Disclaimer: Not Joss, don't sue. It's simple really.
A/N: And so we reach the end of this adventure with the ship that got me into Firefly: Rayne. This is probably the sweetest, lightest, fluffiest Rayne ficlet you're ever going to get out of me. I want to thank everyone who reviewed and truly hope you all enjoyed this collection. So here it is: River's PoV, Rayne, Post-BDM. Read, enjoy, let me know what you think.
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"I love thee… with my childhood's faith."
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Loophole
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The ice glared at her from its point of capture and she met its look with one equally hard.
"You will not beat this girl." She told it, holding its stare before diving for the attack. Mouth open, ready to strike the fatal blow, teeth perched like spears; the girl lunged from beneath and snapped. Her foe escaped her, slipped from between her ready lips, made a mockery of her as it left her nose cold and slippery-sweet.
She studied her enemy, the spherical shape, estimated its circumference, its radius, made mental notes of its density, its texture.
She attacked again, but her icy adversary evaded her with a cool cackle as it bobbed smugly on its string.
"You're doing it all wrong little girl."
Her eyes left her opponent and shot daggers at the big man sitting on the pile of crates to her left. "If he is not going to offer moral support or beneficial strategies of attack then she advises him to shut it."
The man had the nerve to laugh.
"Girl this ain't no battle. It's snack time. You don't need no strategies."
She glared once more at the man and turned her attention back to her dangling opposition. Neck stretched, feet step firmly apart, arm an appropriate distance from the body, she tired again, ignore the man as he called out to her.
She heard him heave a heavy sigh and heard him stomp his way over to her, but she felt his hand over hers.
"If ya gonna treat this like a battle, than all ya really need is a loophole little girl."
"Loophole?" She questioned, head cocked to the side as the malevolent frozen treat swung in lazy circles from their joined hands.
"Yeah, like this." His free hand moved her own unoccupied hand up towards the baleful entity, cupping her palm around it until its core weight was resting entirely in her hand, and the sticky-cold mass was trapped most satisfyingly in her fingers. "Don't gotta make a battle of it, baby doll, sometimes, things work best the simple way."
"The simple way," she breathed, leaning forward, lips tasting the creamy sweetness of hot summer days, sunlight and childhood melting on her tongue as she took a bite of the long withheld confection. And she could see herself as though from some outside vantage point; see the slim formation of lithe muscles and sharp-angled bones. She saw the ripples in the airy fabric of her dress—the color almost matching the melting confection their hands—she the color bloom across her cheeks from his proximity despite the easy tendrils that fell in the way. She saw a girl then, a child-woman, in her pink Sunday dress—and the image caused a glee in her, felt as real as the melting ice crystals held tight against her palm.
The picture settled in her mind, and she tucked it away in a safe corner, the feelings it had created still as thick within her as the contentment that came with victory.
She straightened then, felt his nose brush against the top of her head and the hazy buzz of joy that was not remotely her own, but instead seeped into her skin from the man behind her.
"A loophole." She agreed as she turned to share their victory.
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End
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Feedback is Love
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A/N: Quote from Elizabeth Browning's sonnet XLIII: "How do I love thee?"
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.