Date: 2008-03-19 22:09 Subject: Thicker Than Water, 2/? Security: Public Mood: calm Tags: wash zoe firefly

Part 2, it would be best to read part 1 first...

An hour later, Mal leaned down at the head of the table and looked around at his assembled crew. Zoe sat stiff as a ramrod, Wash trying to take her hand in his, but she kept effectively yet gently brushing it off. The pilot’s face was unusually concerned, his smooth brow furrowed and lips turned down in a frown. He glanced worriedly at Zoe, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Mal sighed internally, knowing the two would no doubt work it out later. For now, he needed to inform the rest of the crew of their decision.

            “We’ll be hightailing it to Pollux over the next day. Folks there are in a spot of trouble; they’ve got some hydro pirates attacking their settlements and we aim to give them a hand with that. Doc,” he said, turning to Simon, “we’ve already had word of causalities, one in particular’s in a bad way.”

            Simon nodded, and inclined his head in question. “I’ll be better prepared if I can have some sort of indication as to the nature of the injuries first. Do we happen to know—“

            “What we need to know is are we getting paid for this little jaunt,” interrupted Jayne, sitting to Mal’s left. He picked at his teeth with a toothpick. “We ain’t got no reason to be running off saving every backwater planet in the gorram universe for free. What’s in it for us that we’re racing off so fast? They got girls down there with four titties or somethin’?”

            Inara and Kaylee both rolled their eyes at this, and Mal clamped a hand down on Jayne shoulder and squeezed, hard, eliciting a small grunt from the larger man. “Don’t recall paying you to talk, Jayne,” Mal hissed, and let go of his shoulder. Jayne rubbed the sore area, having the wherewithal to remain quiet.

            “Girls, boys, mothers, daughters. All the same.” River whispered, and Mal glanced at her, confused. She looked up, her eyes solemn. “Amalgamations of mother and father,” she explained, pointing to Zoe. “Family is still family, even spread out across the ‘verse, like dust.” Wash, understanding, tried to take Zoe’s hand once again, and she once again brushed him off.

            Kaylee raised her hand, as if she were in class. “Um, wait, are we meeting Zoe’s family there?” She turned to face the stoic woman. “Your Ma and Pa live on Pollux?”

            Zoe didn’t move, but simply said, “Ma and a few others live there.”

            Kaylee’s face lightened with a huge smile. “We get to meet the Alleyne clan? Shiny! I didn’t know you still had relations floating about, Zoe!” Kaylee happily placed a hand on Simon’s arm. “Zoe grew up on a ship, you know. Hey Zoe, is your family meeting us there on their boat? Are we going to save the planet together, because we really ought—“

            “Ma lives on the planet with an uncle. My nephew was shot by a hydro pirate. He’s dying.” At Zoe’s harsh words, Kaylee shut up quick, her smile disappearing, and she put her head down. Simon repeated her earlier gesture, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Kaylee looked up briefly at him, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips.

            Inara tried to diffuse the tension in the room slightly, directing her question at Zoe. “What are you going to need from the rest of us before we arrive?”

            It was Mal who answered. “Doc, I’ll just need you to be prepared for anything. We don’t got much information to go on.” Simon nodded again. “Kaylee, I need you down getting the most you can out of the engines, we’ll go full burn as long as we can. Inara, I need you to stay on the ship and watch after River; we don’t know what we’re gonna run into down there and I want you two to be safe. Wash, I need you to use all them fancy piloting skills I hired for to get us there fast.” He stopped and looked around, everyone nodding at his directions. He didn’t indicate what he expected of Zoe and Jayne; they always knew what they were expected to do.

            Jayne folded his arms, and grumbled lowly. “Still think we should be getting paid.”

            Mal looked at him pointedly, and said, “Don’t pay you to think none, either, Jayne.” He looked up, watching everyone else look at him. He waited for a moment, and then waved his hands. “Well, what are you waiting for, a song and dance number? Move, people!”

            Everyone suddenly sprang to life, jumping up from the table and walking hurriedly in all directions. Inara gently led River by the shoulders to her shuttle, promising to brush her hair. Above the hustling crew, Mal caught Zoe’s eye, an unspoken question in his gaze. Zoe nodded almost imperceptibly, and finally allowed Wash to take her hand in his as they both climbed the steps towards the bridge.

            Once there, Wash sat right down in his pilot’s seat and checked on their progress to Pollux. Zoe leaned against the console in her usual spot, arms folded, head down. Wash waited until he had coaxed a bit more speed from the engines, and then finally turned to Zoe. He reached out and took her hand in both of his, squeezing it gently. She rubbed her thumb absently over the back of his palm.

            “Hell of a time to be introduced to the mother-in-law,” Wash said, a wry grin gracing his lips. Zoe looked up slowly, and nodded. Wash reached up and cupped her face with one calloused hand. He looked into her eyes, and tried to pour all his love for her into them. He paused for a moment, and then whispered, “You are not your mother, Zoe.”

            Zoe’s head flinched, and she jerked her hand out of her husband’s grip. Wash was surprised to see anger in her gaze. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. He opened his mouth to speak and was cut off by Zoe’s low voice, tense with barely checked emotion.

            “I could never, ever be my mother if I tried, Pilot,” she ground out, teeth clenched as she used her angry term for her husband, “and the sheer fact that you seem to think that I could leaves me pondering as to just who you think you are. Where do you get off comparing me to that lying, whorin’, excuse for a woman—“

            Wash stood quickly and laid his hands on Zoe’s shoulders. “Zoe, sweetums, wonderful wife of mine, I never meant to imply that you were in any way like your mother. Hell, I’ve never even met the woman! But you gotta admit,” he said, smiling wryly and cupping her cheek again with a calloused palm, “that for someone who doesn’t care very much about her mom, you are sure getting sort of riled up about it, s’all. What are you afraid of, baby, that you—“

            WHACK. The slap to the face was so unexpected that Wash didn’t move to touch his cheek for a few moments, and Zoe, breathing heavily, stared at her hand in mild horror as if it had acted of its own volition. Slowly Wash raised fingers to his face, gently palpating the red and throbbing mark left by Zoe’s palm, his expression one of slight hurt but more of concern.

            “Zoe,” he whispered after a few minutes in which neither of them had moved. He swallowed, watching her face for any change in expression, and spoke again when she didn’t react, his voice still just barely audible.

            “Zoe, having a fear does not make you weak. Especially not in front of me. You are not your mother. What are you afraid of?”

            Zoe jerked, and looked into his eyes, startled, as if she had forgotten he was there. She frowned as she looked at his face and the quickly bruising evidence of her anger, her lower lip actually quivering a little and her eyes shining a secret shame. Without a word she was gone, spinning quickly on her heels and striding fast towards their bunk. Wash watched her go, her steps practically banging down the entrance ladder and onto the floor, and he grimaced as he heard the soft click that indicated that the bunk’s lock had been engaged from the inside. He sighed, turning slowly and sitting back in his pilot’s chair, sinking his head into his hands. He could count on one hand the number of times in their marriage that she had locked the door on him, and just as every time previously, he felt a small frisson of fear zip down his back. Would this be the argument, the moment of trouble that could irreparably damage their relationship? For good?

            Gazing up half-heartedly at the nav screen, he checked their speed and heading, calculating that it would still take nearly 20 hours to reach Pollux. Wash leaned back with a sigh, and did the only thing he could do until Zoe was good and ready to come back out and face her demons.

            He waited for her.

Date: 2008-03-10 20:12 Subject: Thicker Than Water, 1/? Security: Public Mood: curious Tags: wash/zoe

Enjoy...


Wash sat in the pilot’s seat, slightly bored and trying to amuse himself quietly.  The last few days had been spent in, thankfully, peaceful space, and he knew he shouldn’t be complaining, but no matter how beautiful the Black was to him, even he grew tired, once in a while, of simply staring off at the stars. Wash sighed, and stretched his hands out over his shoulders, closing his eyes at the delicious feeling of muscles relaxing. He kept his eyes closed as he lowered his arms, setting them behind his head. The low hum and drone of the ship, coupled with the lack of other stimuli, was fast putting him to sleep. Thoughts drifted easily into his head as he let his mind wander: playing cards with Book and Jayne in the kitchen, a cozy nap with his wife (he smiled at that), Mal’s angry face looming over him, asking why he was sleeping on the job…

            With a frown and a grunt, Wash roused himself out of his doze with that final thought. Leave it to Mal, albeit an imaginary Mal, to interrupt a perfectly good daydream, he grumbled to himself, straightening and smoothing his hair. His eye passed over his dinosaurs. The T-Rex was staring at him, a knowing smirk in its gaze. Wash’s frown deepened.  “What are you looking at, reptile brain?”

            “Lizard.” Wash whipped around to find River perched in the co-pilot’s seat, having seemed to appear there instantly. Wash placed a hand over his racing heart. “What?”

            River grinned, cocking her head to one side in a manner than reminded Wash of a large bird. “All lizards are reptiles, but a reptile is not necessarily a lizard,” she continued in a sing-song voice as if she were reading from a textbook.  Snaking one slender hand out, she grasped the tyrannosaurus and the stegosaurus by the tails. She transferred the latter to her other hand, looking into its plastic eyes. “You are both a lizard and a reptile. An amalgamation of pre-historic possibility.” River turned the two dinosaurs towards Wash, and all three looked at him, expectantly.

            Wash blinked. “Uh, yeah. An amalgam-whatever.” Regarding her unmoving form, Wash let himself grin a little, and took the T-Rex out of River’s hand. He turned it back on the stegosaurus she held. “Amalgamation you may be, thunder thighs,” he growled effectively, “but I can still eat your body for breakfast!”

            River’s head ducked, and she giggled. She held out the other dinosaur, and it answered, “There is no such thing as breakfast in the dinosaur world; it is a human denomination.”  River made the dinosaur dance around on her knee, and it continued, “Let me know when you have decided to eat me, and I will prepare to become accordingly frightened.” She placed the stegosaurus carefully back down on the helm, and rose to her feet gracefully, unwrapping one long leg from the other and placing her feet on the ground. She leaned over and tapped Wash lightly on the nose. “No meals in the animal world. Just hunger, instinct, kill, sustenance.” Smiling softly, she turned and skipped out of the bridge.

            Wash turned the dinosaur still in his hand to face him, scratching his head with the other. “I ask again, in a slightly more bewildered manner: what?”

            The T-Rex seemed to shrug in response. “You’re the puny human,” it replied in a raspy voice, “you tell me.”

            A sudden, insistent bleeping noise caught his attention, and Wash turned to the com link. The noise indicated that the ship had an incoming message, and Wash was surprised to see it was for Zoe. Not only was it for her, it was locked, preventing him from seeing whom it was from. That’s odd, he thought, as most incoming messages for the crew were open channel. Thinking back, he couldn’t even remember Zoe ever getting a message before at all, let alone a locked one. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he said to the T-Rex, who nodded in response.

            Reaching up with one hand, Wash grabbed the shipwide comm unit, and said into it, “Would anyone who answers to the names Lambietoes, Honeybunches, or Sugarface, please come up to the bridge?” Wash dropped the handset, and didn’t have to wait long for a response.

            Hearing the familiar footfalls of his Zoe climbing the steps, Wash replaced the dinosaur back to its spot by the vid screen just in time to feel her sinewy arms wrap around his shoulders from behind. He sighed in contentment, and leaned back into her embrace. “Hello, Wife,” he grinned up into her face, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

            Zoe smiled and nodded in reply. “Husband.”  She swung around his chair, still maintaining contact, and sat against the helm controls. “So, was this a personal summons, or was there another reason for you blasting my private nicknames all over the ship?” She trailed a long, lean finger over his stomach, eliciting a pleasured shiver from her spouse.

            Wash tried to keep his mind from the blood rushing to parts of his body other than his head, and replied, “Mmm, yes dear. Today I am playing your handsome, intelligent delivery man; you have a message.”

            Zoe raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A message for me?” She turned to the com link, where the locked message icon still blinked. “A locked message?” She spun around fully, facing the screen, and sat on her husband’s lap to get to the controls and read the message. Wash let out a slight ‘oof’ as she sat down, her round bottom rubbing tantalizingly against the area where all the blood had gone. Wash ran his arms about Zoe’s waist, and leaned in to kiss her back. “Mmm,” he rumbled into her jacket, “I hope this is the way we always get mail.” He continued caressing her stomach and hips with his hands, lost in the sensation of her, when he felt her stiffen, abruptly. Wash lifted his head.

            “Sweetums?” When Zoe made no response, Wash shifted so he could see her face in profile. Zoe’s cheeks had paled, and her lips were set in a thin line. Wash’s own mouth frowned in concern. “Baby, what is it?”

            Zoe glanced down at Wash, startled, as if she had forgotten he was there. Without replying, she stood and made her way to the door, shoulders tense. Wash shook his head, confused, and looked down at the screen where the message still lay open. He thought for a moment, hesitating, and then read the message, knowing Zoe would have closed it if she didn’t want it to be seen.  As his eyes scanned the words below, he breathed a slow exhalation of surprise, and turned again in the direction of where his wife had gone. “Shenme?”

            Where Zoe had gone was to stalk down to the cargo bay, where she knew her Captain would be, skulking around and pretending to organize the remaining boxes of protein and other supplies. All the men in her life were predictable when it came to days of inaction, she mused; Wash sat and played with his dinosaurs, and Mal tried to do Captainy things to make the time pass without having to retreat into his thoughts. She clanked down the stairs loudly, catching the attention of said Captain as she strode briskly across the floor.

            Seeing that his first mate clearly had something to say, Mal asked, “Zoe, what’s on your mind?” with barely enough time to get the sentence out before Zoe planted herself in front of him, grabbed the checklist he had been holding out of his hands, slapped it down on the box next to her, and simply stated, “Pollux. We need to go to Pollux, now.”

            Mal folded his arms in front of him, eyebrows raised. He looked closer at Zoe, her nostrils twitching and mouth set. He cleared his throat, and said, “Pollux, huh? Pollux…wait. Now isn’t that the planet where…?” He trailed off, allowing her to finish.

            She shifted ever so slightly, and replied, “Where my mother lives. With my uncle and nephew.”

            Mal nodded, and cocked his head to the side. He scratched his head with a finger, and asked, “Now, nearing to where’s I can remember, you don’t get on too kindly no more with your folks, do you? Why—“

            “My nephew is dying, sir,” Zoe spat out, interrupting him. She shifted her hands to her hips in an uncomfortable gesture. “Hydro pirates looking for fresh water been attacking the settlement where my family lives, nephew got shot. My mother just messaged me. We need to go to Pollux, now.” Her clipped, terse tones indicated to Mal the seriousness of the situation, and he took a breath in. He knew from past conversations with Zoe that she had near on no relationship any more with her mother, so for her to message her daughter now meant Zoe’s nephew was most likely in grim condition.

            Mal thought’s drifted back to a fireside admittance from Zoe, long ago, when liquor had loosened both their tongues a bit and they were trying to one-up each other with memories of childhood pranks. Mal had gotten her to laugh, just a little, with his tale of the blue-painted cow, when he turned to her and asked, slurring, “Why’s it you don’t talk about your ma any more, hmm? You grew up with her on your ship; what happened to her?”

            Zoe instantly stopped laughing, hiccupping in her haste to be quiet. She glared at Mal, eyes blurry, not speaking. Mal quickly regretted his question, and continued, placating, “I’s sorry, never mind. I didn’t mean to make you mad…”

            Zoe shrugged and answered in a matter-of-fact manner. “After Pa died, Ma was real messed up, and so she skipped down planet-side to stay with her brother for a spell. Ended up taking herself up with another man. She wouldn’t come back to the ship with me and the other families; she decided she’d rather stay a whore than look out after me and mine.” Zoe blinked and shook herself from the memory. She seemed embarrassed as she said, “S’no matter. Let’s get some sleep,” and turned and lay down on her side, facing away from Mal. Mal slapped himself mentally and sighed resignedly, stretching himself out next to Zoe and falling into slumber.

            And now, when Mal looked into the stern face of his first mate, he knew that regardless of whatever she may have felt towards her mother, the world where she resided was somehow in a big heap of trouble. Enough for Zoe to get up in arms about it. Mal pursed his lips.

            “That husband of yours know about you and your ma?” he asked, pointedly.

            “He does.”

            “You fixin’ on telling the rest of the crew before we get there?”

            “I ain’t planning on it,” she replied in the same, stiff manner, not commenting on his concession to go to Pollux. Mal nodded, not expecting any more. “You run up and tell Wash about the change of course. We’ll need to have a kitchen meeting with everyone else, regardless. One hour.”

            Zoe nodded and turned on her heels without a word, leaving with the same purposeful stride she had come in with. Mal looked down at the boxes he had been moving around, and frowned. Hydro pirates, on that gorram hole of a planet Pollux, plus a moody first mate and almost certain injuries and damage to his ship? Why, oh why, had he been complaining about being bored just a moment ago?

Date: 2007-12-05 20:59 Subject: A Respite Security: Public Mood: nostalgic Music: Adagio for Strings-Platoon Soundtrack Tags: glitch, tin man

 Just wrote this one quickly, so feel free to add any comments of things you'd like to see differently...

No, no please, don’t do it, it won’t work…

Show some respect!

Please don’t, no…      

I think I invented it…

I won’t give it to you, please stop…

No…

A sun-seeder…I don’t remember what it does…

No…

No!

            The atmosphere in the small cabin was hushed yet busy, worries left unsaid, heavy in the air as the motley band prepared for the dangerous gorge crossing. Glitch sat off in a corner, rubbing his head absently in a rare moment of quiet. He glanced up at a harsh whisper, catching the eye of Cain as the Tin Man argued with Ralph and the Tutor, watched as the man frowned and looked away quickly, hands on his hips. DG sat in another corner, fiddling with her hair and speaking softly with Ralph’s wife. They held hands, DG gathering strength from the woman who so closely resembled the mother who raised her.

            “Not a mother. A robot. Nurture unit,” Glitch whispered to himself. He cocked his head, waiting for the rattling of his synapses to stop, praying that he was remembering and not conjuring stories in his mind. Calm finally settled inside his head, and he knew he had remembered that one fact, at least. He sighed, and closed his eyes

            No…don’t…please!

            only to snap them back open immediately, foggy visions hovering at the edge of his grasp like sand through his fingers. He did know one thing, at least: whatever it was that had been pulled from inside his mind, it terrified him to no end.

            Glitch looked up again toward Cain. “They’re lying,” Glitch said again softly to himself, “my machine. It is really bad; everything is my fault!” An involuntary hitch gripped his throat, and what was left of his mind flitted again, stirred by the primal fear and remorse in his heart. Tears sprung into his eyes and he gasped at the shock of them.

            Glitch hardly noticed a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder, nor the soft noise of Raw settling into a chair beside him. The kind beast exhaled, brow furrowed and greatly unnerved by the frantic whirring of the man’s thoughts. He rested his gaze on Glitch’s face, watching as his lips moved silently, pleading to an invisible fright. Raw tightened his grip on Glitch’s shoulder, and the stricken man spun immediately, a hand raising as if to ward off an attack. Raw grabbed Glitch’s fist with his free hand.

            “No fear, Glitch. Raw not hurt you.” Glitch’s dark eyes settled on Raw’s face, breaths slowing, his frantic fidgeting easing down. The man looked into the gaze of the seer, then cast his glance down to their conjoined grasp. Glitch slowly breathed out and released Raw’s hand.

            “It’s all, muddled, Raw,” he said softly, eyes still cast downwards, “faces and…and pain.” He grimaced. “I know it was bad, but I don’t know what, or how, it was bad. It only takes half a brain to know that, that whatever my part was in all of this…it came to no good.” Glitch continued staring into his lap, twisting at his ratty overcoat. “A scientific sacrifice, I suppose. But all…all I have to offer is science. And it only leads to…darkness.”

            Glitch looked up across the room to where DG sat, and bit his lip as a tear wound slowly down his cheek. “I can’t give her what she needs to save us all.”

            Glitch slowly became aware of a calming coming over him, gently. Tendrils of a cool presence flickered in Glitch’s mind, seemingly caressing his private hurt from the inside out. Glitch turned gradually back towards the beast, bewildered, his fear gently ebbing as if washed away by a tide. Raw’s eyes were clear, but Glitch could see in their depths offers of support, and…gratitude? Glitch turned his head to one side, questioning.

            “Raw see what you see. Raw filled with hurt of what Glitch sees. But Raw can help.” The calming force of Raw’s presence continued to flow down his arm and into Glitch, still gripped at the shoulder by the gentle beast. Glitch breathed deeply, daring to close his eyes. He was met only with hazy images of what he had created, of what he had been through. They seemed surrounded by a bubble of soft light, protecting him from the strength of their hurts.

            Glitch opened his eyes and looked at Raw. He smiled lightly. “Thank you, friend.”

            Raw grinned back. “Glitch have much importance yet to come. Glitch have no time to think so much.” And he stood up, and walked over to sit with DG and her friend.

            Glitch laughed, in spite of himself. Softly, he chuckled, “think too much? One day I’ll get my brain back, and then you’ll all really see me thinking too much.” He clasped his hands together, rubbing the worn fabric of his sleeves. Gazing out over the room once more, he saw that DG was smiling, laying a hand on Raw’s arm. Cain and the Tutor weren’t arguing, but simply preparing for the journey. He caught Cain’s glance again, and instead of pity in the stoic man’s gaze he saw only concern, and admiration. Cain nodded in acknowledgment, Glitch tilting his head in return.

Date: 2007-05-21 23:51 Subject: Muted Security: Public Mood: refreshed Music: In the Clouds-Under the Influence of Giants

Whew, I had fun writing this! Enjoy....

            Wash blinked and rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, glancing at the chronometer on the helm console. He should have gone to bed hours ago, but he had stayed up calculating trajectories, wanting to make sure their descent through the strong gravity of Adonis’ atmosphere was as fuel-efficient as possible. Seeing as how their plucky captain had gallantly turned over the last of their petrol coin to some starving families a few planets back, they had to be extra conservative in their fuel consumption. And “they” meant Wash. He shook his head, and groaned as he stood from the pilot’s chair.

            “Sometimes I wish our fearless leader wasn’t such a big damn hero. Hell, then we might actually get paid!” he stated wryly, staring at Steggy as he leaned over the armrest.

            The dinosaur stared back at him stupidly, beady eyes revealing nothing. “Who needs money out here, when you’ve got a good man and the ease of the Black?” Wash blinked, bemused to find his toys responding to him now of their own volition, when two soft arms encircled his waist from behind, hands clasped lightly over his stomach. Wash closed his eyes and groaned as he breathed in the heady scent of Zoe, her silky night robe gliding over his bare arms, and her pert breasts pressing into the muscles of his back. He leaned his head back to find her shoulder, her hair caressing his neck. “Gods, wife,” he breathed, just the feel of her shooting jolts of warmth through his lower abdomen, “you could make even a sailor blush with your smell.”

            Wash jumped again as he felt a warm tongue slowly lick the hollow where his shoulders met his neck, moving up the pulsating throb of his throat to his lobe, whisking tantalizing over the pink shell of his ear and making him shiver in anticipated pleasure. He could feel Zoe’s smile as she breathed across the nape of his neck. “That so, husband?”

            Wash grinned, turning in one quick movement and grabbing his wife’s smooth mouth against his in a fierce kiss. He roughly pushed his tongue past her lips, dancing lightly over her teeth, she responding in turn, moaning deeply at this unexpected assault. Wash’s mouth slipped down her neck to her shoulder, one hand resting on her hip, the other fondling and kneading one breast through her nightgown. Zoe gasped as she felt Wash pinch her nipple, and tossed her head back to give him easier access to her neck. He sucked hard, wanting to mark her, to make it known that she was his.

            Zoe leaned away slightly, glancing at the wide open hatchway, and locked her heavy-lidded gaze with Wash’s dilated eyes. He was breathing heavily, still kneading her breast fiercely, and she had to lick her lips to keep from moaning again. “Husband, as much as I appreciate the view, perhaps we should take this somewhere more private?” She couldn’t hold back a shrill gasp as Wash suddenly cupped her wet sex through the silk of her robe, rubbing slowly but purposefully over the center of her heat. She felt her legs wobble, and closed her eyes at the delicious sound of his low voice rumbling in her ear.

            “Sorry, lambietoes, but you’re not getting your way tonight. I’m going to take you right here, in full view of anyone who cares to see.” Wash pushed Zoe backwards with his pelvis, grinding his hips into hers, and she felt his arousal hard and strong against her legs. She barely had time to register as he clanged her body up against the metal lockers, gasping helplessly as he ground into her again, hand still stroking her through the robe. Wash growled into her throat at the sound of her moans, nipping at the tender cocoa skin.

            They weren’t aware of another set of eyes on them, attracted by the sound of movement on the bridge, that watched them furtively from the corridor to the bunks. A hand on the railing, the other clenched in a fist, a gaze both embarrassed and curiously intrigued at the same time resting solidly on the frenzied couple. Simon hid in the shadows, having stumbled up the stairs in time to hear and see the pilot and his wife in passionate embrace. He couldn’t help but watch, ashamed of his actions but slowly closing his eyes in arousal as he heard the small moans of Zoe against Wash’s mouth. He never knew Wash to be a forceful person, and he was surprised at how utterly and totally the pilot was exerting control over the first mate, grabbing her wrists in one hand and forcing them against the wall above her head, leaving her helpless, pliable. Wash grunted in pleasure, and Simon took a deep breath at the sound and absently stroked his half-hard erection through his trousers, leaning back against the wall next to the doorway, out of sight.

            Wash continued to torture Zoe with his hands, not touching skin directly, still making her shiver beneath the robe with the lack of contact. She groaned deeply and loudly as a hard jolt from her clit rushed into her belly, and Wash responded by biting her neck.

            “Zoe,” he said forcefully, “I want you to be good and quiet for me. I want you to shiver and breathe hard and writhe all you want, but no noise. Do you understand me?” He looked up at her face, her eyes closed, mouth parted slightly, breaths hitching in arousal. She started to move her lips to speak, and he clamped a strong palm over her mouth. Her eyes flew open angrily at that, that unexpected move, but then just as quickly nearly rolled back into her head as his fingers on her sex drew the material aside and thrust against her clit directly. The sensation made her want to cry out, but she threw her head back again and took a shuddering breath against Wash’s hand, remaining quiet with an effort she didn’t think possible.

            Simon, watching this from around the doorway, hitched in a breath at Wash’s control over Zoe. His cock jumped underneath his hand, and he had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. Slowly and quietly stroking himself harder, he closed his eyes, imagining himself taking that sort of control over someone, having someone writhe under his touch and obey his commands. He never imagined Wash had it in him, but seeing it firsthand made the young doctor fantasize about being forceful himself. Flashes of his young blond fancy, screaming his name as he held her down only made his cock grow harder under his hand. Unzipping slowly, he slid inside and gasped and squeezed himself, all the while listening to the other couple, oblivious in the other room.

            Wash knew Zoe was close, her moist heat growing tight and swollen around his fingers. His own sex was aching, grinding her hips through his flightsuit. Panting, and feeling that his wife was just about to go over the edge, he quickly withdrew his fingers. Zoe grabbed tried to grab his head, his hand, to show him without words what she needed. Wash looked her in the eye, naked lust shining from one gaze to the other, and he roughly and deliberately restrained her yet again, trapping her wrist against the wall. Lowering the fly of his suit with exquisite slowness, his gaze never left Zoe’s.

            Zoe was almost lost. She was hovering right on her plateau, screaming obscenities in her head as loud as she could, and her knees were so wobbly that she could hardly stand. A quick movement by Wash suddenly had her lifted and pressed against the wall, his hands clamped painfully tight on her ass, both of her legs wrapped tight around his lower back, his naked cock nestled against her heat, poised at her entrance, and she near went over at the feel of it. She gasped noiselessly when he ground slightly against her.

            Not able to restrain his own needs any longer, Wash gritted his teeth and breathed, “Now, Zoe, if you are very good right now, I will let you scream when you come. You want to come for me, baby?” Zoe felt like crying, she was so tense, and looked at the ceiling, nodding wordlessly, frantically. She wanted him in her so bad, she felt she would agree to anything at that moment.

            Simon was close, running his thumb over the tip of his cock, wanting to hear her scream. His lips were parted in exertion, brow furrowed with his concentration…

            “You’re gonna scream so loud for me, baby, because you want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Wash didn’t wait for her nodded answer, and with horrendous, teasing deliberate pacing, he entered her ever so slowly, holding his breath to keep from thrusting, until he was completely submersed in her heat, and stilled, unmoving. He looked up into her eyes.

            Zoe groaned internally as his cock filled her, the friction sparking nerve endings that jolted through her like lightning and fire. She locked eyes with him when he stopped, daring her to make a sound, and she pleaded for him with her gaze like a woman possessed, to move, to take her. Wash stood still for a moment longer, buried to the hilt in her, unmoving, her body in his hands propped against the wall, until he was incapable of waiting any longer. He reached down and flicked her clit, once, twice,

            He gripped his shaft, squeezing, other hand braced on the railing, knees wobbling as he neared release…

            The cry that escaped her lips could only be described as primeval. Zoe felt she was being rendered into a thousand pieces by the light exploding behind her eyes and her abdomen from the touch of Wash’s hand on her sex. She tipped over her edge and fell, head back, groaning lowly and with great effort, trying to say his name but only achieving a sound of utter pleasure. He felt her muscles clamp around him like a fist and he let out a stifled cry of his own, and thrust upwards, hard, slamming her against the wall. Zoe bit into his shoulder, near breaking the skin, the force of her orgasm leaving her an animal, primal, without thought,

            His own cry mixed with theirs, drowned out by the thumping of the wall, as he spilled into his hand, leaning on the railing to keep from falling to his knees. A flash of imagined breast in his mind, smooth skin. “Kaylee!” he breathed without knowing it…

            and Wash cried her name as pumped into her again, six, seven, and as his surge spilled forth he pressed her into the wall once more, moaning from the very depths of his soul in ecstasy. Zoe’s muscles slowed their contractions around him, still gripping him tight, and his hands shook, shoulders quaking as he held her,

            He lowered his head to his heaving chest, shaking, spent, having come as close to playing out his fantasy as he ever had. A sense of ease and new resolve spilled over him, clear and unfettered in the haze of his orgasm. He stood slowly, moving away quietly from the resting spouses, even as they slid themselves carefully down the wall to the floor of the cockpit. Simon crept down the stairs to the infirmary, blissful, his calculating mind assessing how he too could be assertive, and get what he wanted…

            Wash settled on the floor with Zoe, her back still to the wall and legs still wrapped around him, nestled between his thighs and her head resting on his heaving chest. He took one hand from her rear and stroked her head lightly, feeling her slowing breaths cooling the sweat as it dried at the hollow of his throat. He closed his eyes briefly, and, grinning, said, “You know, you don’t always say much, but you always say just the right thing.”

            His only response was the chuffing breath of a chuckle, and her hand snaked up to smack the side of his head playfully, where it came to rest, cupping his cheek in a loving gesture. Wash grinned again, kissing the top of her curls, and they both drifted off into a sated doze.  

Date: 2007-04-05 20:47 Subject: Some tursday tings... Security: Public Mood: determined Music: Topless by Breaking Benjamin

Spring is in the air, and I couldn't be happier. Well, except for the snow that may be coming this weekend. Call me a loser, but we hardly had any of it down this winter in the good ol' PA, and where I originally hail from, snow is a given. So give me more snow, maybe just for the weekend! And then spring again, please :)

On another springy note, I'm running in my first official road race May 6th, the Philly Broad Street Run. It's 10 miles, and I'm up to 7. Think I can do it in time?

And in addition, I'm breaking in new running shoes, and I have (healing, thank god) blisters on the arches of my feet the size of small eggs. YUM

Date: 2007-03-30 10:24 Subject: Sufficient Enough Security: Public Mood: working

Ficathon piece!
Title: Sufficient Enough
This ficathon piece (based off of someone's prompt, not sure who, sorry!) is for someone who wanted pre-movie, no pregnancy, no tertiary romance, and some "tech-engine babble." I've tried my best to meet all of these criteria well.
Summary: Zoe searches for the reason as to why she deserves his love
Note: So LOOOOONG story short, when I had begun to write for this ficathon prompt, I had a completely different story laid out, outline and all. But when I started writing it it just wasn't working for me, and yesterday when I checked the word count, it was already up to 3,000 words without even being close to getting to the meat of it. So I've shelved that one for now and wrote this one instead. It's a bit of an unusual take for me, since there is absolutely no dialogue and it's from Zoe's POV, but hey, no ignoring the muse!
So enjoy, and I hope whomever this prompt belongs to is pleased with what I've done.

            


            She wondered sometimes in their beginning, secretly, if the life the ‘verse had given her was the one she was meant to have, or if she was instead stuck in someone else’s body, living an existence of someone far more deserving than she. She would find herself doubting the weight of her emotions, at times, as if they were figments of a dream that would soon be swept away in the act of waking up.

            She didn’t know why she had these thoughts; lord knows she had seen enough of her fair share of heartache and strife in her years to merit some sort of retribution from the powers that be; the preacher would have explained it better. But there were still those times when she would come up behind him at the helm, her gaze lingering appreciatively on his strong, robust arms, the gentle curve of his jaw, and he would turn at her footfalls and give her a smile that positively lit up her heart, that a nagging voice in her head would whisper, what did you do to deserve this? When is it all going to disappear? And she would shudder imperceptibly, frightened, and he would mistake it for pleasure and run his fingers lightly over her cheek, her ear, the lines of her collarbone and down her shoulder, and then she was shivering from pleasure and would allow herself to be coaxed into his lap, where his caresses and lips and her fingers in his hair made it easier to bury the voice for another day.

            In their bunk, now and then, when he had gone to sleep and his soft snoring made a smile grace her lips, she would run her fingertips gently over his nose, ai ya, she loved his nose, and down over his lips and chin, and let her hand come to rest on his chest, where she reveled in the measured rise and fall of his skin and the low rumbles of his snores, and she would suddenly have a tightening of her throat as if someone had wrapped a hand around her neck and was squeezing tight. And she would have to stare at the rhythmic movement of her hand over his heart, the voice hovering in the back of her mind, worrying her into watching his chest, afraid that the rise and fall of sleeping breath would stop. Why are you allowed to be this content, the voice would hiss at her, when there are so many others in this ‘verse who have it so much worse?

            And she would start breathing hard, and would not allow herself to cry, and he would unconsciously take her hand in his sleep, and blink his eyes open at the sound of her exhalations, and he would look at her and scoot up on his elbow to gaze at her face, mouth pinched in a moue of concern. She would bury her face in his neck, still breathing steadily as if she had just run a race, and he would hold her and place light kisses along her neck in comfort, and she would allow his arms to once again stamp down the guilty presence in the back of her mind and she would tell herself that it was okay to feel the way that she did.

            His caresses continued and his lips more insistent and she would feel his love and attraction for her, and she would let him roll over to cover her with his body, and she treasured him for it. When he entered her, they both would sigh in satisfaction, and his strong body and mouth whispering her name in ecstasy as he moved, and his gentle cry as he came that mirrored her own was sufficient enough to completely drown out any remnant of foreboding that had enveloped her. Her head would fall to the pillow next to his, exhausted, and she would sleep contented, a slumber free of dreams.

            Times of great peril, of great danger, were often when she was plagued the least by her inner turmoil. They were flying, fast and at full burn, no more than fifty feet above a planet, their left engine only working at half capacity and he was struggling and coaxing and swearing at the helm, arms surging and trembling with the effort. A trader crossed one time too many by the motley crew was hot on their tail in pursuit, having shot an EMP missile at the engine and now merely following, waiting for them to crash, as a cat playing with an injured mouse before it pounces. She was gripping the back of his chair to keep from being tossed about the bridge, and he was yelling at the captain, who was yelling down to the engine room about the lack of power, and the mechanic was yelling right back up about the compressor coil being shorted out and the spare one needed to be repaired before it could be used. She could hear the mercenary behind her in the kitchen yelling about opening the cargo door and taking a blast at the trader’s cruiser with his biggest gun, and the shaking was getting worse and she could see through the windscreen a mountain about a mile away that she knew they would not be able to avoid unless they could get higher.

            He was looking frantically at the power readouts and the engine schematics when suddenly he turned and looked right at her, grip still like iron on the helm, a look and a light in his eyes that she imagined was how he would have looked at her the first time he knew he loved her. He turned to the yelling captain and shouted out that the compressor coil could be shorted back into working order if the left engine wasn’t taxed, if only for a moment, and the captain froze and asked him, crazily, if he intended to turn the engine off, and he replied that indeed he did, a triumphant smile splitting his face from ear to ear and she smiled right back, not even understanding his plan but having faith and love in his convictions that it would work.

            He yelled at the captain to grab the comm and tell the mechanic to turn off the left engine on his mark and then restart it, and suddenly she understood his idea and ran back into the kitchen and unholstered her guns, grabbing the mercenary along the way, raced down into the cargo bay and opened the doors, and anticipating his words even as he said them over the radio, she strapped herself down to the floor of the bay, guns aimed out the door, the mercenary doing the same, until they were both lying supine, unmoving, braced against the ground and weapons aimed at the ship in the distance. His voice came on the comm once more, telling everyone to tie themselves down and to hold on.

            And she heard the whine and hum of the weakened left engine as it sputtered and then stopped, and felt her stomach drop as the ship began to barrel roll over its horizontal axis, still moving forwards, the weight of the dead engine and the power of the functioning one working together to flip the ship completely upside down, boxes and other things that weren’t tied down flying past her head, and suddenly she was firing at the trader’s cruiser while hanging from straps on the cargo bay floor, which was now the cargo bay ceiling, the bullets up close and personal as the trader didn’t react in time enough to slow to match the Firefly’s speed, and she grunted triumphantly as the she and the mercenary riddled the trader’s windscreen full of holes, and she saw the pilot get hit and fall forward, and she watched as the cruiser plummeted towards the earth, even as the carried momentum of the spin of their own ship continued and she felt the rumble of the left engine as it burst back to life, and then she was right side up again, the cruiser was crashing, the engine was back online, and the mercenary was looking at her like she was the luckiest person alive.

            Once they were back in the Black, she unstrapped herself, ignoring the larger man’s cries for help, and she ran up the stairs, through the kitchen where she met up with a flushed and jubilant mechanic, whooping and smiling with exhilaration, and up to the bridge where she shoved an astonished captain aside and threw her arms around him, still in his seat, kissing him fervently on the lips in full view of everyone as if she had never seen him before until now.

            The noise of celebration of the people around her faded as he grinned at her stupidly, and she took a breath, and smiled a white, beautiful smile right back, and suddenly the voice was there, quiet but startling her with its presence. How many times can you escape chance like this? it asked nastily; how many more times until he can’t save the day? She swallowed a lump of fear and embraced him again, determined not to give in to the icy fingers that had crept up her back.

            It was a time of quiet and peace when she finally stopped listening to the voice. The crew had landed their ship on a desolate moon, devoid of life or civilization, but he had walked outside nonetheless, down the cargo bay ramp to sit on a rock facing away from the ship, a recent mailpad in his hand. She stood at the top of the ramp, leaning against the bay door, arms crossed, watching him and squinting into the oddly beautiful evening in the falling light of the two suns. He sat stiff and unmoving, back straight, completely out of character, and her heart ached to think of him hurting, when she and everyone else were so used to hearing his laughter and jokes ring throughout the ship.

            She strode silently and slowly down the cargo ramp until she stood next to where he sat. He didn’t acknowledge her, but didn’t tell her to leave, so she sat down, and took his free hand in hers, and held it to her breast, near her heart, and he looked up and forward, towards the sunset, away from the pad that regretted to inform him that his mother had passed. She reached over gently and whisked away a tear from his cheek, and he glanced at her then, and her heart swelled to see not only the naked grief and sorrow in his watery gaze, but also the open display of love and appreciation and devotion to her, his thanks to her, for being with him and standing beside him.

            She lifted her closed fist and kissed his hand that she held, and kissed her free hand and placed her fingertips on his eyelids, and he sighed and allowed his forehead to drop softly onto her shoulder, and she breathed in the clean scent of his hair and kissed the crown of his head, and she felt him shudder slightly and drop the mailpad to the ground, and wrap his arms about her waist and hold her tight.

            And the voice wafted out from the back of her mind, but quieter now, almost inaudible, and asked her how long he would continue to feel comfort in her embrace, and why he would go to her, of all people, in his time of need, but she hushed it, knowing without reply that this show of love from him, his complete faith and baring of his soul to her, was the one reason, the one reinforcement that she needed to prove her worth in the ‘verse. She felt the voice settle and fade, and she breathed a sigh of release and relief, and squeezed the hand she still held, and she felt a gentle pressure in return, she knew that his love for her gave her that final purpose and reason to be and reason for her own happiness. And she finally knew that she did deserve it, and found that she wasn’t frightened of its power or what its future may bring.

            And so she sat with him, and stared out at the sky, and drank in the delicious silence of the evening and marveled at his love for her, and hers for him, and she knew that it wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot.

            But it was enough.

Date: 2007-03-19 21:00 Subject: Sparring Security: Public Mood: accomplished

Title:  Sparring
Author: Ahoytheship
Characters: Almost exclusively Zoe/Wash, with a wee bit of Mal thrown in for good measure, but a very wee bit.
Rating: Let's call it PG-13 to be safe, but I look forward to trying my hand at some more intense matter later on
Timeline: Pre-series, pre-relationship
Summary: Well that would be cheating, now wouldn't it :)
I wrote this one today, my first completed Firefly fic, and my muse was giving me a swift kick in the pants so thank goodness it was a slow day at work!  All errors are my own, and although I'm not 100% pleased with the result (I'd like to write a shorter, more dialogue-laden one next) I'd like to think it's pretty good :) Thanks everyone who's welcomed me to this little community, and I hope you all enjoy!

The first time that Wash got involved in a firefight alongside Zoe, it was totally an accident. Well, an accident on his part; the rest of the firefly’s crew seemed to search out danger, and so it was merely his own fault that he happened to be down in the cargo bay when the action went down.

            He had been with Serenity for nearly three months at this point, and had proved his mettle time and time again, or so the Captain proclaimed. Wash didn’t much care for the mechanic, Bester, but he was blown away by the beautiful and mysterious Zoe. He couldn’t remember ever meeting a woman quite like her. She had successfully evaded his attempts at chivalry, courtship, and all other manner of flirtatious interaction, and Wash was at a loss as to how to approach her next. She never seemed impressed with him, but Wash was sure there were chinks in her armor; he just had to find them.

            The Captain and his First Mate had returned unscathed from what appeared to be a successful, steal-from-the-rich-and-keep-mostly-for-ourselves kind of mission on Verdun. Mal had radioed up to the Pilot.

            “Wash! Get yourself down here, we bein’ a mite short on help!” There were a few tens of crates to be unloaded from a hired cart and stored away, and given the chance that Wash might be able to show off his large, semi-muscular body to the stoic warrior woman, he set the helm on auto alert and bounded down the stairs to give a hand. Zoe had seemed to yet to take a liking to him, even though he shaved off his mustache for her, and Wash constantly found himself trying everything he could think of just to get her to smile. He stood at the foot of the steps and took a deep breath.

            “Don’t worry folks, I am here at last to assist you in a helpful and masculine manner!” he cried jovially, hands spread wide. Mal glanced up at him and smirked, a snort leaving his lips, then focused back down to the matter at hand. Zoe didn’t even glance up, which is why Wash was totally unprepared for the pair of leather work gloves that hit him square in the face.

            “Put them on, masculine man,” she spoke neutrally, checking off crates on a checklist, “don’t want them vulnerable Pilot hands of yours to blister.”

            “Oh, Zoe, you wound me,” he replied with a hand over his heart, trying to inject some humor into the situation. When she said nothing in return, he begrudgingly slipped the work gloves on and fell into place besides Mal. “Well that didn’t go well,” he mused to himself. “Way to look tough in front of the object of your desire.”  He sighed. “Zoe 1, Wash zero.”

            The three fell into a companionable silence while they worked, which left Wash feeling slightly on edge. His attempts at light-hearted conversation to make the time pass were met only with grunts and shrugs, from both sides, and so, frowning, he also lapsed into quiet.  The cadence of the pick up, put down, pick up, put down, was starting to lull him to sleep, so to combat the feeling he began humming a little tune in time to the rhythm. When that got a glare from Zoe, he swallowed, and continued singing in his head, adding words as he went.

            “My lady love…my lady fair…sure has got a nice derriere…OHHHH I’ll melt her heart…I’ll make her smile…if only I can kiss her lips a-while….OHHHH…”

            Wash was completely caught up in his lyrical musings, getting ready to move into his third chorus, when Zoe held up a hand for silence. Wash only half-heartedly paid attention, figuring he had accidentally sung out loud again, and turned his back on the open cargo bay door to put down another crate in their orderly pile. He moved his hand off the box, and suddenly a hole appeared right where his hand had been. Wash stared at the hole for a moment, not comprehending, when a strong hand grabbed the back of his flight suit and shoved him roughly to the ground. Protesting, he looked up to see Zoe standing over him, her eyes searching the ever-darkening world outside. Mal was doing the same, motioning for Zoe and Wash to dash to safety.

            A bullet hole, Wash’s mind suddenly comprehended; that’s what had appeared in the crate. Wash was stunned; he hadn’t even heard the shot. Without time to ponder such thoughts further, Wash yelped as he was grabbed again, this time by his shirt collar, yanked forcefully to his feet, and pushed unceremoniously out of the way. Wash managed a glance out the cargo bay door as he flew past, and saw five men creeping out of the dusk, guns drawn and blazing.

            Mal looked across the open cargo bay to his first mate and his pilot. Wash stood behind Zoe, confusion and worry clear in his bright blue eyes. Zoe looked hard across at her Captain, indicating slightly with her head at the fair-haired man behind her, an unspoken question in an arched brow. Mal nodded, and Zoe turned quickly to Wash.

            Wash was surprised, to say the least, when Zoe spun around, and shoved another gun into his hands. “Here,” she said, gruffly, “you might need this. I’m going to try and take some of those men out; I need you to cover me.”

            Wash fumbled with the weapon, his eyes going wide. “Cover you? While I am always at the ready with a quick get away, Ms. First Mate sir--“ he started, but shut up quickly when Zoe’s hand clamped across his mouth. She leaned in close. “No. Time.” she hissed, eyes boring into his. Wash felt an uncontrollable shiver at the feel of her breath on his face, and he unconsciously breathed in her scent. Feeling heady at the smell of her, he barely noticed when she turned away, gun cocked and at the ready. “Today may be my day to die,” he thought, “but what a way to go!”

            Wash saw Mal’s eyes count down from five, and when Zoe jumped out into the open, both he and Wash opened fire towards the outdoors, providing cover. Zoe strafed back and forth, and judging by the yelps issued out of sight, Wash figured she had taken down three of the men already. Wash continued firing blindly into the night, and turned when Mal emitted a triumphant yell as one of his bullets found their mark. One left, Wash thought, and listened for returning fire. Hearing nothing, he turned back to Zoe, who was crouched out in the open, quickly reloading her gun, eyes darting back and forth into the darkness.

            Wash tempted a brief look out the door himself, and what he saw froze his heart. The last lone gunman was approaching Zoe from behind, crouched under the door ramp, and looked ready to strike. As he was taking aim, Wash realized with horror that, from her high vantage point and Mal’s skewed angle, neither of them could see the danger before them.

            Without even thinking, Wash leapt out of hiding with a roar, jumping down to the planet surface next to the ramp, startling not only the would-be assassin but Zoe as well. He heard her call out his name; was that fear in her voice? He didn’t have time to dwell on this thought as his fist, as if it belonged to someone else, connected solidly with the jaw of the man before him, who staggered but did not fall.

            Wash instantly cried out at the pain in his knuckles, waving his hand about. A little niggling thought about never hitting someone with a closed hand sprung to mind, but he was too busy jumping up and down at the pain of what he surely thought must be broken fingers to pay much attention. Hearing a whistling noise, Wash looked up just in time to see the butt of the other man’s rifle loom into his vision before it crashed down upon his head. Wash's vision instantly went black and he tumbled gracelessly to the ground. As he fell into unconsciousness, he heard muffled yells, a voice calling his name, and a shot.

            “Damn; I never got to sing Zoe my song,” was his last thought as darkness claimed him.

            The grip of Serenity’s yoke in his hands was smooth and strong, a constant in this universe of infinite changes and unknowns. He could sense that his eyes were closed, but it didn’t matter; he didn’t need sight out in the Black. As he moved to grasp the yoke harder, he was startled to find that he no longer sat in his Pilot’s chair, but lay in a comfortable bed, and he gripped not the helm controls but strong, soft shoulders. Smoothing hands over impossibly supple skin, he tried to open his eyes to see whom it was he touched, but couldn’t. Lips were nipping at his throat, hands rubbing his chest, and he sighed in contentment. Squeezing the shoulders again, the foreign skin felt cold, rough, immobile under his fingers. Repulsed without knowing why, he used all his strength to pry his lids apart, and was stricken to see Zoe’s lifeless body in his arms, as he crouched near Serenity.

            “Pilot,” he heard her say, but her lips did not move. Tears unabashedly welled up in his gaze, as if he could will her back to life. He thrust his face into the crook of her neck, sobbing, wanting to bask in that wonderful scent of her that he had smelled once before, long ago. “No! No, no no Zoe,” he mumbled into her hair as he rocked her in his arms.

            “Pilot,” she called again, her voice everywhere and nowhere, surrounding him with its futility, because she was gone! She was gone…

            “Wash!” The sound of his name on her lips wrenched a great cry from his own, and he looked up into the cloudy sky and blinked at his tears...

            He blinked.

            There was no sky, only the ceiling of the infirmary, the harsh fluorescents stinging his eyes, and the face of an angel gazing worriedly down at him. He took stock of himself, head throbbing, mouth dry, hand achy, tears running down his cheeks. “Zoe…” he breathed, incredulous. “You’re alive.”

            If possible, the first mate’s face grew even sterner, her frown deepening, and she moved back. “Yes, I am,” she said, not a little angrily, “but you and your big damn hero reaction almost got yourself killed. I can take care of myself,” she finished, and brushed a hand across his brow almost imperceptibly. He closed his eyes at the thrill of it, even as awful as he felt, but Zoe thought he was fading again, and lightly tapped his cheek.   “Hey,” she said, softer this time, “don’t go anywhere now. You need to stay awake for a little while.” She pulled away, walking over to a med kit. Wash tried to shake himself more awake, embarrassed at his tears, and wiped them away quickly. “Maybe she likes the sensitive type,” he thought, ruefully. He hoped he hadn’t cried her name out loud; he shuddered to think of the limp weight of her dead body as he had cradled it in his arms.

            Zoe, mistaking his shudder for cold, placed a blanket over him. She lightly grasped his injured hand in hers, and he forced himself to look down as she said, “Not bad; I’ve seen worse. Might be needing a few days’ rest, is all.” He flexed his fingers gently, testing their pain. She was right; it wasn’t as bad as he had thought earlier.

            Without warning, she grabbed his chin in her calloused hand and roughly turned his face towards hers. “That was some stupid, idiotic thing you did, Pilot,” she said forcefully, her voice full of anger.

            Wash raised his eyebrows in protest, replying, “That may be, honeybuns, but I figure a knock on the noggin is much better than a Zoe full of holes. Less messy.” He grinned, trying to get her to ease up, but she gripped his chin harder. Emotion flitted across her eyes for a brief moment, and then the wall of fury was back up.

            “I don’t cotton much to people squandering away their lives on my account, Pilot. If you insist on dragging your sorry ass into scrapes now and then for no reason, you need to learn how to fight.” She set her mouth in a firm line and stepped away again, this time making to leave the room. Wash stared at her back, straight and proud, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. He called out to her, jokingly, “Are you going to enroll me in some judo classes, then? Where do you propose I learn?”

            The warrior paused, glancing back over her shoulder. She seemed to want to speak, but then turned again abruptly and walked out the door.

            Wash leaned back against the medical bed, tired and achy, the day's events catching up to him. He wiped a hand across his face again, frowning. “I don’t need to know how to fight,” he mused to himself. “I flee, with style. Fleeing stylishly is my specialty.” As he drifted into a healing sleep, he heard his nagging inner voice murmur, “You should at least learn how to punch a guy if you’re going to stick it out with this crowd.” Frowning slightly, he fell into slumber.

            The next week or so was spent with too much sitting in the infirmary or his room, and not enough flying, walking, stretching, working, or any of the other activities that didn’t bore him to tears. Wash especially didn’t enjoy sleeping so much; the nightmare he’d had when he was unconscious would return, not as severe as before, but the dream always left him bursting out of sleep, breathless, tears on his cheeks, with the memory of it fading fast like sand through his fingers.

            It seemed Mal didn’t appreciate his genius Pilot sitting around much, either, especially since they were only a few days out of Verdun and he wanted to get them far from the planet, fast. Mal and Wash sat in the kitchen once or twice, playing cards with Bester until Wash became too weary. Mal was slightly concerned about his Pilot, as dark circles appeared under his eyes as the days went on, but Wash waved him off, saying it was only this sitting around business that was boring him to death. Mal seemed to ease off at that, and looked forward to when he could relinquish the helm again.

            Zoe had had Wash come down to the infirmary twice during the week to check him for signs of concussion and to change the bandages on his hand and head.  If she remembered how tenderly and emotionally she had cared for him before, she gave no indication of it. Zoe was now cold and clinical in her administrations, barely speaking, and, despite his attempts at lightening the mood with half-hearted humor and witticisms, Wash found himself frowning at her reaction. “Why does she close up to me?” he asked himself. “What’s changed?”

            Wash only got the briefest of glimpses into her feelings during these times, only when she repeatedly asked him if he had been getting enough sleep. Her voice would waver the slightest bit and, not wanting her to worry, he quickly launched into energetic tirades of protest that belied how exhausted he truly felt. He knew intuitively that she wanted to know what he was dreaming about, since he was certain that his cries didn’t escape her sharp hearing in the night, but he wasn’t yet ready to face the images during the day. Somehow, he always managed to make her accept this, and he was left again to sleepless, sorrow-filled nights.

            She declared him fit for duty five days after he was injured, and he practically whooped with joy as he leapt down from the examination table. “On one condition!” she barked at his retreating form, halting him as he was about to run up to the cockpit. He stood without turning, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, please mother, can’t I go play now?” he whined, jokingly.

            Zoe simply placed a hand on her hip. “Tomorrow, you are going to begin sparring practice with me. Mal and I can’t be looking out for you all the time, so I’ll teach you some basics of hand-to-hand combat.”

            Wash’s jaw dropped, and he turned around to face her. She stood stock still, her countenance leaving no room for argument. Wash’s mouth flopped like a fish out of water, and he finally said with a gulp and a grin, “I was never any good at gym.”

            Zoe sighed, and shouldered her way past him out the door. “Nine hundred hours. Cargo bay. Get some rest,” she called over her shoulder, and climbed the stairs to the bunk level. Wash stood in the infirmary, drawing a hand over his eyes. “What have I gotten myself into,” he sighed to himself, and prepared for another restless night.

            Wash stumbled into the cargo bay at exactly 9 AM the next morning, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. The dream had returned full force in the night, only now even the previous small comfort of the stranger’s smooth shoulders and the familiar yoke of the ship were lost to the images of Zoe’s lifeless body, limp in his arms, as he wept into her neck.

            Wash shook his head to clear the unbidden visions from his mind, and then looked up, where he promptly fell down the last two steps into the cargo bay. Zoe looked up from where she was sitting, sharpening a knife, at the sound of his feet clanging down the steps, and gave a ghost of a smirk at the sight of him hanging onto the railing to keep from tumbling to the ground.

            Wash’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was wearing only a tank top shirt in a deep red color, and her leather pants were unencumbered by the holsters she so often wore. Her hair was drawn back in a severe ponytail, and in sitting with her arms resting on her knees, he could see the definition in her shoulders, the curve of her collarbone, a slight shadowing near her chest as he got a good look down her shirt…

            “Ai ya, you idiot, don’t even think about it!” He thought to himself, clamping his eyes shut. “Don’t let yourself get killed before the fight has even started!” He mentally slapped himself, and strode over to where the warrior sat.

            Zoe finished sharpening the blade, laid the whetstone aside and, without warning, stood and placed the tip at Wash’s throat. He froze, lifting his hands, laughing weakly, “Hey, hey now! Let’s not be hasty here, sweetums. How am I supposed to learn if I’m already dead?”

            Zoe did not move for a long moment, gaze steady on his face, then removed the knife and set it to the side. “First lesson, Pilot,” she said, moving in a circle behind him, “never let down your guard.”

            Wash, unnerved by her circling, turned to meet her, engaging them both in a sort of deadly dance. “Huh,” he snorted, “that’s certainly one lesson you’ve got down pat.” He barely had time to react as she dropped to her knees, whipping her leg around and sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell hard to the ground, seeing stars. With a groan, he looked up into the face of the woman he now knew he loved, the woman who did not love him back, the woman who did not love anyone. Her eyes were blazing with rage at his words, but the rest of her face was passive. Grumbling slightly, Wash rose to his feet. “Well, that’s one way to get some emotion out of her,” he thought wryly to himself, “just annoy her until she beats the crap out of you.” Wash gave Zoe a little mock bow, and said “Touché, my dear. Maybe you can teach me something like that, instead of wiping the floor with me?” Zoe frowned, and both crew members settled in to see what Wash could do.

            They circled and exchanged blows for the next half hour. Wash became increasingly more and more annoyed to find himself flat on his back much of the time, unlike Zoe, who was standing off to the side, picking her nails absently. He was able to get in a slap to the face or slight punch to the gut here and there, but he felt that she was letting him get those hits in. Frustrated by how the fight was going, he decided to try and get Zoe to open up.

            As he made a weak jab at her shoulder, only to have her use his own momentum against him and shove him past her, he asked, “So, Zoe, Ms. Alleyne. I gather you don’t laugh much, do you?”

            Blocking another jab, and lightly punching him in the shoulder, she replied, “Takes too much time to laugh. Leaves you vulnerable to action around you, leaves your defenses down.” She aimed a swift kick at his head, but he managed to deftly step aside.

            Breathing heavily, Wash feinted left and tried his own kick, at her stomach, which connected with a slight ‘oof’ sound from Zoe. “Oh, I don’t know,” he countered, “I find that when I’m laughing, it’s usually because I’m with people I enjoy, and I don’t need to worry about keeping my defenses up!” The last word was grunted, as in turning around he had left his back open, and she had kneed him in the behind. Rubbing the hurt, he turned to face her again.

            Zoe’s face was gleaming with sweat, one slow trickle making its way down her neck and disappearing into her shirt. Wash was so caught up admiring her beauty that she easily grabbed him in a headlock. Words breathy as she struggled with him, she answered, “That’s why you’re the one getting fightin’ lessons, not me.” She let him go, spinning, with a hard shove, and brought her hands up in a classic boxer’s stance.

            Wash could feel himself tiring, the week’s lack of sleep catching up with him, but he couldn’t stop now, not when she was actually speaking to him. All right, chastising him, really, but he’d take what he could get. “You know, you should try it; you might like it, laughing and smiling and caring about other people--“

            “I DO care about other people!” she interrupted him harshly, and punched him hard, near the brow. Wash staggered back, lifting a hand to his face that came away bloody. Wash’s eyes widened in surprise, then furrowed in anger. “Okay, this is getting a little much,” he thought to himself.

            Wash made a quick move and kicked Zoe in the shins, and it was so unexpected that she fell to her knees. “You really care about people, huh Zoe?” Wash taunted, circling her as she had done to him earlier. “Has it ever occurred to you that other people care about you? That your lack of emotion doesn’t cause others to turn away?” He was getting angry now, and could feel himself hyperventilating, but the floodgates had opened, the pent up fear and sorrow of his dreams spilling out into his waking hours. He angrily wiped away a tear that managed to slip past his defenses. “Has it entered your mind that people care about you so much; that the absolute worst thing that they can think of is to see you in danger? Or in pain?” He moved forward to jab at Zoe’s shoulder, and she stood, whirling, to grab his biceps in a vise-like grip. He grabbed hers in turn, and suddenly they were face to face, lungs heaving, bodies trembling. Wash was unprepared for what he saw in her eyes.

            She knew there were unshed tears brimming in her gaze, but she would not let them fall. Staring back into the Pilot’s--no, Wash’s--blue eyes, she understood why he had been having the same nightmare, over and over, that made her heart ache to hear him cry out in his sleep. His words entered her mind, clearing the fog of battle and stress. The nightmares were about her?

            Wash was dumbstruck at the look of sadness and fear that Zoe was showing him so blindly in her eyes. He saw the reaction as his words hit home, but was not prepared for her low response. “How do you think I feel, knowing you risked your life to save mine, without thinking about your own safety? How do you think I felt when I saw that man raising his gun to your head?” A single tear escaped her eyes, and Wash understood. And like a man possessed, he kissed her.

            Ai ya, and he was kissing her and kissing her, and she tasted so good, and his eyes were closed and he felt the soft, impossibly smooth skin of her shoulders underneath his touch that he knew would not turn into the lifeless woman from his dream. And she was kissing him back, her hands running through his hair and splayed out across the breadth of his back, and he was lost in the feel of her.

            They broke apart, chests heaving, still maintaining contact. The tears in her eyes were gone, as if they had never been, and she reached up to wipe an errant drop from his face. He stared at her, amazed, as if he had imagined the last few minutes. Her eyes shifted slightly, suddenly, and he only had time to wonder as she made a quick movement, turning, and used his arm to flip him over her shoulder and onto his back. She jumped down to her knees, straddling his chest, whipped out a gun from her calf-holster, and held it unwavering to his temple. He looked up all the way up the length of her body, glistening with sweat, her heavy breathing and bright, white smile. She was smiling? He sucked in a breath.

            “You’re dead,” she said, with laughter in her voice. Wash laughed right back, unbelievably pleased at her playfulness. “Then I may die, sweet lady,” he whispered, grinning, and after a long, lingering look up her body once more, stated, “but what a way to go!”

            Smirking, she removed the gun from his head and rose gracefully, like a proud swan from the floor. She backed up a few steps, grabbing her knife on the way, and turned and began to walk up the stairs.

            Wash flipped over onto his stomach, still catching his breath, hungrily watching the sway of her hips as she mounted the steps. He had lost himself in thought until he realized she had stopped, gazing back at him playfully. “Well? Are you coming?” she asked with a twitch of her lips, and turned and walked out of sight.

            Wash blew out a deep breath, and laid his damp forehead on the cool cargo bay floor. In truth, his head ached madly, he was utterly exhausted, and did not know if he had the strength to stand. But images of Zoe’s cocoa skin beneath his fingers and her tresses in his palm spurred him to action. He stumbled wearily but smiling towards the stairs and to their bunks, wiping a hand across his brow. “Zhu a, what a way to go indeed!”  

Date: 2007-03-19 20:40 Subject: One story down! Security: Public

I can't believe it, my muse finally gave me a swift kick in the pants and I banged out a long one today. Not sure if I'm totally happy with it, and I hope my next once is shorter to allow for more conversation, but hooray nonetheless!

Date: 2007-03-11 22:45 Subject: Oy vay Security: Public

So here I've started this thing. I don't have much to say at the present, just wanted to get started. Hopefully some good fanfictions and inspirations will come out of this endeavor. If anyone wants to throw ideas my way, I'll write in the fandoms of Firefly, NCIS, CSI: Las Vegas, Farscape, Star Trek: Voyager, Lord of the Rings with a focus on Pippin, and many other movies, so feel free to pass them along :)