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BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL
Co-written by Midnight Obsidian. Elizabeth and Pierre decide on a mutually beneficial plan, and Marcus talks to Mal.
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 599 RATING: 9 SERIES: FIREFLY
“It looks wonderful!” Elizabeth said enthusiastically as she pulled off her surgical gloves.
Pierre held the mirror up and squinted at his reflection skeptically. “Wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” he said, though Elizabeth could detect the slightest hint of satisfaction in his tone.
“And you’re certain there’s no residual pain?” she asked.
Pierre shook his head. “Much more comfortable than I’ve been in a long while.”
“Which brings me to the next question,” Elizabeth replied. “Obviously, the acid has been neutralized sufficiently. So, are you ready for the next step?”
Pierre tore his eyes away from his reflection to look at her directly. “That depends on what exactly the next step is,” he answered.
“That’s largely up to you. While there is no medical reason for you to continue to wear protective bandages, I notice that you’re still wearing your mask.” She paused delicately.
“Don’t want to go around scaring folk,” Pierre said. “Just because the flesh isn’t being eaten away every day doesn’t mean my face actually looks any better. It’s still very…scarred, to say the least.”
Elizabeth slid up onto the stool beside the bed. “Well, that’s what we need to discuss,” she said softly. “I am not one hundred percent sure of what would happen if we tried to graft new skin onto your face. Assuming that the problem of the acid is solved, which I do believe it to be, then there is a real possibility that grafts would be much more effective than they were in the past.”
“But?” Pierre asked, seeing the slight line between her eyebrows.
“But, the surgeries would be painful,” she answered honestly. “And I have no way to hazard a guess as to their effectiveness.”
Pierre sighed, looking again at his scarred visage. “But there’s a chance that I could look…normal again?”
Elizabeth frowned. “Perhaps not as you define normal,” she said. “Regardless of how far you’ve come, there will always be a certain amount of scarring. The grafts would have to be done in sections, and there would be, at the very least, scars where the grafts are joined. But, depending on the skill of the surgeon, perhaps those scars would be something you could reasonably live with.”
Pierre’s eyebrow rose, and Elizabeth thought it was the first time she’d been able to read emotion in his facial movement. “I had assumed you would be the surgeon,” he said lightly. “You up to it?”
She nodded. “If you think me capable, I’m more than willing to do it. But, as I said before we started this whole thing, it will take someone else to help, preferably someone with a gifted set of hands.”
“What about Simon Tam?” Pierre suggested. “Do you think he would be qualified?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Oh, no doubt about it,” she replied. “More than, truth be told.”
Pierre smiled and winced slightly at the unaccustomed stretch of skin around his lips. “Could be that Marcus and Mal could come up with something to do while the crews are together, don’t you think?”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you and Murdocke been eavesdropping on Marcus and me again?”
Pierre tried to look innocent, which was much harder to do without his mask. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said. After a beat, he added, “Though I think that a wedding presided over by Malcolm Reynolds will be an interesting affair.”
Elizabeth put her hands on her hips, trying to project annoyance despite the way her eyes twinkled. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Pierre Devereaux.” She grinned. “But, seeing as how you might be in need of Simon’s medical expertise, I think it would be a fine thing if we were to meet up with the crew of Serenity. And if a wedding should result in the interest of timeliness and all….well now, that would just be shiny, wouldn’t it?”
“It would indeed,” Pierre agreed, chuckling at the design of the web that was about to entangle one Marcus Hazzard.
Simon sighed. “There’s just nothing there, Mal,” he said tiredly.
“You mean to say that after three days of testing, you’re coming up empty?” Mal asked, frustration balling his hands into tense fists.
“I’m sorry, Mal. I wish there were something…something organic that could be easily fixed, but there simply isn’t,” Simon said.
Mal cursed a low string of Mandarin. “So, what’s the next step? Some head shrinker on a Core world somewhere?”
“Well, I….” Simon began, only to be interrupted by the buzz of the comm unit.
“Sir, there’s a wave from Captain Hazzard for you,” Zoe’s calm voice filtered through the comm. “Says he needs to talk to you and Simon.”
“He or somebody on the Hit or Miss hurt?” Mal asked, puzzling over why Marcus would want to speak with Simon.
“Didn’t say,” Zoe replied.
“All right, we’ll be right up,” Mal said. Turning to Simon, he added, “We ain’t finished with this discussion yet, doc.”
Simon nodded, all too aware of the fact as they made their way to the bridge.
“So, what occasions the wave?” Mal asked, slipping into the pilot’s chair vacated by Zoe. “Not that I ain’t glad to see you, but I thought you were on the other end of the ‘verse.”
Marcus grinned. “Job went south, like they do, and we headed back toward more civilized worlds, if you know what I mean. How goes it with you?”
Mal considered for a moment telling his young friend about what was happening with Adam, but thought better of it, there being no need to burden the other man with his worries. “Well as can be expected, life I lead,” he lied.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Marcus said. “Because I need to ask a…a favor of you.”
Noticing the slight flush rising to Marcus’ cheeks, Mal was intrigued. “Shoot.”
“Well, ummm, Pierre’s in need of some surgery,” Marcus began. “And Elizabeth needs another pair of hands for the job. Says it’s too much for one surgeon. So, I was wondering if maybe you and the crew could meet us somewhere for a spell.”
Mal’s mind whirred with thoughts of what he needed to do for Adam. “Well, this might not be the best time, unless Pierre’s condition is serious, that is,” he began. His words trailed off as he caught sight of Simon’s hand motions in his peripheral vision. “Hold on a minute, Marcus.”
“Sure thing,” Marcus said heartily, trying to hide his disappointment at Mal’s initial response.
Mal turned to Simon. “Bein’ as how I ain’t conversant in sign language, maybehaps you can just tell me what you’re tryin’ to say,” he said testily.
Simon rolled his eyes, trying to make allowances for Mal’s irritability considering extenuating circumstances. “I was just thinking that it might actually be a good thing to join Marcus and his crew. Adam likes them very much, and the whole crew could use a little diversion from the current situation, I think.” Seeing Mal wavering slightly, he added the coup de grace. “And as I recall, Elizabeth minored in child psychology at MedAcad. It could be that she could provide some insight into what’s happening with Adam.”
Mal’s eyes lit with sudden hope. “You think?” he asked.
Simon nodded. “And since she already knows about his unique abilities, it would eliminate one of your worries about speaking with a psychologist, wouldn’t it?”
Mal turned back to the screen. “Where do you want to meet?” he asked.
Marcus blinked in happy surprise. “How far are you from Greenleaf?”
“Two days, give or take a few hours,” Mal replied.
Marcus nodded. “We’re three days out. Elizabeth thinks she can pick up the supplies needed on Greenleaf, if that’s a good place for you.”
“No problem,” Mal said. “See you in the world in three days.”
“See you then,” Marcus said, as Mal cut the transmission.
Swiveling around in his chair, he turned to face Elizabeth. “What?” he asked as innocently as he could.
“I thought you might ask Mal to marry us while you had him,” she replied.
Marcus grinned. “Time enough for that when we see him. I didn’t want to scare him off, after all.” Seeing Elizabeth’s look of suspicion, he added, “Besides, I think getting him to agree to marry us is something best done over a bottle of whiskey.”
“You’re probably right,” Elizabeth replied as she slipped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him lightly.
The boy was hungry, ravenously so. He lay huddled against the wall of a deserted building, trying to find shelter from the chill of the night. There were lights up ahead, twinkling brightly and luring him in. He rose slowly. His body was unaccountably stiff, and he wondered why that should be.
Pulling his coat closer to him, he saw that the knuckles of his hands were raw as if he’d been in a schoolyard fight. He frowned in confusion as he walked slowly toward the lights in the distance. He tried to remember where he was, but nothing came to him. He shivered again, this time not from the chill of the evening. Almost afraid, he looked back to see where he had come from. He saw nothing there but shadows, and he let out the breath he’d been holding unconsciously.
Turning back toward the lights, he walked steadily for several minutes until he came to what looked like a dock. It was quiet there, and he took a few minutes to look at the pretty ships, his head filled with the thought of daring adventures out in the Black. He ran his hands along the sleek lines of the ships as he passed, looking with wide-eyed wonder at them.
“Hey there, whaddya’ think you’re doing?” a rough voice called from somewhere up ahead.
The boy squinted his eyes and looked around to find the source of the question. A large man materialized out of the darkness in the boy’s path.
“I said, whaddya’ think you’re doing?” the large man asked, scowling at him. “That’s my boat you’re handlin’, dong ma? Now move along.”
When the boy did not move, the man bellowed, “I said ‘Move along’.”
The boy’s vision blurred, and he blinked slowly once. Then, he smiled calmly. “I don’t think so, friend,” he said, his bruised fingers curling into a fist.
The large man backed away, unaccountably disturbed by what he saw in the eyes of his opponent. He held up one meaty hand. “No offense, man,” he said. “Just don’t generally take to folks manhandlin’ my boat.” He took another step back as his opponent stepped forward. “No harm done.”
“Not yet,” came the soft, calm reply.
“What the diyu happened here?” the inspector asked.
“Slice and dice party, from the looks of it,” the medical examiner replied, stepping almost daintily over the torso of the corpse.
“Where’s the rest of him?” the inspector asked.
The medical examiner made a vague motion with his hands. “Spread out all over the dock,” he said. “And not too long ago at that.”
The inspector leaned down, taking a closer look at the victim. “We know who he is yet?”
“Uh uh,” the medical examiner said. “Due to the…ah…nature of the crime scene, we haven’t asked any of the dock workers if they can identify him yet. You wanna do that before we move anything?”
The inspector swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of the dismembered corpse. “No, might as well wait until we can clean up the area a bit. No need to make a civilian have to see something like this.”
The medical examiner nodded. “S’what I thought too.”
In his bed aboard Serenity, Adam Reynolds curled himself into a small ball and prayed for morning to come quickly.
To be continued
Wednesday, June 03, 2009 1:10 AM
Wednesday, June 03, 2009 2:20 AM
Wednesday, June 03, 2009 2:27 AM
Wednesday, June 03, 2009 7:13 AM
Wednesday, June 03, 2009 12:40 PM
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