kinkfest | "Aware" (Firefly: Jayne/River, PG )

Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Title: Aware
Author: FuziPenguin
Pairing: Jayne/River
Rating: PG
Word Count: 611
Prompt: Feb. 15th = Firefly Jayne/River: comfort in insanity- "I won't kill you"
Summary: Post Serenity, there are some changes. Simon may or may not be pleased
A/N: 1) I apologize for the lateness, but better late than never 2) It's been a veeery long time since I've written for this fandom and I hope I remembered enough to get into the characters' heads. 3) No porn. Where did the porn go? More apologies!

---

She changes after Miranda, after those deaths are put to rest in the dirt, less crowding in her head. She brushes her hair often, shoes manage to stay on her feet longer, and her eyes are just a little bit more focused when she looks in the mirror.

But River is not cured. She knows this, hates this, because the more room she has in her brain gives her more space to watch when her thoughts fragment into shards of confusion.

Simon is elated; Simon thinks she will only become better. She may become better, but will never be best. Will never be whole, mind a completed puzzle. Pieces will always be lost under the couch cushions or tangled in Zoe’s grief, Mal’s anger, Inara’s frustration, Kaylee’s worry, Simon’s love, Jayne’s…

He changes after Miranda too. They all do, of course (of course, of course, no remorse). They lost two of their own and even the manly man with the girl’s name grieves. Mixed in with the sadness however, blue to yellow, is awareness. Of her, of River, of the weapon, the girl, the waste of space where now stands legs and breasts and sharp edges.

She does not know what to do with this attraction, this niggling interest that is directed towards her. Neither does he, and she manages amusement when her brain is quiet.

He stares at her, when he thinks no one is looking. No one does, except for her, except for the eye in the back of her head, peeping out through strands of shiny, freshly brushed hair. She stares back and it lasts for days and days until she cannot count them (46) any longer, and she must push.

It is a bad day, and it is likely why she decides to seek him out; patterns unrecognizable, scorching and searing and something, anything must fall into place. If not Jayne, hovering at the edge of it all, than what? So she hunts him, tracks the tracker and finds him, rubbing greased cloths over and over and over steel barrels, thinking about dripping steel blades and not expecting the half mad sprite of a girl in his thoughts to materialize in his lap.

He blusters and blows and is afraid-aroused-afraid-angry so she presses close, wonders if she could meld her spine and his, hushes him with whispers of promises, reassurances. It is a flash inside his mind and she grabs at it; face to face, blade to blade, and she wins, she always wins, but as he is on his knees, red pooling and making them sticky, he knows she has killed him and his eyes just see her as Beauty.

“I won’t kill you,” she tells him, and it is truth. He sees her, looks through her and into her, and he may not understand most of it, but neither does she, and maybe they could graduate together, strive for “better”.

“I wouldn’t let you,” he returns, and he believes it. Mostly.

“Get offa me.”

Even she can be surprised. She blinks at him and leans in to search, but he pushes her up, up and away. “You ain’t right today. Git to cleanin’ or git lost, but you ain’t sitting on my lap when you’re like this.”

She floats to a corner, and he ignores her for the one, two, three sweep of the linen against the weapon. His interest is quiet, the room is hushed, and her brain has no choice but to settle as well, threads untensing and curving softly, never straight, but for now untangled.

It is still a bad day, but with Jayne's help, she has achieved “better”; Simon will be pleased.

~ End