Imperfect

I've got some imperfections

But how can you collect them all and throw them in my face

She can feel his gaze on her and she hates it.

Closing her eyes, she takes a soothing breath, and when she opens them again, their depths are calm sea of warmth directed at her client. Stockholm Parish.

He’s rail thin and wiry, the sort that doesn’t normally appeal to her, and his eyes are a blank slate. With barely any thought, she knows what he wants and that she can give it to him.

Will give it to him.

His cold hand slides across her shoulder to cup her neck, his finger tips digging into her sensitive flesh, just tight enough not to leave bruises. It’s in her contract.

No marks.

She leans into him, letting the curves of her body melt against the hard planes of his, forcing heat when all she feels is chilled.

The icy stare from across the room drags across her skin, sharp points digging in and drawing blood. She can feel the hatred and the anger spiking off him from all the way across the room, clouded by the sting of one to many misunderstandings left unexplained.

Without sparing him a glance, she knows that he stands still and silent, cataloguing every touch, every whisper, every coy smile from beneath heavy lashes. He finds fault in every nuance of her performance.

But only because it is perfect.

Once River is safely aboard and Serenity is tucked into the black, far from these monsters with blood on their hands, she’ll feel the lash of Mal’s tongue. Caustic words to burn her, eyes sharp as daggers tipped with poison.

He’ll damage her with words just the same as her client will his fists.

Stockholm Parish and Malcolm Reynolds are truly no different. They lash out with violence, be it emotional or physical, because they cannot withstand the pain within.

So she shall be the one to bear it.

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Bend and Not Break

and you're so independent

you just refuse to bend so I keep bending till I break