steelartisan | (no subject)

(no subject)

Piotr comes back to Serenity after spending a few hours wandering New York.

He can't go charging in to free her. Not alone. And both Logan and Kurt are out of contact. He won't know who to trust. He doesn't know about bringing in others, because. Kitty might be making a point, she likes to make those. He was paying attention when she told him stories of her life at the University of Chicago. And he isn't sure he can face Scott right now. Not just yet. He might lose his temper because he didn't help her, they're family.

So, he wanders back to Serenity, and finds himself in the cargo bay again at the foot of the stairs. And isn't sure what to do from there. He has her box in his duffel bag over his shoulder but should give out her notes? She isn't dead. But.

He really isn't very good at this side of being a hero.

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First the toes touch down, foot pointed. Then the slow shift of weight: to the ball of the foot, the slowly flattening arch, and finally the heel, in a slow deliberate sway downwards. Next step: repeat.

One hand slides along the wire bannister, fingertips just brushing the metal. River's gaze is focused on the air three steps down, a foot above the stairway.

Whatever else, River will always be a dancer.

He doesn't notice her. Not until River's leg reaches his eye level.

And then he looks up and it's all right there in the forefront of his mind.

River's toes brush the step -- and then she stumbles on nothing, all her grace gone in a gasping instant, and her hand clutches blindly at the railing.

He reaches for her other arm, to steady her, and takes a step up so they are level.

"...I'm sorry, little one."

River's head snaps around and she stares at him, eyes huge and dark in her pale face.

"Traps," she whispers.

"You can see it, knives in the walls and the floor."

Yes, and they are good for stabbing in the back.

"Da. But we won't let them cut anyone."

He hesitates a moment, then reaches around and opens his duffel to pull out Kitty's old pair of ballet slippers. A note for River is tucked in one of the toes.

"She...wants you to hold these. Until she gets back." He offers the slippers. "...It is her promise."

River's hand rises automatically, her fingers spreading. Her other hand plucks at the air, fingers twisting against nothing; her face is still white and blank with shock.

Big brothers are only really good for two things in these moments, and he can't punch himself (just kick himself for the guilt later).

He slips an arm around River's shoulder and gives her a squeeze. Brothers are good for hugs.

River looks at the ballet slippers in her hand.

A moment passes.

And then her face twists, and her hands jerk up in a clumsy half-warding gesture in spite of Piotr's arm around her; the ballet slippers thump against her forearm, and if her fingers weren't tangled in the ribbons they would fall to the deck below.

"Can't," she sobs to the air, "don't lie. They come, they, they follow you and they wait until the walls never stop. Hit them and she'll break and she'll bleed and there are ears in the walls and they're laughing."

Her head snaps around and she stares at Piotr, eyes wide and tear-filled and burning. "Not gonna."

This is hard.

"Yes." Very careful english, and he doesn't let go. "They come. But do you give up? Would she give up?"

"She is not going to bleed, snowflake." Firm. Because she isn't. He won't allow it. "She is. Herself. She isn't going to be like us."

There's a moment --

And then that hot lethal fury (not for Piotr, never that) disappears into shaking sobs, and

(next time, I'll have to give you a hand)

her hands fist in ballet ribbons and the rough fabric of her brown coat, and if she tries to answer the words are unintelligible through her tears.

He pulls her closer, and pushes her hair back as best he can.

"It won't be that. We won't let it."

"Take a breath."

"Can't move."

The words are choked between gasping sobs, blurring with her tears into his dark hoodie. "Put the walls inside. All the locks, every one, inside her blood and they wait for it to come out. Can't stop it, can but she can't--"

"Have to." Firm.

River sags against him all at once, her eyes squeezing tightly shut on a fresh flow of tears.

Piotr is good for leaning.

"I told." He gulps, and leans his head closer. "I told Katya once. 'You are strong, I am strong.' She could do this."

He doesn't bother to hide the few tears that have escaped his eyes.

"We can do this."

"I'll help."

Barely audible. She pulls herself a fraction straighter, though she's shaking with wrenching sobs.

Slightly stronger, "I'll help."

With the corner of his sleeve, he wipes some of the tears from River's face. And he doesn't let go.

Piotr takes a shaky breath before he wipes at his own face with one hand.

"Thank you."

River shakes her head, and keeps shaking it.

"Fight," she whispers. "We gotta."

"Curl up and close it down the slide. All the way. Bring the salt." Her hands jerk in restless agitation, the gestures unclear, and she stares blindly through her tears. Pink ballet slippers bounce against her arm and Piotr's ribs. "Got no time, it's in the sand, no time." She flinches at nothing. "Piotr. They send the needles and we all drown underneath."

"Oh, little one."

This one is even harder, because it's right there in front of him.

He tries to hold one of her hands, but it isn't easy. "You are. I can see so much of baby sister in you. No wonder Kitty loves you so."

He squares his jaw and asks, "Let me help you, little one."

High with tears and frustration, "I'm shiny."

No she's not.

"Not relevant."

That almost gets a startled laugh. Just, that. Right there.

That gets River swung up into his arms and swept up the stairs.

"I think...it is time for tea. And your brother. You can be cross at me later."

She's leaning against his broad arm, and then she's off her feet and being carried up the stairs, and that -- just for a second -- earns Piotr a glance of wide-eyed startlement.

Then her eyes squeeze shut, and the misery is back.

"The equations are fallacious."

"Ah, little one," he says as he heads down the corridor toward the small kitchen.

The kitchen is nearly empty right now; dinner's been over for a while. But it's Simon's turn to wash the dishes, so he's still there.

He glances up at the sound of footfalls.

The plate he's holding clatters into the little sink, and he's around the counter and halfway across the floor before it stops rattling.

"River --?"

River shakes her head instantly, one hand reaching towards her brother, focusing on him through tears.

"No. Misassigning the empirical symptoms."

"I'm fine," she says, and her voice trembles and shudders upward again, "Simon, there are too many walls and they're not mine--"

Piotr swings River down to her feet, very carefully, and keeps a hand up in case he needs to catch her. And a grip on Kitty's ballet slippers.

"She...caught...something before I meant her to. And we." He stops and waves vaguely. Not so comfort with saying 'had a cry'.

For a vague blurred moment, Simon's brain tries to interpret caught something as meaning that River's gotten sick, and then discards that as clearly not the case.

"River, shh, come here." He wraps an arm around her. "What is it?"

It's directed to her, but could be answered by either of them.

A pair of pink ballet slippers -- Kitty's -- dangles from River's hand. There's a folded piece of paper in one toe.

"Con the lay," she half-whispers, raw. "Cut through the locks. We can find the sky, Simon, please."

He takes a breath. Then, "Kitty was arrested. Charged as a traitor and a terrorist. They have her in the supermax prison in Colorado for the moment."

Over River's shoulder, Simon's face goes very, very still.

Instead of the first question to come to mind -- do we know what the security's like? -- he asks: "Is there a plan yet?"

The corner of Piotr's mouth quirks up, and he almost smiles.

"I. I need to talk to her first." Wry, "She might be trying to make a point."

"Hundred points," River whispers to the floor. Her arms have wrapped around her torso, and her fingers twist tight against brown fabric.

"Every one makes you bleed."

"Make a point," Simon repeats, a little thinly.

"I have to say, Kitty never struck me as the sort to embrace passive resistance."

The slight bit of expression goes away.

"She might be trying to prove not all mutants will always break the laws that don't suit them. She always wanted to be a politician. I need to be sure."

"And figure out how to get her out that won't cause this Civil War to be even worse for all of us. It is not just," (me) , "us this effects."

Oh, that hurt to say. It shows.

River's eyes are closed.

Tears leak slowly down her cheeks; she's been crying long enough to be breathing through her mouth now.

"Can," she whispers, but it's hard to say whom she's addressing.

Simon breathes out, hard.

(He's still holding River, and almost absently rubbing her back in a gentle circle.)

"Is there a way to get her out legally?" he asks Piotr. "What rights does she have? Will there be a hearing?"

"...I don't know." He pauses, then, "She might not even be a considered a citizen right now."

He rubs at his eyes, takes a breath then two more, and starts going through his duffel again.

"I have to go back." A bundle of letters is dropped on the kitchen table. "Notes for your crew. She wrote them in case this happenned. Give them out, please? She wanted me to."

"You know what's happened. I will be back as soon as I can with whatever I can find." Decided, he starts for the door back to the cargo bay.

River flinches at the first sentence, and again at the thump of the letters.

She doesn't say a word.

Simon opens his mouth to call Piotr back. And then closes it again, thin and hard.

If Kitty's not considered a citizen anymore ... then she owes that government nothing. Nothing.

They'll wait to see what Piotr finds out. Wait to see what the situation really is. And then ... well, what happens then depends on what he brings back. There's no point in making plans ahead of your information. They'll wait.

And they'll see.

River stares at the empty doorway.

"Zhùyì," she says, very low, and for a moment she's motionless and intent. Poised, as if she might pull free of Simon's arm and follow Piotr in a swift focused run.

(My turn)

And then her face crumples again, and the impression is gone.

Simon's looking at the letters.

He can't make himself believe there's going to be a secret code hidden in any of them.

There's one with his name on it. One for Jayne, and one for Mal, and more.

Not one for River. That is, presumably, the piece of paper tucked into one ballet shoe.

River doesn't look at any of them. Her eyes are closed, and her face tipped upwards; tears slide down her already blotchy face, dripping onto her shirt and coat, and her breath heaves.

He picks up and unfolds the one with his name on it, moving automatically.

Two words.

Thank you.

The impulse to crumple the note in his fist passes quickly; he folds it up again instead, and carefully sets it down with the others.

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