A/N: I recently caught some Firefly reruns on SyFy. And then, I read a whole butt load of fanfic. And then I got bit by the Mal/River bug. 'Tis a vicious, pestering thing- but wonderful.
Summary: A bit of a graceless dance- but it always is with them. Post-BDM. Mal/River. Deal with it.
Albatross
The galley is quiet at night, although night is irrelevant floating out in the black. Time takes on the attributes which it is given; stars take thousands of years to burn out, thousands of years for the sight to reach human eyes.
River flows easily from her room, slipping through cracks, sharing kinship with the metal walls of her home. The Captain is in the galley, and that is where her whispering feet take her.
He pours steaming coffee into a mug, stands and stares at it for a long while. River watches him breathe, feels the skittering heartbeat, the butterflies in the belly. Not literal butterflies- Kaylee had made that clear. Not that she is so young as to believe such things; rather, the mathematics of such a feat had baffled her. Probability, statistics. Pools of regret and oceans of discontent; the belly of the earth like a bitter womb...
"You got a thought you wanna share, Little Albatross, or you plannin' on starin' all creepifyin'-like for the rest a' the night?" His words cut through her thoughts, a hot knife through butter. She is melting.
His eyes meet hers from across the galley. She chances a step forward as he sets his coffee down gently. If the words leave her now, there is no taking them back. But she knows the burning ache of unsaid things. Her lips curve round the words.
"He wears the Albatross about his neck, but does not claim her as his own." Mal looks away from her for a moment, his discomfort clear in his stance. But another thing seeps from his pores, a bittersweet wanting. The taste of it flits across her tongue like dark chocolate. "She is not an ornament," River says, almost breathless as her captain chances a glance at her. "So speak the girl's name, and make her real..."
She feels bereft, standing there in the galley and fiddling with the hem of her paisley dress. Her boldness has left her, fluttering like a moth in the wind, leaving her exposed. A thought strikes without warning, a snake in the grass: if she is not an ornament, is she, then, a burden? The sudden warmth of his fingertips against the back of her hand makes her skin sing. She looks up.
"Reckon yer real enough, already." Voice wavering, but full of meaning. "Could be that's the problem."
Warmth moves, curling tendrils round her heart. Scent of spring coming in the air, almost ripe, almost ready to bloom. Her smile spreads like honey. Turns her hand so that their fingers skim each other's palms (a bit of a graceless dance- but it always is with them).
"What shall we do, then, Mal?" She wonders aloud, a clarity (less rare these days, than before Miranda) brightening her words with silver seams. His breath catches when she speaks his name, and the cogs of her heart turn; loves him even more than she has, if it's possible.
"Don't rightly know…" Thoughts drift through his eyes, trailing down to meet her lips, and then back up. "River." The fragile strings of his self-control break away, caught in a sweet, gentle kiss.
The Albatross is named. Spreads her wings, and together they take flight.