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Name: Merri / Meredith / Firefly
A03 username: xfirefly9x (I don't really use A03, though)

Likes: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, strong characterisation, the kinds of things everyone was writing like 10 years ago? IDK :P
DNWs: Death, non-con, nothing too heavy with rough family dynamics, health scare-related h/c

Fandom: Firefly
Characters/Pairings: Mal/Inara, Zoe/Wash, River, Book

Fandom: The X-Files
Characters/Pairings: Doggett/Reyes, Scully/Mulder, Scully/Reyes

Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Jack, Sam/Cam, Daniel/Vala, Jonas, Teal'c

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters/Pairings: John/Elizabeth, Beckett & turtles

Fandom: Lie to Me
Characters/Pairings: Cal/Gillian

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

anagrrl

Here's a little ficlet for you!

Dreams

He dreams of her.

Late at night, in his bunk, familiar and grey, surrounded by walls that could feel like a coffin, but that just feel like home, he dreams of her.

He dreams of long, dark hair, and the twitch of irritation that would cross her face, sometimes, before she'd smooth it out again. His dreams are full of flashes of colour, rich fabrics that she wore like they were the simplest of things, as though she didn't know how much they stood out against the functionality of almost everything on Serenity.

Sometimes in his dreams she laughs, the way she used to when something caught her off guard, a surprised burst of sound, her face momentarily joyful. Those were the laughs that were real, not like the delicate smiles and titters she shared in polite company, when she was working or when people might be watching.

He dreams of the way she filled the halls of Serenity with something he didn't know it needed, and how she made the ship, and each day flying free, even more precious and rare.

***

She doesn't dream of him.

She dreams of gray corridors tying together points of light and warmth in a dark ship and in the darker realities of space. She dreams of the richness of her shuttle, and the companionship of the kitchen, and the soft lighting and homeyness of the bridge.

In her dreams, sometimes, those spaces are quiet, but on other nights, they're full of sound. Laughter and teasing, or terse, tense planning. Regardless of the tone, she wakes from those dreams buoyed and light.

Some nights, after a long day of ritual and gentle lessons, she dreams of planets and small moons, perhaps unremarkable from the ground, but that are small, perfect jewels from space, shining in the darkness, and full of mystery. Those jewels were once unknown places, some that she'd read about, others that had never been mentioned on the inner worlds, discarded by the likes of high society, but still bustling with people, and hopes, and wonders.

And when she wakes, in her bed of fine linens and finer silks, comfortable and cushioned, she reviews her mental list of tasks for the day: her plans, and her trainees, and the many messages that she must send, far and wide, though never as far and wide as out to the rim, never as far as they could go.

And she tells herself, in those early waking moments, as she stretches, and listens to the calls of birds outside her window, and the muted sounds of the busyness of House, that she doesn't dream of him.

She tells herself that she dreams of the ship, out there. Free.