Voices
"Sometimes at night, she swears she hears her whispering." Kaylee one-shot, postBDM.
A little oneshot ramble from Kaylee's point of view. Inspired by something Joss said in the commentary for the pilot.
Disclaimer: Joss is boss.
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Sometimes at night, she swears she hears her whispering.
Not just the constant hums and creaks and pinks and growls that are Serenity breathing and are as comfortable and familiar as the rise and fall of Simon's chest under her cheek. Those are the sounds that are always singing in the background, constant but indistinct, like when you're lying in bed when you're little bitty and Mama and Daddy are talking out in the kitchen and you can't quite make out the words, but it's enough to know that they're there. Those sounds, Serenity's symphony, are enough, too, of course: knowing the ship's still flying is all Kaylee can ask of the 'Verse.
But beyond that or above it or between it or under it, there seems sometimes to be a real voice: smoky and low, most days, like Inara's when she sets to working her wiles on the Captain. Sometimes, though, it becomes a growl, deep and harsh like Jayne when things don't go just exactly as he'd like. Other times when Kaylee asks her to do something simple, something she's done a thousand times and knows that she can do, her voice is crisp and competent like Zoë's. When Kaylee tries to coax her into some maneuver that's only ever been hypothetical (a word Simon taught her), though, Serenity'll protest like Simon used to before he settled into a life no one ever would have imagined he ever would have. Late at night, Kaylee occasionally hears the echo of the Shepherd's voice reading his Bible aloud, the voice of reassurance and faith and all being right in the 'Verse. And she swears that when she brings the ship back to life after a blowout of some kind, she can hear Wash laughing for pure joy of life. On her best days, Serenity is steely determined and protective like the Captain, looking after her own and refusing to tumble from a sky that wants to shake her. And in the middle of a dogfight when Kaylee is forced, despite her instincts and love, to ask far more of the ship than she was ever made to handle, she keens and wails like River before Miranda.
But Kaylee never hears her own voice. She finds herself listening during meals or while playing jacks with River or laughing with Jayne or gossiping with Inara or after Simon falls asleep beside her. She'll pause, trail off without knowing it, until she discovers she's listening with every pore of her body. But for all her listening, she never hears what she most wants to.
It hurts, more than a mite, when she lets her own self think on it, which she doesn't much. And it worries her a bit, too, though she doesn't much let it, because she knows somehow in a way she can't articulate (another Simon-word) that the whole crew depends on her to keep morale flying. But it feels a bit like rejection (she knows that word herself) from the person—she refuses to call her a "thing"—that she loves maybe most in the 'Verse—at least as much as Simon or the Captain or the rest of the crew.
They all love Serenity, of course, every last one, with a love no one who's not part of their family could ever understand. But Kaylee doesn't think that anyone, not even the Captain, loves her the way she does. The ship is her mother, her sister, her daughter, her best friend, even her higher power at odd times.
And so she feels hurt, and sometimes when no one is looking she sneaks off to mope 'cause nobody, not even Kaywinnit Lee Frye, can be giddy all the time (though she never would let anyone see it if she can help it). And most days she doesn't think on it at all.
But then there are the days when Inara snips at the Captain, and he's short with everybody, and Zoë's eyes go blank and she doesn't respond to a hand on her arm, and Jayne shoots an empty crate full of holes, and River has relapses of screams and cowering, and even Simon acts haughty and soft-handed, and Kaylee has to flee to the engine room and there Serenity's voices taunt her.
One day she emerges from theroar and whir and motion of the engine room and Mal is waiting for her. And maybe he sees that her face is more tear-stained than grease-smeared, or maybe he just knows because he's the Captain.
"Don't you think on it none, mei mei," he says, and his face is unreadable as it usually is. But he puts an arm around her shoulder, and she leans into him a bit. "You're the spiritofthis boat, little Kaylee," he says, and that's all, but it's the shiniest compliment she could ever conjure. Warmth bubbles up in her like engine grease and she wishes she could purr in contentment like that cat they saw once or like Serenity herself.
And so now she still listens, especially on the good days, when the Captain and Inara flit by pretending not to, and Zoë's eyes shine just a little like they used to, and Jayne tells bawdy stories, and River dances, and Simon's so sweet and shiny she can hardly stand it. And she hears all the voices that are her family, and she understands why Serenity never sounds like her.
Spirits don't need voices.
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