b l e s s i n g s . a g a i n s t . t h e . t h u n d e r

Blessings Against the Thunder
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG

Summary: For her eighteenth birthday, Mal buys River a gun.

Spoilers: For the movie.

Notes: For luzdeestrellas. Title from Jeffrey Foucault.

Date: June 18, 2006

For her eighteenth birthday, Mal buys River a gun.

"Do you really think that's appropriate?" Simon asks, frowning.

"What'd you wanna go and do that for?" Jayne says.

Inara rolls her eyes; he don't have to be a reader to know she thinks he's being insensitive, selfish, a bastard--all the things she calls him when they argue.

"It's real shiny," Kaylee says doubtfully, cutting her eyes at him while she pats River's hand in consolation.

"It's a good gun," Zoe says, which should settle the matter, but won't.

The matte black surface of it seems to swallow the yellow light of the kitchen as River turns it over in her hands, fingers pale on the barrel, the color of starlight in the black.

"Top of the line," Mal assures her. "Was tempted to keep it my own self."

"Xièxie nî," she says, with a smile that lights her up bright as the sun. He pretends not to notice how it makes his chest tight.

He can tell by the look she's giving him that Inara wants a word or ten, so he leans against the doorjamb and waits for the others to leave.

"Just spit it out," he says, folding his arms across his chest. He'd thought things would be better once she came back, but that ain't been the case, and he ain't rightly sure why, either way. "No need to mince words."

"I'm sure you meant well, but perhaps your gift was inappropriate."

"It's more than I planned to spend," he replies with a nod, not mentioning that it was quite a bit more than he'd planned, but once he'd seen it, he'd been unable to walk away without it, "but she needs--"

"What she needs, Mal, is to be treated like a normal girl. Not a mercenary."

He straightens up, feels his jaw clench and forces it not to. "Girl needs to be able to defend herself. She's still wanted--"

"I haven't forgotten--"

"And if she's to be backing me up on jobs and such, I'd like her properly armed."

"I don't think that's appropriate either."

"Well, it really ain't your place to say, now, is it?"

"You have Jayne and Zoe, both of whom are more than capable--"

"Neither of 'em can do what she does, Inara. You know that. And much as I hate them as done it to her, it makes her an asset to us on the ground. If she's willing to lend us her skills when we need 'em, I don't see that it's any of your business to stop her." She opens her mouth but he keeps talking, hoping the arguments he's lined up sound better out loud than they do in his head. "Ain't nothing you can say I ain't already thought of my own self. I'm a miserable húndàn, I know. You can curse me all you like. But I got a crew to feed and a ship to run, and that means I got to take what work is offered. And in case you hadn't noticed, we ain't exactly been rolling in offers lately. So if taking River along means a job will go smooth, I'm taking her. That's appropriate."

Inara's nostrils flare, her lips are pinched, and her voice is clipped, angry, when she says, "Fine." She shakes her head and walks away, back stiff and proud.

He sighs, lets his body relax, though he can feel the beginnings of a headache pounding right behind his eyes. He closes them, pinches the bridge of his nose, and when he looks up again, River's there in the other doorway, and he can't read the look on her face.

"What?"

But she shakes her head and spins away, bare feet silent on the metal decking.

Next morning, they land on Three Hills so Kaylee can flush the sewage system, take care of some repairs.

He finds River on the bridge, drops the belt and holster in her lap. "Come on."

He leads her off the ship, away from the dock, the town. She walks beside quietly, gracefully, gun in one hand, belt in the other.

He stops abruptly. "You're supposed to put it on, darlin'."

She looks up at him with wide dark eyes, full pink lower lip caught between her teeth. He bites back a groan and grabs the belt, trying not to inhale the scent of her hair.

"Now, I know you know how to do this," he says, but she just keeps looking at him and spreads her arms wide. He steps closer, slips the belt around her waist, keeping his gaze focused on a point beyond her shoulder so he don't look down the front of her dress. Her breath is warm against his skin and he can feel her quivering like foal as he fumbles with the buckle, his own hands unsteady. He has to redo it because it ain't tight enough the first time, and he thinks about making a joke about how if she gets any skinnier she'll disappear, but the words get stuck in his throat like the grit the wind is kicking up around them. Belt settles right this time, though, and he rests his hands on her hips for one brief moment, like they belong there, soft curves flaring out just enough to let him know she's a woman. A girl, he reminds himself.

"You were right the first time," she says, and he mutters a curse.

His voice is hoarse when he says, "That'll do."

It looks ridiculous over the baggy dress she's wearing, but the gun is at her hip, where it belongs, and it don't really matter what it looks like, so long as it's in reach when she needs it.

"If I remember right, it's not much further," he says, and a couple minutes later, the fence comes into view. He don't know whose property it is, and he don't much care. The fence is half-built in the middle of nowhere, and it suits his purpose today just fine. He pulls the cans out of his pocket, sets them on the top rail, then walks back about thirty yards.

She dips her head and smiles up at him. "If I were a real girl, like Kaylee, you'd be teaching me how to shoot. We would pretend it was for my own good, but it would really be a way for us to flirt."

"Gorrammit, River, you're as real as anyone I ever met, so don't be saying things like that, dong ma?" He resolutely ignores the second part of what she said.

"Any skinnier and I'd blow away like a--" She stops, and the light in her eyes goes out for a second.

His own throat is tight, and he can hear the words clear as if she said 'em, but he forces himself to say, "Gotta fatten you up, little albatross, so you don't float away." He coughs. "Now, even the best shot in the 'verse has to practice once in a while. And I want you familiar with that gun so if you ever do need to use it, you ain't fumbling around like a drunk in a funhouse."

Her lips curve into a tiny smile, but then she's all business, gun drawn and fired, quick and graceful, art in everything she does. Sound like thunder echoes in his ears, familiar as a lullaby, and over it, the sweet sound of girlish laughter ringing like a joyous hymn. It's infectious, and he laughs with her, though the ache in his chest remains.

end

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