BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL

INTOPAPER

Thick. Chapter F. Truth
Thursday, August 31, 2006

The devil's in the details, so to speak. Kaylee catches the truth in a book, and it up and grabs Zoe with two feverish hands. Mal's brooding and River's rambling are no less truthsome for being unclear.


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 1815    RATING: 9    SERIES: FIREFLY

Chapter F. Truth - Characters and world belong to Mr. Whedon and co. Mistakes and follies, my own. - Kaylee was in her hammock, thinking. Holding Simon’s journal. The red leather was warm from being held in her hands so long. She had been running a finger along the edges, which were turned over and sewn down along the inside cover. She heard Mal clanking down the hallway long before he half-leaned into the room and stuck the book into the folds of the material. Not well hidden, not in plain sight. “Kaylee?” he called out, leaving the several questions he could have asked dangling. “Just thinkin’, Cap’n.” she said, turning her head back to see him, popping up over bright stripes. “’Bout who?” he asked, and did not wait for an answer. “You planning on pinin’ the whole trip?” “Ain’t pinin’ Cap’n!” she said, sounding shocked. And then arch and prim with: “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” as she turned back to face the engine. But she turned to cover her blush, spoke to cover her guilt. “Fine, then. Ain’t my business anyway, as... as them that knows are always saying.” Things grew quiet, words fading into the hum of the engine. Before it settled into the restful silence of easy spirits, Mal spoke again: “Hopin’ we’ll make it back to Aramis. For your birthday,” he ventured. “The black ain’t much a place to celebrate.” “Cap’n,” Kaylee said, truly shocked, “Qi you ci li! Ain’t no place in the ‘verse like Serenity.” Mal smiled at her impulsive pat to the nearest wall. As is reassuring the ship. “’Sides, ain’t where you are, it’s who you’re with.” “Maybe hittin’ my point, mei-mei.” Mal’s quiet statement shook Kaylee. She was used to coldness and dry wit, to sarcasm and commands. Kind as his line of thought was, he sounded weary. The impression grew, as he continued. “Just ain’t fair, what I wanted to say. You being so clear, and all, and that boy never saying a word. Like a closed book.” “Cap—” Kaylee’s breath caught, but Mal kept talking. “By right’s ya outta know what he’s thinking, since he surely... Don’t want to see no one hurtin’ is all. Just ‘cuz...” Mal trailed off. “Don’t need to worry about me,” she said, but was suddenly not sure if Mal was talking about her. Although he made a good point. She was clear as day to Simon; he was the one always tangling things up. “Ain’t none of my business, anyways, mei-mei. So long’s the ship stays flyin’. ” “She’s running sweet as can be.” “That she is.” He did not leave, like she expected. Kaylee turned again, her whole upper-body this time, putting a hand to the edge of the material to turn it down, and shifting her legs with practiced habit to keep from tipping the hammock. She examined Mal, sitting, rubbing a finger in a groove in Serenity’s wall. “Cap” she dragged out. “I was thinking of cleaning the A-2 regulator, needs it something bad. But I’m pretty sleepy, don’t want to drop any pieces.” “Reckon not.” “’S too bad, be a smoother landing without all the gunk got in it. Aramis must be dustier than it looks.” “It’s gonna affect entry-sequence?” “Bit, maybe. Not a problem, I can tell Wash, he’ll compensate.” “Yeah, but, he needs to concentrate.” “Fine, Cap’t I’ll do it.” Kaylee moved to get up. “No,” Mal said, getting to his feet. “I got it. You just show me where it is.” He followed Kaylee’s pointing finger to a metal cube with coiling tubes. It was sitting the floor, far from the engine. “This is it?” he asked. “Ya-huh,” she answered. Not bothering to look. “We need this to land?” Kaylee forced her eyes as wide-open as they could go. And sunk down into the hammock so only the edge of them could be seen. She could have been a little girl playing hide and seek. “Yep. Little things always matter most” Mal shrugged, but picked it up and walked out, toying with it even as he went. Kaylee watched, making sure he did not turn around. The spare he had in hand was full of old tubing, the kind it took hours to clean thoroughly. Idle hands, she thought, the phrase reminding her of her family. Her father had told her once that you should always share joys, griefs, and work. So problems were halved and happiness doubled. She shared. That could be said for certain. Carried on her family’s lessons down to slightest bumps and smiles. Maybe it was time Simon did the same, she thought. For his own good. She opened the journal at random, and flipped through the covered pages, looking for the one she had started, the one with her name. - - River was reading or watching something on his cortex link, when he came into his room. Reading with intensity. She did not look up when he walked in. “River, did you take my journal for some reason?” “No,” she answered without moving, distractedly, sitting cross-legged on the table, bare footed lotus position that suggested years of training, and that was ruined by her causally draped upper body, elbows on knees, head in hands, reading the screen on the table. Simon thought it looked painful, reading that way. Sure to develop knots in the neck, wrist, arms, legs. She did not seem to notice. He tried again, remembering her aggravating habit, strictly interpreting questions sometimes. “Did you see my journal?” “No.” She glanced up at him, standing in the door, radiating accusations. “No,” she said, with force. “That’s odd,” he calmed down some, now that she was focused again. And not seeming like she was in the middle of a joke or game with his things. “I thought I put it in my case. Thought I had it right here, when I unpacked—” “Doesn’t matter.” River smiled a bit. As if trying to reassure him. “No, I know,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I guess I must have left it on the ship. I don’t know why I even bothered to put things away. Only here for a few days.” “Are you missing home, Simon?” River asked. Clearly. Quickly. “Well, I guess.” Simon started looking through his things, again. Under the piled shirts, a stack, having learned to bring extra. Around files from Dr. Elias and scans of medacad archives. “Not the food,” he continued, absently, “or the lack of hot water. Recycled air. But it’s nice to feel like we can just fly, if there’s a problem. If the Alliance is close. Not that we necessarily can, of course. But the odds are better,... on... the... ship. Why?” He turned to stare at her, ending suddenly. Realizing River’s normal question, clear phrasing. “We’ll be back there in a few days.” “What is time to trees?” was her answer, given as she keyed something on the cortex screen, never meeting her brother’s eyes. “Is...is that a riddle?” “With a fine line, you can cut and bind in one,” she tossed off, distractedly. “Maybe it’s time for another smoother, River,” he offered, moving towards the door. “No. No!” she yammered, sounding like a little girl. “No. Simon.” And he watched her gather herself. Try and pick her words out carefully, explaining with her hands as much as her voice. “Don’t make me... now. Seeing what I see—so many ways to die, Simon, doctor, you know, do you, what’s worse, what’s—if you’re cut right and you choke, blumb, blumb bubbles red at the lips, or when it’s let, drop, drop, drop, seconds into the sand, we die. Don’t stop, can’t stop, now, Simon. Just starting to see— you have to... untangle the purple, all angry and jumbled, go back, find the red and blue, back to the beginning, again and again, or else it dies.” He had his arms around her, as she tried to explain, and he was tempted to get a shot for her, anyways, but her eyes were clear, if a bit frantic. Her voice firm, even if her words did not string together. She sounded like she was trying to explain a difficult math proof. He let her be. “Going to get there. Again. It will all be fine.” Her hopefulness hurt him more, he thought, than her riddles and panic. Like she could help him. Like she had to. But he smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead. “If anyone can, River, it’ll be you,” he told her, not understanding anything but the smile his words won out of her. She nodded and turned back to cortex, and Simon headed back the infirmary to check on the several patients with injuries he knew, inside and out. - - Kaylee skimmed over entries, looking for her name. Planning to stick to entries that were only about her, to be fair. She had hoped to find the first one, it suggested something warm, the way he wrote, but a slightly later, longer passage caught her eye. Her name was sprinkled across the lines. She leaned forward, began to read. - Quiet, for now. Three weeks ago, I thought the hospital was endless noise and too full. No place quiet to go, waiting for news of River. If they found a way. Three weeks. And then, I could leave, go to my own rooms. I didn’t even think of them. And I thought home got smaller and smaller. Now, after here, after Serenity, to think of those rooms, empty most of the year, opening one onto the other. Tried to describe them to Kaylee, who asked. Couldn’t express the feeling of space. Here, space is a horrible way to die. River hasn’t mentioned home. Not after the one time. No comments on academy. Prompting can lead to violent outbursts and/or incoherent tears. Plan to avoid topic until she stabilizes. If that’s possible here. Kaylee seems to help her, though. And she is speaking more. I thought I understood what she was saying for a moment. Like remembering a dream, let the things just play around inside my mind, do something else half-handed. But Kaylee stuck her head in to talk, and it was gone, whatever River meant. There’s no place here to close a door and keep it that way. Even if I wasn’t serving as medic, Kaylee would keep talking. Except maybe Inara. On ship I think she gets interrupted a lot, too, but she at least has the chance to take off and leave. Anytime we are near a world, I think. In the atmosphere, at least. Does she just leave for leaving every now and then? Would she— - Kaylee stopped reading. She fought them back, but tears flickered in her eyes. Page full up of her name and nothing good to say. Only singing the praises of silence and space; she sniffed. She could throw him in the airlock, teach him about silence and space. She twisted around, sat with her feet on the ground. Then leaned over, and began crying in earnest. He took the first chance he found to get off the ship. And then, all for wanting nothing but privacy, and here she had taken his journal and read it all. Guilty, heart-sick, and worried, painfully worried he’d find the rambling clinic just suited to his desire for space, earth, and privacy, she sipped in air, and tried to force her tears to stop. She headed to her bunk, but changed her mind mid-walk and climbed down to the cargo bay catwalks instead. - - Tucked away as Kaylee was, a stranger to the ship would search awhile before finding her. Ledah did not have time or patience or wherewithal to do so. She found Zoe first. “Please,” Ledah said, stopping the woman in a hall, “where is the doctor?” “Doctor?” Zoe asked, suddenly suspicious. “There’s no doctor on the ship.” “What?” Ledah’s shock was clear. Her haste turned to outright fear in a moment; Zoe could see it happened. “But they told me,” she said. “Serenity. There was a doctor. A real one.” She was watching Zoe for a changed answer, as she listed her knowledge. “And Kaylee, Kaylee said... on this ship.” Zoe was impassive. “No... I don’t— There must be a... Kaylee. And everyone. My son is sick,” she ended with, her voice scaling up sharply. “Your son? He looked fine.” Zoe felt something flutter into worry, deep within her at the Ledah’s words, though she betrayed nothing. Kept staring, as if the woman were asking for a slice of apple, something simply not around. “Please. He’s sick,” Ledah’s careful phrasings from the evening and dinner melted away. She might have been talking to herself, as much as Zoe. “He’s always been... where is the doctor?” The woman’s hand was hot; she was on her knees before Zoe could speak again, begging for the doctor. “Please. They wouldn’t care for him, they said he would die. They said there was nothing, no one would help. But a real doctor. Someone you liang xia zi, I know—” Zoe pulled the woman to her feet. “Where is he?” Zoe asked. She pushed Ledah lightly, moved past her, talking over her shoulder, when she did not answer at once. “Your son. Is he in your room?” She was almost dragging the woman down the corridor. “Yes, my room. They said there was a doctor on board. On Serenity, the old firefly. Kaylee showed me. I’ve tried everything. There was no way—” Zoe ignored her, and slid open the door to Simon’s room, where Ledah had settled. Daniel was on the bed, curled into a tight ball of knees and arms, breathing in great gasps, head down. Zoe saw the stains of blood on the sheets, on the boy’s clothes and hands. Ledah joined him on the bed, rubbing his back and whispering gently. “We don’t have a doctor,” Zoe said, again. “Why didn’t you go to the clinic in Westfield? Dr. Elias would have—” “Dr. Elias. Dr.... Wúnéug de rén. Zougou. It was fahn leong jian. He wouldn’t do anything. Nothing, because of that man. Said to take what I got.” Ledah tried to hiss the words, but her choking sobs, half grief half shock, made everything broken and painful. Daniel coughed again. Zoe flinched at the harsh sound, tearing out of the boy’s small frame. Ledah held him, brushing his face and mouth with the edge of her sleeves. “Oh my boy,” she crooned into the top of his head. “Oh my boy.” Fluttering worry starting to turn into tense pain, starting to snap along her bones, Zoe left the room. “I have to talk to the Captain,” she told the mother, over her shoulder, but Ledah did not seem to hear. - - “Captain, a word?” “Zoe?” Mal looked up from the table, where he was playing with what looked like part of the engine, small panels and tubes laying about the table in disorder. Jayne flicked a small screw at the teapot. “Hey. I might need that.” Jayne snorted, but before Mal could respond with something suitably authoritarian, Zoe tried again. “Captain. I need to talk to you.” Her repetition got through to Mal. Quickly. He stood. “Bridge?” Zoe nodded, deciding in a moment she wanted Wash in on this conversation. Wanted to hear his opinion, and to make sure Mal heard it, too. She followed him out the galley, as he skipped steps up the stairway and scared Wash half to death with his shout: “What’s our status? What’s going—” “Arhg! Wode ma. Do you gotta sneak up on a guy like that? You made me knock over half—” “Why are you playing with toys when we’ve got a situation on our hands?” “Situation? Zoe?” Wash turned to her, instead of his console. She had walked in behind Mal, taken her favorite, if least professional, spot, leaning on the rear-vid screen, less than arm-distance from the pilot’s chair. “Zoe?” Mal asked at the same time, less plaintively. “Sir. Daniel, the little boy, is sick.” “Look if the boy can’t take a few shakes flying—” “Seriously ill, sir. His mother heard about us having a doctor on board, and I think she was hoping for a miracle cure.” “Something wrong with the docs on Aramis?” “She didn’t explain. And I didn’t press, seeing how her son was spitting blood.” She said the last words with careful, articulated precision. A sign he knew well enough meant take heed. Except he was not sure at the moment what had her angry. “Boy about to die?” “I’m not a doctor, sir.” “No, and the one we’ve got is a day’s hard burn away.” “I know, sir.” “So.” Mal left the word hanging, but Zoe did not answer. She left the opening to Wash, who took it, naturally and without thought to consequences. “We have to help them.” “We do?” Mal turned to his pilot. “WE do? “What else are we going to do? Wang er xing tan? Ignore them?” “Ain’t our fault he’s sick. Nor is it, I might add, our fault the woman dragged her kid on board. Don’t recall claiming to be a charity clinic. Or to having a doctor, in the first place.” “Mal, everyone in Westfield knew Simon was on this ship.” Wash was calm, in pointing out the obvious. “Well, he ain’t now. And ‘less he’s needing someone to pry out a bullet or stitch a cut up, there’s nothing Zoe,” he slowed down some, for control and emphasis, “or me, or anyone on board can do for him.” “We could change plans,” Wash offered. “We’ve got a strict timetable here.” “Right, like that’s ever been a consideration before.” “Not to mention deals that depend one on another. Tourists. What is it with—Kaylee never gets to pick ‘em again. Is that clear?” “Sir?” “Zoe?” “What do we do?” Mal lost track of his argument, and his anger, at Zoe’s question. She took orders easily enough, but it was rare she asked outright for them. She usually was the one offering suggestions. Both she and Wash were watching him, sitting near, hand on hand. And Wash spoke, for the two of them: “Gen-seed doesn’t go bad, last I heard.” “But deals do. What’re you suggestin’, Wash? Turn around? Fly back to Aramis, land in Westfield, track down the doc—” “Who’s going to be in the clinic, it’s not like it will be hard—” “...tell the nice people that hired us we had a minor crisis, no we haven’t dropped their goods, no we’ll get them to them soon, and leave, again, for Milagros, only having wasted two days of fuel, ticked off the buyers on the other side, and behaved suspiciously enough to probably get us reported to the Alliance and lose us any other jobs in this sector.” There was a pause. Wash took a breath. “Ok, so that’s worst-case scenario. I’ll do best-case, ummmmm, how about—we save a boy’s life. His mother turns out to be a princess, and rewards us with lots of gold and candy canes and shiny palaces in the clouds. Oh, and we save a boy’s life.” “We can’t go back to that planet. We ain’t got the fuel, as you noted not so long ago. And we ain’t getting cash ‘til we trade gen-seed for metal and metal for solar sheeting. Zoe, help me out here.” “So we can’t go back to Aramis and find Simon,” Zoe cut both men off. She was seeing a boy’s red blood, and she needed solutions, not a squabble. “That leaves us looking for help on Milagros and Santo. I’ll wave the clinic—” “Simon’s not dumb enough to get on the cortex, is he?” Wash asked, as Mal watched his first-mate, trying to figure out why she had started this whole thing back-stepping and was now taking control. Zoe answered Wash, but kept her eyes on Mal. “He’ll be checking the waves. He can pull Dr. Elias out of whatever hole he dug himself, and get him talking to Ledah. Or to us. Tell us where to go, to make this work.” “This is the last time we take passengers, you hear?” Mal said, in tacit agreement with the plan. “The next time I start talking about them, you shoot me.” “Shoot you, sir?” “Well, shoot at me, maybe. Unless we’re on the ship. Then just throw something at me. Something soft. And don’t aim for my head.” “Sir. Where are you going?” “To talk to this latest headache. You get ahold of Elias or someone knows something about healing and figure out where we can dump these two.” “She seemed very upset, sir. If you—” Mal pulled down the comm. and cut Zoe off with his call to engine room. “Kaylee.” “Yeah, Cap?” “I need you to get the preacher and meet me in the infirmary, ok?” “Captain?” her voice shook across the ship’s wires. “Little hiccup in the plan ‘s’all, nothing to be worried about.” He closed the connection and walked heavily to the stairs, shaking his head the whole way. “Wave, Zoe. I want options and timetables with fuel estimates,” he called over his back. And stamped down to the passenger dorms, adding scaring-Kaylee-to-the-point-of-tears to his list of stupid things he did this job. It fell somewhere far below letting Simon talk his way off ship and taking on a nervous face with babe in arms. - - Translations: - mei-mei: little sister Qi you ci li! (saying) outrageous; ridiculous; absurd you liang xia zi: to have true skill, know one’s trade. Wúnéug de rén: trash, despicable person Zougou: yes man fahn leong jian: blindside or conspire against someone secretly (literally “shoot a cold arrow.”) Wode ma: Mother of God Wang er xing tan?: look and sigh / feel helpless; not know what to do - - Sunday should bring Chapter G. Bad Connections. The crew’s got complications, not the least in communicating. And they’re not the only ones. xie-xie for reading. 'tis long, and I am missing Jayne, of whom the story began. Guess he'll have to wait some more.

COMMENTS

Thursday, August 31, 2006 5:05 PM

LEIASKY


Oh, just love this. Mal talking to Kaylee made me think he was about to spill Simon's plans.

And Kaylee - that girl overreacts to everything because she's so emotionally hung up on Simon. I hope she finds something further in his journal to smile about.

Of course, this little delay with the kid might put a kink in his birthday plans for Kaylee. . .

Still loving this. Must we wait so long for another chapter? If its all written you're just being sooo mean by holding back! :)

Thursday, August 31, 2006 7:30 PM

MANICGIRAFFE


Oh, good lord. She sneaks his journal, reads one entry that's not effusively glowing about her, realizes that Simon does in fact miss his home, and the world's ending? Please, please, please can I smack her?

I'm also not liking River's inability to talk straight(ish) with Simon. She's hiding something, and that's usually not good.

Posting before Sunday would be good...how's tomorrow grab you? ;)

Sunday, September 3, 2006 5:56 PM

BLUEEYEDBRIGADIER


Good Lord...guess Kaylee never went all Negative Nancy on someone in a diary, if she gets all uptight from what she read:(

Still...brilliant stuff as always, intopaper:D

BEB


POST YOUR COMMENTS

You must log in to post comments.

YOUR OPTIONS

OTHER FANFICS BY AUTHOR

Thick. Chapter I: Makings of a Long Walk.
Simon gets told an old story, while Mal and crew take a stroll through the country. It sounds so lovely, so why is Zoe worried?

Thick. Chapter H: Shifting Ground.
Mal makes a plan; Inara calls him on it. Simon is in a good mood, until reality kicks in. River tries showing instead of telling. And Jayne tries to talk his way out of a situation. Jayne: Hero of all Dirtworlds? Is it too good to be true?

Thick. Chapter G. Bad Connections.
The crew’s got complications, not the least in communicating. And they’re not the only ones. For, while Simon has an unstrange, unstrained conversation, in this 'verse, when something goes well... somewhere else goes all to... pieces. Zoe and Wash non-talk; Inara remembers. Mal captains.

Thick. Chapter F. Truth
The devil's in the details, so to speak. Kaylee catches the truth in a book, and it up and grabs Zoe with two feverish hands. Mal's brooding and River's rambling are no less truthsome for being unclear.

Thick. Chapter E. now known as the one ‘with the stories’
Ledah makes her pitch, as if we don’t know how it will go, Mal ::cough, cough, sap:: Simon makes a distinction. River tells Simon what’s on someone’s mind, but not hers. Renamed for reasons below.


Thick. Chapter D. What Comes of Talking to Girl-Folk
Kaylee turns thief even as another of her mistakes catches up with her. River corrects Elias’s mistake, and Mal just makes one. Inara wants to throw something. Coincidence? In this 'verse?

Thick. Chapter C. Things Out of Place.
Starring Simon and Kaylee. Featuring River, Mal, and Introducing Dr. Elias. Elias’s warm welcome leaves River cold. Simon deals with a questionable loan. Kaylee deals with a questionable object. The rest of the crew sulks off-page. Don’t worry, guys. You’re leaving Simon in the dust soon enough. Wait, can I say that?

Thick. Chapter B. In Which the Crew Chatters.
Wash jokes; Mal sulks; Kaylee’s friendly; Book’s concerned.

Thick. Chapter A. Plans
A story set after “It Ain’t the Fall that Kills Ya” but not dependent on it. Pertinent details: Post-OiS, Pre-BDM (not headed there, neither, therefore AU, I guess). Inara is at a training house, but Book is aboard Serenity. While I might not write as such, I believe in S/K, M/I and Jayne. To steal an old song: Tell me where is fancy bred? Or in the heart or in the head?

River Plays a Hand
Fluff and nonsense, and River and Inara play cards against the crew. It's not who will win, but how'll they pay. One-shot, M/I because... because.