The Ballad of Shadow - Part I

It was another perfect takeoff. Before that it had been another perfect landing. When it came to piloting Serenity, at least, River was great. Maybe even better than Wash.

And she knew that, of course. But she would surely like to hear him say it. So Mal spoke to her with a kind of grudging admiration as they headed up through the blue and into the black: “You make things go smooth.”

He glanced to his left at her when he said it and saw her smile go up more than a tiny notch. There was pride there, and amusement. She was amused at something and he didn’t know what.

Well, it won’t be the last time, he thought to himself. Or maybe he was thinking it to her, too.

But he had to admit that their ascent out of atmo was smooth. It hadn't always been smooth when Wash had been Serenity’s pilot.

It was painful to think of Wash, still, and yet kind of unavoidable when Mal was sitting in the pilot’s seat where Wash would be if Wash was still among the quick. Hard not to think of the man when the console in front of you is littered with his plastic dinosaurs, after all.

Maybe that’s why River always sat in the other seat. She didn’t like the dinosaurs, maybe.

River turned her head a little to face him, the rest of her body still fully involved in getting them all the way into the black. She raised her eyebrows at him, a bit. This was a signal Mal had picked up on, eventually. It was her I’m-sorry-did-you-say-something face. It was kind of a request that he go ahead and ask the question that was on his mind.

Little River tried not to answer questions you hadn’t officially asked – `cept sometimes when a quick answer was more important than maintaining the pretense that she couldn’t read the question direct from your brain – and Mal took it as a kindness.

So he asked. “Why do you never sit over here in the pilot’s chair? You’re more Serenity’s pilot than I am.”

“Because that’s Wash’s chair,” she said. And after a pause: “I don’t want to hurt Zoe.”

Another pause. Then: “I like the dinosaurs, though. The dinosaurs should stay. It’s like having Wash here, sometimes.”

“Do you ever play with them?”

“Not with my hands. Not out loud.” Mal kind of understood. She played with them in her head. Maybe Wash himself was in there somewhere, piloting the ship and playing with his dinosaurs?

River turned back to her console, suddenly intent, radiating an air of I-can’t-hear-you-I’m-busy.

Mal decided not to ask that question.

As he made this decision he thought he saw River incline her head forward to the console the tiniest bit. Was that a confirmation that he should keep that question to himself?

He thought so, but now she didn’t move at all, except as necessary to pilot the ship.

Sure was thought-provoking, living with a mind-reader.

This struck him as a funny thing to think, and he was pretty sure he saw her smirk a bit, for a second. But then it was gone.

Simon, was right. She could be a real brat, sometimes.

They tried not to talk about the fact that she could read minds. Didn’t want it to become something they were so comfortable about that they might let something slip in front of a buyer or a seller or a passenger or - well - anybody who didn’t already know. Some people might not be comfortable with the idea, and no one would be comfortable doing business with them. No one likes to play Tall Card with an open hand.

Probably best to think about – and talk about – something else, then.

River obliged with a near-natural follow-up to the conversation they were officially having. “Do you miss him?”

Mal decided to run with that. “I surely do, Little River. I surely do.” He paused while he tried to think of what to say next. Then: “Have you ever lost family?”

“Aside from Wash?” she asked, with a look that was a wee bit reproachful. “Kind of,” she relented. “I’ve lost my parents. They’re not dead. But they’re gone.”

Mal understood that, almost. From what he understood of the situation there was no going home for River or her brother. Their parents were gone - even if they weren’t.

River kept the conversation going with what seemed like another reproachful glance. “It’s hard to lose your home. You have to make a new one for yourself.”

Mal didn’t always pick up on subtlety, but he could usually tell when he’d made someone angry. River was a mite ticked and she was trying to tell him something. He retraced his thoughts and his words as best he could.

Mal had asked River about losing family.

She’d made it clear that Wash was family.

Mal had thought about the fact that there was no going home for the Tams.

She’d said something about making a new home...

...Mal wondered, sometimes, how he could be so thick-headed.

“I’m glad you’re making your home here with us. We’re damn lucky to have you and your brother in our little family these days.” And he meant it.

She smiled fully – he really wasn’t used to that, yet – and turned in the co-pilot’s chair to face him, head cocked to her side as if to question his seriousness, but she didn't say anything about any time he'd been anything less than welcoming to them, and that was a mercy.

Instead she said “You had to do that, didn’t you? Make a new home?”

She was asking him for a story. For his story.

They were fully in the black now. Really, they had nothing to do for a few hours but talk.

And she knew the story already, of course.

Well, he wanted to tell it consciously, then, in his own words, so that he could pretend she knew it because he’d told her the story all proper-like and no other way.

And there was no better time to tell it.