while I can-
-as long as we keep flying-
--and answering to both, "Yes."
Challenge Lyrics Prompt: cause in my head there's a greyhound station
where i send my thoughts to far off destinations
-death cab for cutie, soul meets body
Fandom: Firefly-Serenity
Author: Meridian
Rating: PG-13 (deals with death and violence)
Summary: River loses herself in the stream and lets herself be a little of everything that everyone else is.
Warning: Spoilers for Serenity (a.k.a. The Big Damn Movie) as it is set during the montage at the end of the film
Disclaimer: Joss owns every last one of them, from characters to personified objects like Serenity herself (See? Personification happening all around us!)
Author’s Notes: Written for Shanelle’s Two Lines Fanfiction Challenge, this piece is dedicated to three extraordinary betas/critics–
deepredbelle for her cheerful encouragement, darkling1 for his extensive edits, and ivy03 for her spot-on problem solving. All three of them did me a tremendous favor and put more effort into fixing the piece than I could have thought to ask for. So anything that leaps off the page as the suck? That’s totally mine. Kudos to newredshoes for trying to sort out a title for me (hope you like what I went with!)Feedback: Yes, please.
*
For the first time since being declared a reader—phonetic similarity precedented upon limits of articulatory anatomical structure: ReaderRiverReaver—River dances over the naked planes of mindscapes around her and there are no thorns of worry about what she might see. Mal expects she's doing this—in the trenches, had to read how a man held his weapon to know if he'd be at your back—and accepts. His are the first thoughts laid open to her, baldly left behind like errant toys in the cockpit.
She likes the flavors of his concern, the dual way he weighs each person—hesitant scales for a premature Libra, zodiac child born of the early autumn, conception dated to mid-winter copulation periods, sex to offset winter depression—taking their measure. Despite his narrow perception, this is as near to her experience as any could come—sees through to the heart, friction only comes from the outside—Whenever their balance slides, he shouts or needles until it is restored, and she resumes watching the others, watching Mal watch them, too.
He's glad of Zoe being functional, back to the way they were when they met, but he misses the Zoe-that-was-with-Wash because, improbably, she was the one he liked best—heart exploded, imploded, pierced, crushed to powder, a fractured thing that walks and makes it worse, won't sit, won't lie, lying leads to laying, and there's no laying without her partner—but she can’t be that way yet. Zoe heals by picking at scabs—can’t remember it was ever a wound if you let it set without a scar—and Mal only hopes she knows when to stop before it’s bloody. In Zoe’s eyes all is blood—cries through another’s lids, transference unto those willing to break because she is already broken—and the veterans unconsciously agree to avoid the subject of empty spaces, sharp objects, and casualties of war.
Thinking on Zoe and her loss puts him on the matter of Inara and the unsettled nature of their way, the possibility they might be no more together than ever they were—the only confusion is the woman deals straight, but her lies reveal her truths, the ones she won’t surrender—and that he might never see her look at him for real the way she pretended to on that WAVE. Might be it's better for her to leave, and he prepares for it—ain't got much left to lose from the center—so he can not hate her when she does.
But River feels things he won't allow, he can't admit—dreams the day he’ll be able to afford her, and she knows it isn’t money he needs—because the others are as unguarded as he. Inara dopes his food to keep him in bed the first week—tear the stitches, unravel the thread, spill him out onto, not into, wrongful death—and he only forgives when he sees her rinse Serenity clean of the Reaver paint. Because of the elegance in all that she does, he notices only the finery and the apology—forgotten the ways of painting meaning onto a lover’s skin, calligraphy of the soul, passion of the pen—
There is a line, however; she cannot tell truths that aren’t hers any more, unless they’re really secret, and not simply the kind that the crew wear just beneath their skin and the others pretend not to see—tired—hungry—desperate—lustful—lonely—ache upon ache—Those are not for her. They lead to trouble, and trouble has been put to a sleeping death—statistically improbable that the fight is ended without proof and consecration, for missing persons are often pillars of new faiths—and there are ample diversions among the present to keep spent thoughts hid in the past.
Simon is annoyed that she spies on him and Kaylee, mostly because she likes to tattle and get them in trouble with Mal—always such a brat, so hard to be proud of her, but is proud and never afraid, only one never to be afraid—though he is glad of her presence when he takes Wash out of the cockpit with Jayne’s help. Jayne is comfortable with the dead he’s killed, Simon is used to bodies, but neither can detach themselves from the leavings of a former friend. Simon goes to Kaylee after—smothers under her kisses, sinks into her hammock, hangs by her magnetic mercy—and Jayne sets to drinking—seen the wreck; weren’t any other in the ‘verse coulda landed her ‘sides the little man—and she borrows a bit from each of their comforts. That night she spends hot and dizzy.
Kaylee takes to teaching her how to rewire the bits and pieces she can’t get at all on her own, not if she wants to keep to the schedule the captain has set her—Serenity understands frustrations; Serenity wants to fly through the Black and she wants to hump Simon into the deck plates—and River makes herself a smart assistant. No words, no lectures—brain is circuitry and connecting currents, which well the River comprehends—so long as she’s careful not to pry too far—debts Simon has and intentions to collect upon them; dreams of interest accrued, reaped, spent—or linger too long—tearful salt deficiency complicates water imbalance, links to reduced ovum viability—because she is red-eyed enough as is.
Jayne pays her no mind, sets himself to work that Kaylee or the Captain can't finish. Grumbles less, does more work than the others because it was only his shoulder barking about with pain—walked away from a Reaver pile up a near-whole man, something like a silver lining on a dung hill—and he is glad he signed with this crew although he doesn’t say it. He’s sure they’ll make five times as much, being such a fearless bunch by reputation—should be proud of what they done, don’t mean he stands on ceremony--which is the only kind of invisible coin he likes. He sics chores on her sometimes, mostly helping Simon stockpile supplies raided from Mr. Universe's complex, and never hesitates to give her a weapon—doesn't have to be sharp, the shallow wound disorients and distracts—or something that could be used as one. Cleaned up the Reaver blades for her though it gave him shivers—'cause they ain't right, but she's as far from right as they come in the Black, and if it comes to it, it’s the scope at a hundred yards, can't nobody run that fast—and told her to keep them out of Zoe's sight. She threw them out, smashed to pieces, because to touch them again is to become them, and Mal trusts she is a person.
More than that, she is River flowing, slicing through the sieves in others, finding her call and their need—
-rear stabilizer’s been riding low since testing yesterday, might do for a look-
-two hundred milligrams ryloidin will counter the sedative effects of painkillers without nausea-
-ain't I got shot up, too? Don’t see me nightmaring or rutting next t’others trying to sleep-
-blue curtain with brown trim for the bed, the one on top of the case Mal found-
-smell of him ain't gonna last forever, breathe it in while I can-
-as long as we keep flying-
--and answering to both, "Yes."
Challenge Lyrics Prompt: cause in my head there's a greyhound station
where i send my thoughts to far off destinations
-death cab for cutie, soul meets body
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 05:34 am (UTC)But thank you muchly for the ego-inflation. I'm going to dance around barefoot now!
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 05:18 am (UTC)First, thanks for the note. It made me glowy.
I still adore this story with a passion. As I've said before, I will never be able to watch the montage sequence again without this fic being firmly planted in my mind. You got them all and the deftness of the writing still makes everything go crackly in the belly region. And the last fourth is so goddamned perfect, that final "yes" and -- guh. Yes.
And I'm telling you -- this is the Ultimate Jayne. I want the ragged/selfish mercenary-with-more-conscience-than-he-cares-to-admit, dammit. There is not nearly enough of him in the fic I've seen. Less brute, more brawn, I say.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 05:28 am (UTC)Gotta find a way to use him again.
Thanks for the reassuring confidence-boost. I already got yelled at by someone on ff_fanfic for saying something mildly spoiler-y in his/her opinion. My ettiquette needs polishing.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 06:49 am (UTC)One word comes to mind: consummate. I love how it strings together little truths, the only things River can think or tell, to shed some light on the whole. I'm amazed at how well-organized it is, and how it comes to a point, despite the haphazard structure. A beautiful snapshot of what makes these characters so compelling.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 03:40 pm (UTC)Coherence is a good thing, yes, but so rarely enjoyable as much as letting go. I know, I wrote as River for a few days and man, there went the sanity...
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 02:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 04:37 am (UTC)Thank you! I, too, am afeared of the stream-of-consciousness, present-tense story, but that's how it came to me, so I braved it. Thank you for braving it, too.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 02:10 pm (UTC)Have pimped this on my journal, btw. Kudos!
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 02:13 pm (UTC)I totally got the shivers when I recognized your LJ. Wowee.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 03:10 pm (UTC)And it's your icon I recognized. Am I right in assuming it's Cowboy Bebop? Because Bebop = love, too. You ever written any fic? I sure could use some good CB fic.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 04:05 pm (UTC)You find anything good, let me know. Best I ever read was one called "Left Eye," but I can't remember the author name. Found it at the pit of voles (aka fanfic[dot]net). Happy hunting!
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 05:20 pm (UTC)And yes it hurts - part of why I love it so much. I'm a bit of a masochist with fiction.
And if you want something really good CB-fiction-wise, I highly recommand Prelude (http://www.dragonfare.com/prelude/). It's so. Amazingly. Good. A backstory on Vicious and Spike, spot-on, simply amazing. I'm addicted. In fact, I think I'll read it again. Heh.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 05:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 02:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 02:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-27 09:53 pm (UTC)Thanks for leaving a comment! Much appreciated.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-28 02:09 pm (UTC)Getty
no subject
Date: 2009-07-28 02:23 pm (UTC)