Categories > TV > Firefly
And He Gave
0 reviewsSimon's thoughts on/justification of why he's as close to River as he is. Warning: It very heavily implies an incestuous relationship between Simon and River.
2Insightful
She asked. He gave.
That's how things were with them.
When she needed him, he'd come to her call. Whether she was upset, or angry, or happy, even if she just wanted to see him -he always went to her. And he'd stay with her until she slept -and even then sometimes after. Sometimes he'd wake up beside her, sometimes alone in her room. But she asked when he gave, silently. Always silent. Communing without words, he knew when she was asking -what she was asking. He wasn't the one that could read minds, but he could read her, some of the time. Able to pick up on what she was and what she needed.
He gave her everything.
After all, she was his everything. He found it difficult at first, but after some time it came so freely to him, as if it were natural. However, time after time she never stopped asking... and he gave.
He gave and gave and gave...
And he felt guilt. The sting of a lie. He could not help but feel the weight in his heart time after time, fully aware of what he was doing. It had been his fault. Maybe if he had paid more attention, he wouldn't have let them cross that line... He had been foolish enough to give in the first place. He gave too much. The connection was now too deep to sever. Now... there existed a taint. Black ink slowly spilt into water.
His heart burned with the lie he lived. To everyone. To her. -It was love. He loved her so deeply that he couldn't help but give her everything in return of the everything she was to him. But it hurt. Hurt to know that he found himself craving more than just everything. He wanted the flattering label of convention. But it was unattainable. Inconvenient. It was impossible to be customary in the life he le -chose to live.
He knew the implications, the complications, the possible consequences -and he hid them, hid them all in the depths of his mind. After learning what had happened to her, a sliver of paranoia embedded itself within him. He had hidden them -his thoughts and feelings -but she couldn't. What if one day she asked him to give, and it broke the silence?
He was vile. Wretched. Depraved. Those exact words may not come to their minds, but their meanings would. There he was... corrupting the most immaculate being in the 'verse, and of his own flesh and blood. The dark that let the girl stray from the path. And yet...
When she asked, he gave.
At some point that he could no longer exactly place in his mind, he had asked himself how he was able to keep the feeble walls of his lies up, protecting them and protecting him. He asked himself how he was able to give and give and give time after time... And he thought of her, and her asking and needing. Subtle touch to the wrist just before moving to leave. Soft smile with a hand running through her hair. The smallest of steps and slightest of movements. He would end up staying. She would continue to ask, silently progressing with increased tension. Her body would move according to her needs, his responding in turn. She would persist, unsatisfied until he lost himself within her.
The answer to his question would come shortly after he thought she was going to leave. Absconded with by a stranger. There had been pain -sharp and physical- that left him wounded. Then realization came.
He didn't want convention. The lie was never to her but to himself. It wasn't corruption he was committing. It was love. He lived to be with her, in every aspect.
He wanted to give, and keep giving.
The guilt dissolved.
Of course, continued secrecy laced paranoia.
So Simon continued to lie, to them.
That's how things were with them.
When she needed him, he'd come to her call. Whether she was upset, or angry, or happy, even if she just wanted to see him -he always went to her. And he'd stay with her until she slept -and even then sometimes after. Sometimes he'd wake up beside her, sometimes alone in her room. But she asked when he gave, silently. Always silent. Communing without words, he knew when she was asking -what she was asking. He wasn't the one that could read minds, but he could read her, some of the time. Able to pick up on what she was and what she needed.
He gave her everything.
After all, she was his everything. He found it difficult at first, but after some time it came so freely to him, as if it were natural. However, time after time she never stopped asking... and he gave.
He gave and gave and gave...
And he felt guilt. The sting of a lie. He could not help but feel the weight in his heart time after time, fully aware of what he was doing. It had been his fault. Maybe if he had paid more attention, he wouldn't have let them cross that line... He had been foolish enough to give in the first place. He gave too much. The connection was now too deep to sever. Now... there existed a taint. Black ink slowly spilt into water.
His heart burned with the lie he lived. To everyone. To her. -It was love. He loved her so deeply that he couldn't help but give her everything in return of the everything she was to him. But it hurt. Hurt to know that he found himself craving more than just everything. He wanted the flattering label of convention. But it was unattainable. Inconvenient. It was impossible to be customary in the life he le -chose to live.
He knew the implications, the complications, the possible consequences -and he hid them, hid them all in the depths of his mind. After learning what had happened to her, a sliver of paranoia embedded itself within him. He had hidden them -his thoughts and feelings -but she couldn't. What if one day she asked him to give, and it broke the silence?
He was vile. Wretched. Depraved. Those exact words may not come to their minds, but their meanings would. There he was... corrupting the most immaculate being in the 'verse, and of his own flesh and blood. The dark that let the girl stray from the path. And yet...
When she asked, he gave.
At some point that he could no longer exactly place in his mind, he had asked himself how he was able to keep the feeble walls of his lies up, protecting them and protecting him. He asked himself how he was able to give and give and give time after time... And he thought of her, and her asking and needing. Subtle touch to the wrist just before moving to leave. Soft smile with a hand running through her hair. The smallest of steps and slightest of movements. He would end up staying. She would continue to ask, silently progressing with increased tension. Her body would move according to her needs, his responding in turn. She would persist, unsatisfied until he lost himself within her.
The answer to his question would come shortly after he thought she was going to leave. Absconded with by a stranger. There had been pain -sharp and physical- that left him wounded. Then realization came.
He didn't want convention. The lie was never to her but to himself. It wasn't corruption he was committing. It was love. He lived to be with her, in every aspect.
He wanted to give, and keep giving.
The guilt dissolved.
Of course, continued secrecy laced paranoia.
So Simon continued to lie, to them.
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