Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. And by sandbox I do mean characters. Though I don't own a sandbox either.
A/N: Serenity premieres on Max tonight, just wanted to let y'all know…Also, this is in no way a Simon/River story. Dong ma? River PoV, Post-BDM. Read, enjoy, let me know what you think.
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The scar is a pink rosebud curl just north of her navel.
Even Simon's best work cannot do away with it and she is glad even though he still frowns, knowing of its existence beneath the coarse material of her dresses. It offends him, like the dinosaurs on the consol still offend Zoë from time to time—but they do not move, declare the space as their own land and remain—and River sometimes wants to grab hold of Simon and yell, tell him that all things can be fixed. Wants to tell him that it makes her feel real, more than any of his drugs ever have.
But she thinks it would break him, damage him worse than the Blue Hands hurt her, so she keeps her hands to herself and swallows the words, sorts them into neat piles in the back of her throat. Instead she smiles at Simon's frowns, the sweet half forgotten smile of the little girl he so longs to see, shows him how she is all better now thanks to him.
She dances and laughs and draws brightly colored pictures to present him with, humors him and lets him know that he is needed, and even if he were not, he will always be loved.
"We match." She says one day, hand reaching out to twist up the dark blue fabric of his shirt (there is no white anymore, all riddled with holes and stained by blood, causalities of this new life they lead), exposing the puckered white skin—like an eye clenched shut—he carries.
"Yes," he starts slowly, smoothing rumpled material back in place in a way he never does when it is Kaylee's hands that do the rumpling, "I suppose we do."
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End
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