Fandom: Firefly
Rating: Mild language. Gen.
Warnings: Set Post-Serenity (movie). No overt spoilers, but it doesn't make sense if you haven't seen the movie.
Word Count: 380
AN: Just sort of a random early morning not-quite drabble. I think my muse is trying to sneak in a second long WIP scene by scene. She may win. She ususally does.

River won’t stop crying.

Mostly it’s quiet; silent tears stream from red rims, half-hidden by the untamed whirl of her hair. But sometimes, especially late at night, it ramps up into sobs, first muffled—choked behind teeth or occasionally a fist—and then louder, heartbreaking racking cries that sound just a little too much like screams.

“River, honey, you can’t keep on like this,” Kaylee says softly, trailing through River’s hair fingers from which no amount of scrubbing can erase the grease. “You’re going to cry yourself sick.”

River lets Kaylee draw her head down to her shoulder, but she says nothing, crying still.

“Girl’s already gorram sick,” Jayne mutters and stabs at his protein cubes. “Thought you said she was gonna be better now, doc? ‘Cause if this is better, I’d almost druther we’d gotten et up by Reavers.”

“That can be arranged,” Mal snaps, before Simon can say anything. It’s been wearing on him too; it’s obvious in the hard, brittle line of his jaw, but his eyes are still cold as he focuses on the merc.

“Gorram it, Mal, you don’t like her moping about any more than I do,” Jayne slams his fork down, bending the thin tin. “Sets my teeth on edge.” He looked at Simon again. “C’mon, doc—gotta be something you can do.”

“Nothing works,” Simon shrugs, the fingers of his free hand twined with those of his sister. The worried look’s returned to his face, wearing in like coal dust on a miner. “I’ve tried smoothers; even the new mixes don’t help. I tried sedating her,” he looks again at River, eyes pinching a little. “She just cries in her sleep.”

River lets out a sob, quickly stifled behind a hand.

“She’s been through a lot,” Kaylee says, putting her arm protectively around River and Simon both.

“Well, hell, Kaylee, so have we all,” Jayne says. “Don’t see me boo-hooing all the time about it.”

“No,” Simon’s voice takes on the quiet venom of when he’s really pissed. “But your’re not a reader, Jayne.”

That’s when they all glance sidelong at me in varying degrees of subtle. Careful now, deliberate, I set my chopsticks on the plate, get up from the table and walk out, my eyes still so dry they ache.