Sunday's Child
Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Mal makes the visit he most does not want to make.


Disclaimer: all things Firefly/Serenity are the property of Whedon et al. I'm not making any money of this, just playing with the toys.

Set: post-BDM

You were born on a Sunday.

Your ma told me that. She told me near on everything there was to know about you. She smiled so wide when she talked of your finishing secondary school. First one since comin’ to Beylix almost a hundred years ago. The pride on her face shone so bright I swore I was looking at you. Knew at that juncture where your light came from.

But when your father came in, her smile vanished, replaced with tight lips and wrinkled brows. Her hands latched together, knuckles turnin’ white. She looked down to them as her husband crashed through the kitchen, slammin’ glasses and turning faucet knobs so hard they nearly broke.

I nearly broke.

Wasn’t ever one for a whole lotta words, leastways not until Miranda. Made many a speech for that little piece of horror. Found myself now without words, without voice and it scared the go se outta me.

I heard the girl before I saw her peek her head over the kitchen window, brown strands catching the light wind and crossed her face. Brown eyes widened then crinkled like she had some gorramn secret. She ducked and scurried away.

The shaking table brought me back to the here and the man who now sat at it, jaw hard and face harder. His throat gulped at the water loudly and I could see his eyes shut up tight. He finished, dropped the glass and took a deep breath.

I waited for the storm.

“Tomorrow’s the fourteenth,” he said, looking to the woman.

She nodded, knowing what he meant. Her fingers carefully found their way into his hands and he held them tighter’n he held that glass. Pained, sufferin’ eyes found mine and I had to look away.

“You’ll be there,” he said in that voice that left no room for arguing. “Say some words,” his voice hitched, “about my little girl.” “Yes, sir.” I looked back up. Hadn’t called anyone sir since the war.

He nodded once then rose from the chair, his lumbering steps reverberating through the wooden floor.

“He doesn’t blame you,” her soft voice spoke, a sharp contrast to the harshness of those boots. “But he doesn’t much like you right now.”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? “No, ma’am. Reckon I wouldn’t were I in his place.” I bit my tongue. Ass! Can’t possibly know what it would be like to be in his place. Didn’t want to ever know what it was like to lose a daughter.

She smiled a little then rose and placed the empty glass in the sink. The open window ushered in the wind and I saw the tiny curl of her lips. “She loved t’play. Always runnin’ as a child. Couldn’t get her to walk nowhere.” She swallowed and blinked. “She’d be too eager t’see what was around the corner or behind the tree.”

I felt my eyes burn with tears that I was determined would not fall. That’s how it happened. Walked right into it, around the corner and that was it.

I stood hastily, wanting so much to say how sorry I was, how much I coulda wished I’d been first around that corner. Hadn’t been much good in my life since the war, not much worth livin’ on. Seemed all manner of wrong for me to keep living mine when she had everything to look forward to and now she didn’t. If I coulda changed places...

Bolting through the kitchen door to the outside, mumblin’ some sorta adieu, I took three long strides before leaning against the shingles linin’ the side of the house. My body slumped as I tried to breathe and I let myself go, feeling the dew covered ground soak my knees.

Her feet were bare, like always, as they stood before me. I saw the hem of her skirt crumple as she knelt, her head turned and her eyes were big and bright. “You’re wet,” she said simply.

I angrily wiped my cheeks and attempted to look a bit more an authority figure. Knew I was failing when she continued.

“Don’t need to be the Captain here.” She reached a small hand to my shoulder and the strength that came from it nearly knocked me over.

Li’l Albatross was reading my mind, could see the scenario that wouldn’t leave my brain and she felt all the emotions swirlin’ around. She didn’t say anything, just sorta looked at me, telling me that she knew on that level that only she could know.

But it only went just the one way. I needed to know.

Without thought, I clasped her hand on my shoulder and straightened. “She in a good place?”

That little smile crossed her lips. “Yes. Misses us.” With barely a twitch, her expression saddened and she began to cry. Grasping at my shirt, she buried her face and wept so quiet I couldn’t hear her. But I felt her shake and I felt those hands tear the fabric.

My arms went around her natural as could be. She shifted herself, her arms matching mine in a clutch ‘round back. She squeezed, let her hands release and I felt her palms press into my back. She kept pushin’ in until I felt the air forced from my lungs.

And what came out was the sadness and grief I’d been storing up since that day.

You died on a Sunday.


Wednesday, November 15, 2006 11:19 AM


From the speech pattern of the parents I am guessing it is Kaylee though why you never made that clear I don't know. So very sad though the piece at the end between Mal and River was quite affecting. Ali D
You can't take the sky from me

Wednesday, November 15, 2006 3:15 PM


Ok...this needs a sequel and I mean now! You can't just leave us hanging like that, AP! It's cruel...and embarassing cuz I need to know if I should be thinking Kaylee died and Mal's witnessing Mr. & Mrs. Frye dealing with their loss:(

Still...brillo work as always;D


Sunday, November 19, 2006 12:53 PM


So beautiful! Made me cry, darn it. Great job, AP.

Monday, November 20, 2006 3:57 AM


A powerful piece of work, my friend.


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