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BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL
Five ficlets inspired by Ryan Adams songs, exploring the characters and relationships present (or perhaps absent) in the show.
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 831 RATING: 9 SERIES: FIREFLY
Author’s note: As a personal challenge to myself, I set up prompts for various pairings/character situations based on songs by Ryan Adams. I posted them all together as some of them are too short to be considered real stories. The pairings are as follows:
If any of the aforementioned pairings “bothers” you, I would suggest not reading them. Anyhow, I’m a feedback whore, so comments as to what you liked/didn’t like/figured could use improvement are always appreciated. Some of these are extremely sad, be forewarned. Also, there’s a chance I can do an elaboration on one if anyone wants one in particular to be elaborated on. Some don’t have much back-story, but some have a whole novel of back-story waiting to happen. *Crazy grin*
Let me go, I’m only letting you down
I’ve got nothing to say to you now
Lose the feelings that are weighing me down when I’m safe
It’s turning morning all the birds are singing
I’m not complicating anything
I’ll have another then I’ll go to bed but I’ll dream of you
Cause it’s almost over
And it’s almost gone
But I can feel the sweet illusion coming
Sweet confusion honey
Sweet illusion coming down
I ain’t got nothing but love for you now
The lack of resentment shocked him.
There had been so many feelings, chief of them being resentment, and now there was nothing left except for pure, sweet, nearly painful love.
And the hurt.
They’d spent the previous night together, clinging and needful and desperate at first, then languorous and peaceful when the first waves of passion died down. “Love you,” she’d whispered, breathless and panting. “Love you, oh God, how I love you.”
“So why don’t you stay?” he’d replied, kissing her breastbone.
In hindsight, it had been the stupidest thing he could’ve possibly said. At the time, however, he’d meant it to express his equal love and devotion. But she’d cried when he said it, held her hand against his heartbeat, then kissed it and rested her head there. “That’s why I have to,” she’d explained between sobs. “I can’t love you. Can’t.”
“Yes you can,” he’d soothed, kissing her gorgeous hair, mussed now from sex and crying. “You can love me, and you can stay. We don’t gotta tell.”
But here they were anyway, standing in this pretty little garden in Sihnon, with li’l Kaylee bawling her eyes out, River staring distractedly half into space, half out at the begonias, Simon awkwardly, stiffly holding Kaylee’s hand in an attempt at comfort, and even Jayne being polite enough to refrain from saying anything crass. Behind his crew, Mal is in his own world, his own version of mourning. He can’t look at her and can’t think of anything to say, barring “I love you. Marry me, gorramit. Just don’t leave,” and he knows he can’t say that. So he says nothing, just stands and swallows back tears he’s amazed to feel building in the back of his throat. They threaten to seep out from behind his eyes when she comes up and softly touches his shoulder.
“I’m sorry it had to come to this. I hope you’re not angry.”
He smiles a little, his brave-yet-depleted Sergeant’s smile. “Darlin’, I ain’t got nothin’ but love for you now.” And then he turns, satisfied, and walks away from Inara, away from the glue that held his life together, however imperfectly.
There’s something about you that reminds me of all those times
When I wasn’t sorry
When I wasn’t blue
The cherry moon, it shone down on us
Under the stars
Every one for you
If I could count them all I would circle the moon and count ‘em back to nothing ‘til I got to you
She makes him feel normal.
There’s so much strangeness in his life right now that he clings to the normalcy like it’s the only thing he’s got left—though, he supposes dryly, perhaps it is. He worships her like a goddess because she gives him what he needs—the power to feel normal again.
Tonight is no exception, as they lay tangled together in a mess of sweat and sheets, staring up at the ceiling in combined joy, shock, love, and utter and complete bliss.
“I’m fairly certain they hung the stars for you,” he remarks softly, kissing the spot on her neck that he knows will make her toes curl.
“Oh yeah?” she grins, and he feels himself hardening, though they finished not five minutes before. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re perfect.”
She laughs, a self-depreciating little laugh. “Not so perfect as you,” she replies, kissing his nose.
“Oh, you have far fewer flaws than I do.” He props himself up on one elbow and studies her face. “And don’t even think you’re not like a star. Stars shine in the sky and you,” he’s blushing furiously now, amazed that he can get these words out and praying to any deity he can think of that he won’t screw them up, “shine in the sky, too. Stars are beautiful, and you could possibly be more beautiful than they are. And most importantly, stars seem to smile down at the world, and you’re always here smiling at us.”
She sighs in contentment and snuggles down into his chest, suddenly tired. “Mmmm,” she purrs, and he pets her hair delicately, feeling for one moment as if there’s nothing for him to apologize for. She can erase his hurt, and take him back to a time when he wasn’t sorry or sad. For this, if nothing else, he will hold onto her forever.
03—Now That You’re Gone
I’m alone, and I’m dancing with you now
In your old room
In your old house
I’m alone and I’m dancing with you now
In your old room
But there’s nobody there
Now that you’re gone
Now that you’re gone for good
They used to dance.
She wasn’t very old then, maybe 2 or 3. But he would sneak quietly into his parents’ study, climb up on the wooden chair that was tucked between two bookshelves for that express purpose, and select a music disc. All the while, she would watch, wide-eyed and delighted, squealing “You’re going to be in trouble!” though they never got caught. Once the coveted music was in his possession, they would both creep on tiptoe, careful not to disturb the dinner party, poker night or cocktail gathering that was going on in the great room downstairs, to the nursery (“MY room!” River would proudly proclaim to anyone who would listen for more than a minute), where Simon would plug in the music disc and, once the sweet music filled the air, they would dance. River on Simon’s feet at first, twirling around the room in the awkward, jerky steps of two small children who couldn’t dance and didn’t care to learn, then later as two separate entities, Simon letting go of his perfectly maintained control for only a moment, bouncing and spinning, River twirling and gliding and spinning with the practiced grace of a professional ballerina.
He wonders if she remembers that now. The memory comes to him with such sharp clarity that it’s painful. Sometimes it’s in a dream, sometimes when he’s wide-awake, but it’s always the same. Somewhere in the impossible length of space between the nursery and the study, he loses her. She doesn’t run away, he doesn’t try to lose her, it just happens. One moment she’s there, giggling with the delight of a dangerous game, and the next she’s not, and there’s nothing left to prove she was there at all.
Which, when Simon really considers it, isn’t so different from now. There are moments when he thinks he has his sister back. Moments where she smiles at him, teases him and calls him a boob. Moments where she plays with Kaylee, where she curls up on the sofa in the lounge and falls asleep without a smoother, the delicate lines of her face softening even more than Simon has previously thought possible. She is always unpredictable, though, and he has learned to treasure these fleeting moments for what they are—a moment. The next moment could be different. The next moment she could be screaming for a death that she doesn’t deserve, tearing apart a room because something in her subconscious wants her to.
He knows he’ll never have his sister back, but sometimes he wants to rewind time so he can dance with her once more.
Sing you what the lord was singing
On the day he made the water the colour of the blues
Sing me that song
Sing me til the heavens rising
On the day he made the water the colour of my baby’s eyes
One day, he took her to the ocean.
It had taken a lot of convincing on Simon’s part, and no small amount of grumbling on Mal’s part, but when they landed on Cordelia, he could resist no longer. He’d made Simon swear up and down they’d be out of that hotel and back on Serenity by Monday morning, 8 AM, then relieved Kaylee of her engine-fixing duties as grudgingly as if he were sending her off to war armed with nothing but a pistol and a hat to keep the sun out of her eyes.
“Where are we going?” she pressed, clinging to his arm and trilling excitedly. “Just a hint?”
“It wouldn’t be a surprise anymore if I told you,” he smiled, kissing the top of her head delicately.
She sighed resignedly, knowing she couldn’t win.
“Now close your eyes,” he instructed grandly when they were close enough that the salt from the ocean blew with the breeze and whispered across her face like tears. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.” But her voice was hesitant. Still, she closed her eyes.
“Trust me.” He scooped her up.
“Simon!” her voice was a shriek, trilling through the cooling night air. “What are you doing?”
“Just wait, baobei. I won’t hurt you.”
And he didn’t. He carried her; careful not to let her slip, for the few paces more it took until he was standing on the beach, the sand warming his feet even through his shoes. It was then, and only then, that he set her down. “Open your eyes,” he whispered.
For a moment, Kaylee was speechless. “Oh, Simon,” she sighed when she could finally find words. “It’s so…oh.” She’s silent again, then, watching the waves move up and down, smelling the salt in the air and letting it all envelope her and take her away.
Somewhere in the distance, Simon can hear a mockingbird singing. He rests his cheek against the crown of Kaylee’s head and stares out into the impossible, unending sea of green.
Cause you're always mine to keep when you're gone
Two silvers rings, one's on my finger and the other one's gone
It went underground with you, oh John
She looks at her finger all day, her eyes rooted to the spot where he joined them symbolically, to go along with the emotional and physical joining that had taken place years before. Some days, she looks with contempt, as if it’s painful or revolting, yet riveting enough that she can’t remove the ring. Some days, she looks with the saddest expression that Mal has ever seen, an expression that doesn’t deserve to be on a face as pretty as Kaylee’s. Most days, though, she looks with longing, a longing so deep and so eternal that it had been there before he’d gone away and would remain there long after she was with him again.
It all hurts Mal, mainly because he knows it’s his fault. Jayne was a big man; he could take care of himself. He didn’t think about Kaylee, didn’t think about the silver ring gracing both her delicate and his calloused fingers. Didn’t think of the slight swell of her tummy, the way she’d sometimes move her hand to her belly unconsciously, tracking the movement of what would’ve—should’ve—been a child. He’d let Jayne go, knowing the consequences, knowing that the outcome could result in one less crewmember. But Jayne had wanted to go, and Mal hadn’t pushed him in the other direction, certainly not. And it had come down to this.
The coroner in the little town they were in had tried to take the ring off and give it back to Kaylee. But Kaylee had insisted he put that ring right back where it belonged—on the finger of her beloved Jayne. Then she’d retreated quietly back into the ship, back to be with the only solid thing left in her life—Serenity. She’d even lost the baby after Jayne went away. There’d be so much stress, Simon said, and her uterus just became an unsuitable environment for the baby. He was perfectly formed, a boy. She named him Jayne Malcolm, and for quite awhile refused to allow him to be taken away. When the doctor in the little town finally came, shaking his head—the second death in two weeks, what sort of ship were they running, anyway? —to take his tiny body away, she retreated once again into the engine room, which is where she sits now most of her days. Sometimes she tinkers absently with Serenity, adjusting things that don’t really need adjustment, doing mindless work to keep the image of the blood of both of her boys staining her hands and her shirtfront out of her mind. But she can’t for long, and she usually, inevitably, ends up propped against the bulkhead, fingering that ring like there’s nothing left in the world.
Though, Mal supposes, there might as well not be. At least not for her. Her entire world is now buried under the ground, and she’s only living because she has the knowledge that soon, she’ll be rejoining that world.
Friday, June 30, 2006 2:07 AM
Monday, July 03, 2006 9:29 AM
Friday, July 14, 2006 5:22 AM
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