Who: River Tam and Simon Tam What: River deals with the fallout from her dungeon When: Backdated to after her dungeon Where: River and Simon's room Warnings: Firefly-level warnings
Distinguishing between what had happened in the dungeon and what had happened here was a struggle. (And in the end, did it matter? Did having it happen outside of what was defined by others as “reality” make it any less real? No. If it was up to perception, everyone had felt what they had gone through inside her dungeon -- inside her mind -- and that, in and of itself, made it real.)
In any way that mattered to her, she had been back in that place, the one that she tried to forget, but even if she managed to, it didn’t matter. They had recrafted who and what she was, and she felt that with every beat of her heart and with every flourishing thought in her mind. She was more and she was less because of what they had done to her.
And, oh. That girl, that other River -- River had forgotten about her until she had resurfaced and then had just known: We’ve met before. They had intersected in thought and dream before. She recognized that fuller face, the keener eyes, the neater appearance. The unfaltering speech pattern, clever hands, stronger body. If this was just as real as being back in New York was, was this other River just as real as she was? Was she more real? Because she was what had been intended. She was the prodigy the Alliance had strove for, and if she was the outcome, what did that make River? She was the failure, the half point, the aborted version.
And what did that make Simon if his erasure was what was necessary for this other River to survive? What did that make her, when her crumbling mind depended on her brother so very much? (And what he was if the erasure of her was possible in his life? Was he better or worse for it? The guilt that came from him rescuing her, and finding her so desperately broken, resurfaced with an intensity she hadn’t felt in months.)
Even after the fight had finished, and she was gone, her image haunted River. Looking into mirrors became a terrifying experience, and she traced the shape of her own face, as if making sure that her perhaps too gaunt cheeks were there, that her hair was still mussed.
She clung to Simon with a fervency even greater than when he had first brought her out of the Academy. She was afraid: afraid that he would suddenly disappear, afraid that he would be hurt. She hadn’t wanted him to come, and she couldn’t deny that even now. She had seen how this path wound out before, and knew that he she had torn him from everything he had ever wanted and from where he was supposed to be. She was afraid of doing that again, even as she was afraid that this other River was going to hurt him. (Could she? Could she hurt her brother with the same intensity?)
All of these swirling thoughts and fears plagued her constantly, tearing at her bit by bit. She couldn’t swallow them down, and curled up instead on Simon’s bed, forsaking her own. It was a small comfort, the closest to both their homes that she could achieve. It smelled like him, faintly, but everything was neat and clean. She took the blankets and pillows from her own bed and curled up in them on top of his, nesting in a way that suggested the clutter of pillows and blankets were an armor that would protect her. She dreaded letting Simon out of her sight though.
She woke up in the middle of the afternoon, eyes searching for him immediately, but there was no sign of him.
“Simon!” she cried out, voice high and keening, unable to hold the sound in, fear climbing thick up the back of her throat once more.
…
Simon believed in rational thought. He believed in science, he believed in things that could logically be explained and examined. There was no such thing as "magic", nothing happened outside the laws of nature, and even if science didn't fully understand nature yet nothing was outside the realm of examination.
But oh, how this place tried his patience.
He couldn't even begin to digest what actually happened until he could wrap his head around how. Being in this universe was absurd enough, but this? A labyrinth of their own world, a dreamland of River's making, accessed through what? The television? Trying to think about this practically broke him, and it left him numb. Processing any kind of information anymore seemed useless, and blind acceptance seemed to be the way that anyone around here was coping.
The last two days had been nothing short of terrifying following River's disappearance, to confront old memories and fears he thought he'd escaped, to legitimately fear for his life after months of safety. He was shaken, but hiding in bed wasn't an option for him.
When River called for him, Simon was back in the doorway like a shot, holding a wooden spoon from the kitchen. "River, what---?"
…
River grew quiet the moment that Simon appeared in the doorway. She appraised him with wide, worried eyes, as if he would only grow more real with every second he stood there. She could feel the confusion roiling off her brother in waves. She didn’t have the words to make him feel better.
Really, for the time being, she didn’t have the capacity to deal with her own emotions, and the emotions of others -- with the exception, perhaps, of Simon -- would have swallowed her whole. It just another reason to stay hidden, to drown out the network that surrounded them. She didn’t even want to see Kaylee or Inara: They had all seen inside of her.
She shook her head and sank back into the bed, knees pressed to her chest, covers pulled to her chin.
…
Simon frowned, torn between rushing to her and leaving her alone again since there was no apparent threat. He sort of hovered in the doorway, watching her expectantly. When he didn't get an immediate answer, he gently attempted to prompt her:
"River, what's wrong?" Patient. Gentle. He wasn't at the point where his patience was wearing thin, not after what they'd been through, but he was just shaken enough that he wasn't sure how long all of this patience would last. "I'm here. I'm sorry, I went off to make some food. Do you want to eat?"
…
River shook her head again. Even she wasn’t sure which question she was answering. Both. Neither. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t give voice to the fact that she was afraid that he would just … disappear. Taken. Never exist. Be hurt. Be captured. She had just needed him so badly in the Academy. He was the only one who would believe her, wasn’t he? Her big brother. He’d always meant safety in a way that her parents hadn’t. Had always trusted in him.
But she hadn’t thought, hadn’t been able to, when she’d gotten her message out to him. She’d been fraying. Aware of the way she was being unmade. Felt the seamline scars of where they cut into her. Felt the fractured pieces of her brain sitting along those fractures. They’d kept pressing into her. Kept trying to make her -- better, faster, smarter, stronger. But she kept breaking. Little glass figurine on the floor. So she hadn’t been able to see what would happen by bringing Simon to her. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting, just knowing that he would come -- but not able to see the danger that he would put himself in until it was too late. (She’d asked him to unmake himself to save her. Was it worth it? Was she worth it?)
Couldn’t be. No matter how close they were, no matter how much she loved him or him her, she was still fragmented. Still fraying. Bundles of nightmares and nerves.
...
Simon sighed softly, glancing back toward the kitchen. The rice had several minutes left, and the rest could wait. He slipped back into the room, leaving the spoon on a nearby table so he could crawl back onto the bed with her and wrap her and her blankets up into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have told you I was leaving. You probably didn't want to wake up alone."
He didn't like to think about what he'd lost. It was easy to say that he didn't miss it, but it wasn't true. Having his sister was worth the cost, and he'd find some way to help her if it was the last thing he did, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with what had changed. Even now, after so much time had passed, he still felt like he was drifting. He'd found friends, a girlfriend, he'd settled back into a comfortable job, he'd found a kind of freedom that life on Osiris wouldn't have given him, but … it wasn't the life he wanted. The life he wanted had a sister who was healthy and whole, dazzlingly brilliant and bratty.
The exhaustion got to him sometimes, the empathy started to wane.
Now, though, he kissed her hair and rocked her. "It's all right."
…
River sank into Simon as soon as he wrapped his arms back around her. Logically, she knew she was too old for such things -- too old to be clinging to her brother like she was still a four-year-old, desperate to be included in the much cooler and interesting things her big brother was doing. But logic seemed to account for very little in her life now.
She kept one of her hands pressed against his elbow, even though she knew that he would have to get up to get the food soon. (Food. It seemed trivial with everything that was going on.)
She could feel the emotion coming off in him waves -- hidden, always hidden, because that was Simon. But it was there, buried deep, but strong. Scared. He was scared too. Scared of her? Maybe. Partially. She was River in half, bits and parts.
…
"I've got you." Simon's voice was soft against her hair. It had become almost an automatic response now, the way he held her, the way he spoke to her. The fear never really faded, but the motions got easier. Sometimes he wished there was someone to hold him, but what would he do with that? He'd never been good at being taken care of. He took care of other people for a living. He healed their hurts. Just because River's trauma wasn't something he could disinfect and stitch up didn't mean it wasn't something he could try and heal.
And he was trying, but he just felt like he was constantly taking steps back. Every time he adjusted her medication he felt like he was making it worse, and he was reluctant to put her care into someone else's hands -- especially someone who dealt in magic, not medicine.
"See? We're home. We're home, and we're all right, mei mei." Home. Somehow, now this was home.
…
Mei-mei was such a familiar term that it comforted her more than what he was actually saying. Mei-mei was more powerful than her name itself. It was a label, it was their connection. It was their bridge, moving past anything that had happened to them, stretching back to the beginning of them and into whatever future was waiting for them. The Alliance might have been able to strip away parts of River, but they hadn’t been able to redefine what she was to him.
The home part was more painful though, because it was another weighty word. But that one had shifted with every step, until now she didn’t know what home was anymore. They didn’t even really have a home, did they? Home with their parents was such a distant memory now, something that was relatively impossible. Probably the only place they had both felt truly safe, but that was a safety that was born of ignorance; a safety that had come from being shielded by their parents and their parents’ wealth -- and without those two things, that home was now a danger.
Serenity had been home for a long time, and maybe was still more home than this place was. A home laced with a different sort of family, but so much danger, and even betrayal at every step. It was hard to stay, but worse to go; here was the same way. They had family and friends here, but everything felt so intangible, as if it could be plucked away at any moment, either by being sent away or by events such as the dungeons.
We have no home, she almost said, but she could already feel the grief that that would punch through Simon, so she held her tongue, a nearly impossible feat.
She needed to be stronger for him, that much was certain. She depended on him so much to fix her -- too much, the fragments of her brain were beginning to piece together. She was destroying him.