Disclaimer: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.
Summary: A farewell takes place.
Author's note: Apologies for the long wait. Real life and a major writer's block as far as
this story was concerned intervened, but hopefully the next part will be up sooner.


Parting of Ways
by Hereswith

They enter Persephone's atmosphere before noon and River is on the bridge, manning the controls.
The descent is uneventful, routine, and she doesn't have to concentrate much on the task, which
leads her to thinking about Mal. The image of him is so strong in her mind, even though she strives
to banish it, that when he appears, she first assumes that she has conjured him up. But Zoe is there,
as well, and that doesn't fit.

It's the most she's seen of him since that evening, and while he doesn't ignore her, he's restrained,
and he maintains a distance when waving Talbot, the man who has offered them a job, speaking to
him briefly to arrange a meeting. But awareness fills the space he's created between them and it's
causing her skin to prickle. She takes them down, landing with steady precision, and as soon as
Serenity is grounded, Mal quits the room.

Zoe lingers, however, and addresses River. "I'm guessing you've had as little sleep as he has?"

"Snatches," River admits. "But I'm fine."

Zoe snorts. "That's what he said."

River's heart lurches. "Has he—talked about it?"

"He ain't exactly been willing to. Least not yet," Zoe replies, regarding River with keen scrutiny.
"He'll push you both to breaking with this, and that ain't gonna do you, or the rest of us, any good."
She shakes her head, muttering something less than complimentary about men. "I'll do what I can."

River nods, grateful, and when Zoe departs, she slumps back in the pilot's seat, all air rushing out
of her. It isn't that she's expected him to reconsider, but it's hard to let go of hope, she can't keep
from clinging to shreds of it. She rubs her eyes with her palms, then rises to her feet. There are
farewells to be made.

xx

Kev has to pass through the cargo bay to disembark, so that's where she waits for him, restless
with nerves. Mal is conversing with Jayne, further off, and she indulges for a moment in staring at
him, drinking him in, like she hadn't earlier on the bridge. At the sound of footfalls, she starts.

"Well," Kev observes, in a matter-of-fact tone. He carries a bag slung over his shoulder and his
features are unrevealing. "You never looked at me like that."

River winces inwardly, but she's unable to deny it. "I'm sorry. For everything," she tells him,
stumbling over the words in her haste, but he doesn't interrupt her, perhaps because he needs to
hear it again as much as she needs it to be said. "You shouldn't have been in this situation.
I shouldn't have put you there," she amends. "If I could have it undone, I would."

"I can't say the last few days have been fun," he replies, after a short silence, "and I'd prefer not to
have them repeated, if I can avoid it. But I'll live. And the trip won't be wasted, at least, as I was
meaning to visit anyway."

She hesitates. "I do like you. It wasn't pretence. Had things been different—perhaps."

"Perhaps," he says. "No use speculating, though, is there?" The glint in his eyes isn't anger, but
neither is it amusement. Not quite. "You're missing out on something shiny here, you know."

"I know," she answers and it isn't an empty phrase. From what she's learned about him, she
can recognise the truth of that.

He hefts his bag, his smile crooked. "Time for me to leave, princess." He makes a bow, neat
but not too deep, and with that, walks from her and from the ship.

River watches him go, fists bunched at her sides, almost wishing she had the urge to run after him.
He might have accepted the whole of her, the dark of her, but she'll never find that out. Love, she
decides, is too complicated. There are too many variables and uncontrollable factors. She remains
in place, even after Kev has disappeared from sight, even when Mal comes up behind her, his
strides and his presence unmistakable.

"Are you—" he begins.

"No. I'm not," she interrupts him, then lashes out with deliberation, intending it to cut. "Didn't
think you cared."

He exhales a sharp sigh. "I do," he says, tightly. "That ain't changed."

"Don't act like it," she bristles, twisting around. "Wouldn't have made the choice you made, if
you did."

"It wasn't an easy choice," he replies.

In this light, he's drawn and angled, the lines in his face more pronounced, but she has no pity
to spare. She glares at him, instead. "Shouldn't it have been? If it's what's right and for the best?
Something you don't have to force." She gives it a second to settle, then adds, "You want this, too."

It isn't posed as a question and he doesn't take it as such. There's a spiralling swirl of emotion
within him, like the memory of what they did is as vivid for him as it is for her, and River, gleaning
it, shudders. "I dream about you," she continues, a low confession. "Waking fantasies." He's so
close, and it seems to her as though they are breathing in rhythm, with shallow synchronicity.
"About you touching me. The taste of you."

"Enough," he says, in protest, but his voice is like gravel, betraying him.

"Is it?" she counters. "Enough for you that it's like this between us? Can't talk without arguing.
Can't be together, like before, when it didn't hurt." She blinks away the sting of tears."I hate it.
And I miss you."

He makes a minute gesture, like he might reach for her, but then his hands go to grip his gun belt.
And she could have hit him; she itches to kick her boot into his shin, as much as she longs to have his
arms around her. Far too complicated. Before he can answer, she says, "It's going to be your fault."

Mal frowns. "What is?"

"You were certain it was fleeting. That my feelings would fade," she reminds him. "But if they do,
it will be because you made it happen. Because you did irreparable damage. And it might be too late
to salvage, if you regret it."

He draws back a fraction and opens his mouth, then appears to catch himself, clenching his jaw.
His stance is defensive, and it's obvious the statement fazes him, though he tries to prevent it from
showing through.

"Sir?" Zoe approaches, casting an apologetic glance at River. "We should be on our way, or we
won't make that meeting."

Mal turns to Zoe, and he must have read something in her expression, for he does a double take.
"Gorram it," he exclaims. "Ain't there nobody on my side in this?"

"Doesn't seem like it, sir," Zoe states. "Though I don't figure Jayne's reasons are the same."

As if responding to the mention of his name, Jayne loudly calls out, "Hey! Are we goin' or what?"

Mal gives a scowling grimace. "Yes," he barks back. "We're going. Now."

He heads off with a swing of coat, a blatant escape, but River, as she and Zoe follow, Jayne bringing
up the rear, is preoccupied and pondering, her gaze fixed on the captain.

He could have contradicted her, could have said that he wouldn't regret it, but he hadn't.