Title: Sticking Point (9/9)

~Day 9~

Sleep hadn't come easy, and when it had finally gotten around to him, his dreams had been fretful, full of nagging worry. Better than bewildered baby-faced recruits staring down at their own guts cradled in their hands. But still, not restful. The particulars fled from his mind as he awoke, sitting bolt upright, concerned he'd slept through the alarm he'd set for five o'clock. He hadn't, was 15 minutes short of that, but he decided to forgo that last quarter hour, and got up, making his bed with a careless toss of his blankets. He dressed quick, then clambered out of his bunk, wondering if he still had a pilot. Notion came to him that if Wash had walked during the night, heading for Golden Dawn's 05:23 lift-off, that he'd shoot Bester. 'Cuz without Wash, there was really no point for Bester to stay living. And it would alleviate a lot of pent up aggravation on his own part.

He hadn't done anything special in last night's lock-down of Serenity, although he had the captain's codes and could have changed the password on the external hatches. Figured it showed a level of trust to just leave things be, and 'sides, Wash could probably hack his way around any changes Mal made to the locks were he to put his mind to it. So if Wash were still on board, it would only be because he'd chosen to stick it out.

Mal came up the steps and through the outer then inner hatch onto the unlit bridge, making his boots hit the deck with their usual weight and speed. Not hiding he was on the way up, hopin' there was someone there he wasn't hiding from. Eyes went right away to Wash's chair.

The sky outside the windows had faded from deepest black to a dark blue-gray, clouds having closed in to shroud the stars. His breath left him in a long, silent gust at the sight of his pilot's head and shoulders silhouetted against that gray sky. Chin up, face turned slightly to the left, so Mal could catch a bit of his profile. He stepped up closer, but not too close, going to the co-pilot's chair, resting his hands on its back. Wash didn't move until Mal quietly said, "Hey."

His head turned slightly, the eye Mal could see shifting toward him, glinting faintly in the pre-dawn light. After a moment, Wash gave him a tiny nod, then directed his gaze back out the window.

Watching, Mal realized. Eyes fixed in the direction of Wyoming's spaceport, watching and waiting for the sight of Golden Dawn's departure. His own eyes went to the Cortex screen, to the tiny, insistently blinking in-coming signal. One of Wash's hands rested on Serenity's yoke. The other was on the console, awfully close to the comm system's acknowledge message key.

After a long moment – a very long moment – Mal made himself say, voice tight and a little strange sounding to his own ears, "Reckon he'd swing by, pick ya up, were you to wave him."

Wash was silent a good full minute before he replied. "Reckon so."

Mal mulled over what he read from Wash's tone, what its artificial lightness revealed, what it concealed. Responding to the fear Wash couldn't let him hear, he said slowly, nodding at the Cortex controls, "Won't prevent ya."

Wash let out a long, shuddering breath, then spent some time breathing in and out before saying, "Appreciate that."

And Mal heard a hint of Wash's dry humor in his reply. But that didn't keep him from also hearing that, yes, he did appreciate it. Which confirmed in Mal's mind that Wash had been in spots where he would have been prevented from sending that wave. Also saw Wash's fingertips creep a centimeter closer to that Cortex key.

Mal glanced at the clock on the co-pilot's console, noting it read 05:04. He swung the the chair about, settling into it, putting it at an angle so he could easily turn his head to look where Wash was looking while still keeping his main focus on his pilot.

His puzzle of a pilot. Didn't know, honestly, why the guy was still sitting in that chair.

Could be he was balancing the satisfaction of being the sole, chief pilot of a boat, even one scrabbling after every coin, against that of being only a co-pilot on another, however profit-rich. Could see that, as while the guy liked being paid, he seemed to like having control of the helm – from its physical configuration to exactly how they got to where Mal decided they were going – even better. So, could be.

Knew Renshaw ran closer to the lawful side of things. Had its benefits. Besides payment coming at you in a more regular fashion, folks shot at you less. Mal couldn't argue that that wouldn't appeal to any sensible person. Now, it was true that there was plenty about Wash that Mal could not call sensible. But the guy had never shown any inclination toward liking a fight just for the sake of fighting. In fact, Mal had some real doubts about counting on Wash in any serious combat situation. Didn't even know if the guy had ever set his hand on a gun before. Had seen him in one bar-room brawl, and he'd done all right, although he'd added more humor than mayhem to the event. That was all moot, however, as Mal had hired him to steer his boat, not guard his back. And he wasn't gonna put Wash – hell, wasn't going to put himself – in a situation where he was counting on Wash's fire-power. He was sure that Wash knew that. He also had to admit that the back-guarding issue was lots less likely to come up on Renshaw's boat than his. Figured Wash was smart enough to pick up on that, and that that wouldn't be a plus on the-stick-with-Serenity side of the equation.

He could see Wash a little clearer now, and he glanced out the window. Clouds getting paler, picking up the electric blue of Heinlein's shine as it crept toward the horizon. Looking back, he noticed that Wash had never gotten around to pulling his flightsuit all the way on. Wondered that he wasn't chilled, bare armed, just a tank covering his chest. Wondered if the guy had shifted at all during the night. Wondered again, why he was still sitting there.

One positive Mal did have that Renshaw didn't was Zoe. And Mal saw pretty clear that Wash had an interest in her. Lots of folks, not surprisingly, did. But she gave him absolutely no encouragement. And besides, he was a pilot. Any day now, she'd be off his scanners and a whole new lust-object would be on them. Like Sullivan. Was true Wash had walked – well, stumbled – away from Sullivan and her partner his first night in town. But Mal knew he'd have gone along with her the second evening, had Mal been willing to risk letting him go. Any other port of call, those events would have worked out different, no doubt with Wash in those women's bed. Or at least in someone's bed at some point. No reason why Wyoming would be any different from all the other worlds Serenity lit down on.

And all the reasons Wash might have to stay or go, all those normal, day-to-day reasons, were pretty much all up in the air now. 'Cuz Mal saw clearly that "reasonable" could not be used to describe Wash's current state of mind. And that Renshaw, or rather, Renshaw's fully functional boat was exerting a powerful draw on the man. So, why hadn't he picked up his gear and walked? Mal had seen the duffel of packed dinosaurs. Reckoned the rest of his stuff was just as ready to go.

Oh five twenty-three rolled up on the clock and the Cortex system chimed, signaling a new incoming message. Mal heard Wash's breath hitch, but he said nothing, not moving a muscle. Thirty seconds went by and it chimed again.

"Gonna answer?"

Wash jumped a little, then after a moment asked, "Is that an order, Captain?"

"It's your call, Wash." And he meant that in every meaning of that phrase.

Wash pulled his eyes from the flashing red wave-waiting signal to study Mal's face, clearly turning his last sentence over in his mind. Then he took a quick breath, finger twitching just that little bit to hit the acknowledge key. Leaning forward to put himself in visual pickup, he said, "This is Serenity. Washburne speaking."

The screen came on, flashing up under Wash's chin. Wasn't flattering, its greenish light making the guy look even stranger and crazier than Mal thought he was. He hoped. From where he sat, Mal could not see whoever was on the other end. But he could hear just fine.

"Washburne, hey!" Renshaw came on immediately, his hearty voice thinned a bit by Serenity's tinny speaker. And Mal could tell he was wearing his most charming smile. "Glad to finally hear back from you. Was startin' to worry. Everything okay where you are?" The man's volume dipped, concern coloring his tone. "You free to talk?"

"Yeah, sorry, I'm good, fine, we all are," Wash replied, talking just a bit too fast, the hand he still had on Serenity's yoke flexing, squeezing. "Just, y' know, busy with, with the maintenance... stuff."

A new noise came through the speaker, getting gradually louder in the background as Renshaw said, "Yeah, some ships been pretty hard-used. Spend more time stuck in the dirt than out in the Black, just tryin' to keep all the parts together."

Wash had been distracted by that noise, the whine of jet engines firing up, and he sat there slack-jawed for a moment before saying absently, "Yeah. Stuck."

"Could swing by, y' know. Pick ya up. That berth's still open."

Wash's attention snapped into an intent alertness, focused on whatever he was picking up from the man on his screen. Mal felt his stomach clench, 'cuz what he saw on Wash's face was awful like what he thought he might see on a condemned man's face when offered a pardon.

"I..." Wash trailed off as the sound of the engine pods intensified, the sound of turbines really beginning to bite into air. A burst of strained laughter skittered out of his mouth, high, nervy. He managed to choke it back to say, pitch just a little slippery, "I... N-no. No, thanks, no. I... I just, just got the thrust controls on the primary yoke shaft exactly the way I like 'em."

"You sure?" Renshaw prodded.

Mal watched Wash's grip on the yoke tighten, knuckles going white, as he replied, "Yeah. I-" Then his voice cut out on him and he could only nod, mouth working soundlessly.

"Well, then, you take care, Washburne," Renshaw said with a geniality that couldn't quite cover the anger beneath it. After a tiny pause, he went on with a false solicitude, "Hey, tell ya what. I'll check back in with ya in a couple weeks, see how you're doin' with that maintenance." He chuckled knowingly, then said, "Renshaw, out."

The screen went dark, the sound of Renshaw's voice and the Golden Dawn's engines cutting off.

Wash slumped back in his seat, his eyes lifting from his console to look out the window, to Wyoming's spaceport. Mal followed his gaze, and sure enough, within moments a tiny dark shape rose above the horizon, backlit by haze as the rising primary lit up the cloud cover. It seemed to hover a moment, then started to swell in size, and Mal realized that it was coming toward them. An involuntary noise escaped him, protesting the cruelty of it, as the Gongnui swooped over them, jibing in a sudden upward angle just in front of Serenity's nose.

Wash rose from his seat, leaning forward, hands on the console, twisting his neck to follow the climbing ship, and Mal didn't think he knew he'd done so. Also thought he didn't know his thumb had come to rest so very close to the outgoing message key. Wondered if Wash was going to break, to swallow his pride, wave Renshaw, beg him to come back and get him. Eyes locked on the Golden Dawn, Wash's breath came quick and shallow through parted lips. Throat taut, exposed, Mal could easily see the pulse point under his jaw, fluttering hard and fast.

Was probably a kindness, those clouds, Golden Dawn disappearing into them, red and green running lights smearing as she pierced their enveloping cover. Wash stared upward long after she'd vanished from view, and Mal knew he was pursuing her in his brain, astrogation's clean math fusing with his gut sense of how a ship ran.

Didn't know how long Wash would have stood there, mind gone from a body braced in frozen immobility. But with his response to Renshaw, Wash had placed himself into Mal's hands. Trusting him, as best as Wash could trust, to see Serenity out of her current fix and back into the Black. Honestly had no idea why Wash would do such a thing, but there it was. So Mal had to bring him back to the here and now, get him, get all of them, back to work.

He stood, moving toward Wash as he would have done with a spooked horse back on Shadow. And once he got close to him, he really couldn't help but notice the smell coming off the man. He'd run hot and hard the day before, and stress layered its own sharp tang over the sweat of exertion. Could be a chore, keepin' clean on a Rim-running ship, given how tight her water needed to be rationed. Showers short and on strict rotation. Laundry done only in ports with utility hook-ups. Easier than when hunkered in some front-line trench, yeah, but keeping your own personal aroma down to a minimum still took some effort. But Wash had always managed before now.

Was just about to suggest the man go on take a shower, out of rotation as it may be, a long one, thinking that that physical pleasure might offer him some simple relief, when Wash asked abruptly, "Bester working?"

And Mal had to say, "Don't think he's back yet, Wash."

Wash's lips compressed into a thin line as his jaw muscles bunched, holding his mouth closed tight. Avoiding his eyes, he gave Mal a stiff nod. Then, in a sudden burst of frantic motion, he swung around him to clatter down the gangway into the sensor station in Serenity's nose.

Clenching his fists, Mal muttered, "Tianxia suoyoude ren dou gaisi." The guy was clearly looking for some room. But Mal really wished he'd headed for his own bunk, rather than for their sensor suite and its easily damaged equipment. After a few moments, Mal decided the only thing he could do was trust him, trust that even as tightly wound as he was he wouldn't do anything to harm his ship. Or himself.

He spun around, heading toward the galley. He caught scent of coffee half way down the corridor and picked up his pace. Zoe had the percolator burbling away and something frying in a pan. Tan protein, he saw when he came up beside her at the shove, scrambled with a can of peppers and onions. It smelled good, Zoe doing her bit to try to keep up morale.

"Bester back?" he asked.

Breaking up a clump of protein with the side of her spoon, Zoe shook her head no, then asked, "Wash?"

"Still here. A little out of sorts."

She tilted her chin up, lifting her eyes to the galley windows above. "Saw the Gongnui go by. Renshaw ditched him, shi?"

"More like Wash turned him down."

They stood in silence for a moment, Zoe's spoon rapping the bottom of the pan every now and then as she stirred. She kept her eyes on her task, but he could tell she was thinking things over by the tightness at the corners of her mouth.

She asked, "Should I keep an eye on him?"

"Prob'ly not a bad idea. But-"He broke off, leery of telling her how to interact with a man who she had no use for, but who he didn't want further agitated.

She shot him a sideways glance. "I'll walk soft."

He left her to finish up her cooking, going down to the cargo bay to unlock the front hatch. Took the time to step out, look around, to see if maybe Bester had made it back the night before, and too drunk to remember the key code, was maybe now sleeping it off in Mr. Song's field. But sadly, no. The field was Bester free.

He came back up, had a very quiet breakfast with Zoe, just the two of them. He did their dishes, while she went forward to check on Wash. As she didn't come straight back reporting carnage, he assumed the best. Made sure both the remaining protein and coffee were set to stay warm, in case Wash decided he was hungry anytime soon. Bester could go hang as far as Mal was concerned.

He did want his mechanic back, however, and sooner rather than later, and he couldn't keep himself from lurking in the cargo bay, going to the front hatch on a regular basis to peer toward town, looking to see the man trudging home. After an hour of this, though, he was pretty much done with this waiting nonsense. Decided he'd go into town and hunt Bester down. He'd take the mule, trailer attached, just in case he found the guy drunk or hungover. Wasn't gonna let him sit behind him, maybe heave all down his back.

After hooking the up the trailer, he checked the fuel. A little low, so he filled it. Mule ready, he went topside to fill Zoe in on his plan. Was climbing up the last flight of stairs to the landing that led to the forward corridor, when he noticed something a little odd about the ambient light. Squinting up, he noticed the exterior access hatch to Serenity's upper surface was open. Not only that, but a pair of feet dangled down from it, Zoe's by the boots.

He trotted quickly up the last few steps, putting his hand on a ladder rung as he peered upward through the open hatch, blinking at the blue glare spilling into his eyes.

"Zo'?"

She leaned forward, looking down between her knees at him, seated as she was on the edge of the hatch. Couldn't see her face, backlit as she was by bright sky.

"Sir?"

"What the sphincters of hell..?"

"Keepin' an eye out," she informed him.

She scooted over to one side as he clambered up the ladder, coming all the way up onto the narrow workspace around the hatch, turning before he crouched down next to her so he could follow her gaze. Forward, up the long, thirteen meter slope of Serenity's neck to where it peaked above the bridge. To where Wash stood on the very highest point of the hull, a number of access panels flipped open around his feet. If he'd noticed Mal's arrival, he gave no sign of it. He'd yet to pull on the top of his flightsuit, a fresh breeze rippling its loose fabric, tugging at his wild spiked hair.

"What's he doin'?" As he watched, Wash squatted, reaching in an open panel, then straightened up, pulling free a cylindrical object, about as thick as his wrist and as long as his arm. He held it before his face, twirling it between his hands, before setting it down by his feet, alongside three or four identical cylinders. Suddenly alarmed, Mal bolted up so quick that Zoe darted out a steadying hand, setting it on his calf, as he demanded, "Is he pullin' pieces off my ship?"

"Looks to me like he's checkin' over the antenna array, maybe the frequency generators."

"Huh." He began to sit down beside her, but then noticed something that almost had him jumping right back up. He fiercely curbed the impulse, remaining in a crouch, not wanting to make any other sudden moves that might startle his pilot. Voice low, he ground out, "Why ain't he on a safety rig?"

Her tone was easy enough when she answered, but he could tell by the set of her brows that she wasn't all that comfortable with the situation herself. She might not like the guy, but she wasn't gonna wanna see him splat himself in the dirt some 15 meters below. That was a killing fall. "Was wandering around loose up here when I found him. Called for him to come put on a harness and line, but he waved me off."

"Wha..? Waved you off? He disobeyed?" Mal sputtered. Then he turned to stare at her in astonishment. "You let that happen?"

"Wasn't gonna go chasin' after him, strap him up and hitch him to the boat," she said with a little shrug. "Mighta kicked up a fuss. Mighta slipped and fell." She squinted at him sideways. "'Sides which, sir, that whole metaphor is kinda fraught and overheated."

"Shen me?"

She simply gusted an exasperated sigh, turning her gaze back to Wash, crossing her arms under her breasts, her shoulders up and tight. Was surprised by the amount of upset she was showing. Then, as a chilly gust pressed his damp shirt against his sweaty back, Mal realized it might not be tension, but rather cold that had her looking stiff. The clouds had burned off, but the morning air had yet to warm up, and way up here she had no cover, and moving around vigorously enough to generate heat would be foolish. Even in a safety rig.

"Entire gorram crew's lost its mind," Mal muttered. "Includin' me." He sat down next to her, letting his lower legs dangle through the hatch. "Go fetch your coat. I'll keep an eye on him 'til you get back."

She gave a little grunt of acknowledgement, then swung down the ladder to the landing below, heading for her bunk.

The next five minutes were a bit of a torment, Wash pacing freely up and down Serenity's sloping hull, hopping back and forth over the open hatches and the stack of cylinders he had stacked, even peering up at some doohickey he held over his head, feet wandering aimlessly as he tried to get the best light on it.

Mal started a bit when Zoe poked her head up through the hatch, saying, "Bester's back."

"Glory hallelujah," Mal drawled sardonically.

Coming the rest of the way up the ladder, she continued, "Caught him comin' outta the galley head just as I came down the hatch. Gabbled a bit, then said he was lookin' at another day's worth of work, at least that much more delay. Then he took off real quick for the engine room." She turned to sit again on the edge of the hatch, tucking her coat tails beneath her, between the chilly metal and her butt.

"Delay? Delay? I'm up to my neck and past it in delay!" Was sharp enough that, twelve meters away, Wash lifted his head, squinting at him. Mal bent his mouth in a fake smile, lifting a hand. Wash waved back, then ducked back down to the array he'd just hauled up out of its shell. Mal decided enough was enough.

"Wash," he called, casual as he could. The man looked back up at him, blinking rapidly. Having his attention, Mal went on, speaking slow, loud, and clear, "You go on, put all that stuff back now. Appreciate the initiative, but let's hold off on diggin' too deep into all that hoo-ha until we're in a proper spaceport, huh?"

The guy stood there staring at him for a moment, Mal wondering whether he was gonna defy him. Wondering if he was even really hearing him. Wondering what, exactly, he was gonna do about it if Wash went right back to taking things apart. Didn't relish the thought of chasing an untethered man around this high up in the air.

He gusted a little sigh when Wash gave him a slow nod, then began restoring the part he'd just pulled free. He exchanged a relieved look with Zoe, then swung around, toes hunting for a ladder rung, telling her, "Gonna go light a fire under Bester's butt. Y' hear gunfire or screams, just ignore it."

~*~

So, couldn't have been much more than fifteen minutes later, and Mal was frog-marching Bester forward toward his bunk in the interest of getting him packing his duffel post haste. Every step he took, he could feel the hum of the engine through the soles of his boots, Serenity come alive again. The girl – Kaylee Frye – was runnin' off home to talk over his job offer with her folks. And he could see she was young, sixteen maybe. But kids grew up fast out here on the Rim, and opportunity was thin enough on the ground on Wyoming that they maybe wouldn't balk against her following where her joy and genius led her. He had hope. Yes, he did.

There was a bit of a fuss when he and Bester intersected with Zoe and Wash as they tumbled down the upper starboard hatch. Well, more like Wash tumbling and Zoe catching, least-wise as best she could. The man managed to clobber himself pretty good as he fell down the ladder, forehead bouncing off a rung.

One hand pressed to his brow, Wash half-lunged, half-staggered out of the access way into the corridor, reaching out to grab Bester by the shoulder with the other. Zoe was right behind him, her fist clamped in the back of his tank, doing her bit to keep him upright. Bester cringed back from him, and Mal had to admit Wash gave him cause; white as a ghost 'cept for two spots of high color on his cheekbones, eyes wide and wild, hair standing up every which way.

"You fixed it!" He gave Bester a shake, then turned to Mal with a delighted little laugh, eyes shining crazy blue, their whites so red they looked like they were bleeding. "He fixed it!"

"Nah." He pulled Bester out of Wash's grip, and gave him a shove forward. "Zoe, escort this wuyong feiwu to his bunk, see to it he gets packed up double quick." With a nod and a tiny but supremely satisfied smile, she took hold of Bester's arm, just above his elbow.

"Mal, c'mon!" the man squawked, trying to yank himself free. "Ya gotta be kiddin', hirin' on that, that, whatcha call her? Prairie harpy! Hirin' her on over me?"

Mal's lips tightened, and he hoped to hell the girl hadn't heard his unkind words. He jerked his head impatiently at Zoe, and Bester let out a yelp as her thumb tip dug into a pressure point. Then she had him hustling down the corridor, yipping in pain as he went.

Wash followed all this, mouth slightly agape, red-rimmed eyes round, palm pressed tight to his forehead. He dragged his gaze away from them to peer at Mal when he grabbed Wash's wrist, pulling his hand away to examine the rising red welt just above his left eyebrow.

"Y' ain't bleedin'. Good." He inspected the man's pupils. "Didn't concuss yourself, did ya? Need ya flyin' straight."

Seemed Wash heard only one word in what Mal had just said to him, because he completely ignored his question. "Tian xiaode," he breathed. "Flying. I'll go-"

He started for the bridge, but Mal braced his heels, hauling him back. Wash halted instantly, whipping his head around to stare at Mal's hand, tight around his wrist. Mal could feel Wash's tendons cording beneath his grasp as his fist clenched. Except for the muscles of his forearm and biceps quivering as they bunched into tight knots, he'd become completely still.

Mal immediately let him loose, dropping both hands to his sides, rocking back from him a bit. "Here's what I need, Wash," he said, voice soft and level. Then he waited patiently as the man untangled himself from the mental loop that had caught him up. Took a couple seconds, but then he was looking into Mal's eyes, relaxing some, and Mal knew he'd hear what he said next.

"Need you to do a full check-list run through, make sure all systems are go."

"A full..." He trailed off, his body easing into its peculiar slack-jointed stance. The one that hid his freaky-fast reflexes. He gave Mal a sideways look, saying, "Well, yeah, Captain. Of course."

Mal felt a mental knot loosen as his pilot showed him he might be a little bent, yeah, but he weren't broke. Bent was fine by Mal. He could deal with bent. Preferred it even.

"Second thing. If and when we're good to go, need you to first set us down at the spaceport. Put Bester off, take our new mechanic on."

Wash nodded, quirking a little smile, clearly liking the idea of putting Bester off.

"Third thing." He paused, making sure Wash was still following him. He shifted impatiently, eyes wandering away from Mal to look forward. Mal tapped his chest, bringing his attention back. "Clean up some, huh? Got new crew comin' on. Prob'ly meet the family. Thinkin' we wanna make a good impression."

Wash's fingers darted up to his chin, to the three day stubble there. Which, being blond, wasn't as obvious as if Mal had left off shaving for as long. But shaving wasn't the major issue, and Mal watched it dawn on Wash how long he'd been letting basic hygiene slide.

"Uh, yeah," he said, cheeks getting a little pink, flicking Mal a chagrined glance, not quite meeting his eyes. "Yeah. Check list, spaceport, clean up. I'm on it, Captain."

"Go," Mal ordered, with a shooing gesture toward the bridge, and Wash was springing away from him, loping up the corridor, taking the stairs to the bridge three at a time.

Another twenty minutes and Serenity's turbines were spinning in an exultant whine, lifting them out of farmer Song's field, all systems go. Mal wondered if Wash would be able to resist throwing them straight away all the way up, out of the world and into the Black. So he was standing right beside the pilot's seat, one hand on its back, the other on the console, just in case. Wasn't at all because he was near as eager as Wash to see his boat lifting into the sky, not at all.

But if Wash were tempted, he never showed it, setting them down pretty as you please on the landing pad the Golden Dawn had lifted from that morning. He powered them down, preset their take-off sequence, then rose from his chair.

"Gonna go tidy up, Captain. You got an estimated time for lift-off?"

"Soon, I'm thinkin'. Won't take much time to put Bester off. Not sure how much we'll need to get Miss Frye on."

"Miss Frye?" Wash repeated, for the first time taking interest in the identity of their potential new mechanic. Mal shot him a look, wondering if he was taking on trouble of the inter-crew bunk bouncing variety. If he was fixing to see Wash's interest flit from the unassailable Zoe to the all too likely assailable Kaylee.

He wouldn't have it. Wouldn't have the complications a shipboard romance would be bound to create. She was just a kid, gorramit, clearly a little naïve, a little too trusting. Wash was ten years her senior, easy. And pilots had an all too justified reputation for fickle and wandersome ways. Was a recipe for heartbreak and tears. And he wasn't about to let that happen to a girl under his care. He'd give Zoe a heads-up, make sure she knew to keep an eye out.

"Yep," he replied shortly. "You'll meet her soon enough. Go on, get cleaned up."

With a compliant nod, Wash headed out the hatch and down the steps, two at a time, blissfully unaware of his captain's suspicious thoughts.

First order of business, once Mal had the main hatch open, its ramp leading down to the town's main street, was to see Bester off. Looked like the man had a lot of things he wanted to say as he slouched away, duffel over one shoulder, toolbox in the other hand. The terrified glances he kept shooting at Zoe, though, as she stood cross-armed at the bottom of the ramp, suggested she may have had a few words with him while she helped him pack up. Could maybe even have been more than just harsh language involved. Mal did feel a little bad about leaving Bester behind. Not for Bester, but for the folks of Wyoming.

Once he was off, though, a whole heap of other folk poured on. The Fryes, of course, Kaylee's pa and brother, who Mal had already met, and her ma. And then a whole passel of aunts, uncles, cousins, as well as friends, neighbors and a couple of dogs. Sheriff Huan, farmer Song, Mrs. MacGregor from the sundry store, all come to get a good look at the folks their Kaylee had set her heart on flying off with. Was clear they had some worries. But at the same time, Mal had moved courteously and circumspectly among them, and that spoke in Serenity's favor.

Wash came down in the middle of all this, Mal regretting pretty quick that he had. Not that he hadn't cleaned up. He'd combed his hair, shaved, trimmed and tidied his mustache, had probably swabbed himself liberally with cleansing gel, and had definitely changed. Into his brightest shirt, the orange and blue one, over his orange flightsuit. And he greeted Kaylee's family with a near-manic cheerfulness, bloodshot eyes maybe a little too bright, grabbing her father's hand to pump it enthusiastically. And Mal couldn't blame him for his maniacalness, 'cuz he was feeling pretty gorram giddy himself. But he was managing to squash it down enough so Kaylee's parents weren't trepidatious about sending their daughter off into the Black with a bunch of crazy people. And Wash was kinda pushing that envelope there. Plus, the ugly purpling bruise just over his left eye wasn't helpful, clear evidence that folks could get banged up pretty good on a ship.

So before Wash could get to Kaylee's mama and aunties, Mal took him by the shoulder, and sent him off to do another pre-flight check. Then he kinda shoved Zoe to the forefront. 'Cuz if anyone could reassure them as to their sanity and Kaylee's safety aboard Serenity, it would be her. Best moment in all this, to Mal's mind, was the sight of Zoe gazing down in bemusement at the large bowl of fresh douhua Kaylee's mama had just pushed into her hands.

Took about an hour or so, which was pretty darn quick considering this was a major leave-taking on Kaylee's part, but eventually he got all her kith and kin, friends and neighbors and the two dogs out of his cargo bay. Helped that Kaylee herself was eager to go, and kept dropping heavy hints of "Bye, Ma, zaijian, Auntie Hester, yep, yep, I'll be sure to wave ya regular. Bye, now!"

Bay cleared of non-Serenity personnel, he, Zoe and Kaylee lugged her gear – duffel bag of clothing, another of bedding and other personal items, and a battered but substantial tool box – up the stairs to the galley. They left the tools there, hauling the duffels up to the hatch of the bunk that would be Kaylee's. Leaving them there, and continuing on up to the bridge, they found Wash in his chair, turned around to watch them step in. The helm hummed, fully powered up, the board twinkling with green telltales. Wash's eyes fixed on Mal's face, their intensity demanding that he give him the word to go.

Mal set his hand under Kaylee's elbow reassuringly, having noted the little flicker of concern crossing her features as she studied her new crewmate. "Thought Kaylee might wanna watch lift-off, Wash. We ready?"

The man simply laughed, a quicksilver burst, spinning his chair forward, right hand darting out to flip a series of toggles while his left gripped the yoke. The pods roared smoothly to life, and Kaylee gave a little "Oh," bobbing her knees as the lift pushed the deck up against her soles. Wash laughed again and Mal couldn't help but grin himself.

And they were flyin'. Mal gave himself a moment, letting it all soak in, his ship alive around him, his pilot, hands swift and sure on her controls, lifting them, oh so sweetly, into the sky. Then Kaylee stepped forward, completely unafraid, eyes shining with delight as she gazed out the front screen as the ground dropped away beneath them. And Mal noticed Wash had Serenity rising slightly off her own horizontal, her nose tipped down a bit, so the dwindling Wyoming could be seen clear by anyone staring down at it through the front screen. Which Wash wasn't, his eyes lifted to the ever darkening sky, hands moving by feel on his board. But Kaylee, naturally enough, was watching her home fall away, a mix of excitement, joy and anxiousness flitting over her face.

They rose up, Wyoming shrinking into dun colored ball, Wash easing the pods from turbine power to scramjet to pumping plasma when he ran out of atmo to push them along. His face wore a fierce concentration as he felt his way carefully forward, sensitive to any untoward sounds or sensations. Kaylee watched all this with an intense curiosity, and Mal wondered what she was learning from what she was hearing and seeing and feeling.

She said, "Oh," again when, after punching in their course for Paquin, Wash engaged Serenity's pulse drive. Was a long moment, all of them quiet, staring out into the star-pierced Black.

Wash was breathing a little hard, his hands clinging still to the yoke, although he could have safely set the autopilot. Thinking maybe he needed a little alone time, Mal suggested genially, "Hey, Zoe, how 'bout we give Kaylee the tour?"

So they did, starting with the galley and its lounge and kitchen, back to the engine room – which she already seen – then heading below to the cargo bay, pointing out the hatches to the two shuttles as they passed by. They showed her the passenger dorms with the attached infirmary, and it turned out she'd already seen this area as well. Pink cheeked and sheepish, she confessed that Bester had snuck her up into the engine room by one of the access ladders just aft of the dorms. Mal couldn't help but be surprised by how much thought and initiative the guy had applied to this little endeavor. From there, they headed back up to the bridge.

This time, Wash rose immediately as Kaylee stepped in, approaching her to take her hand, grinning hugely. And Mal was greatly relieved to see there weren't any traces of crazy around that grin. Just Wash. About as happy as Mal had ever seen him, but still just Wash.

"Sorry I didn't give you much of a welcome last time, Miss Frye-"

"Aw, just Kaylee." And she was beaming just as bright as Wash, clearly enjoying being the focus of his attention. "'S'all right. Could see ya was busy."

"Kaylee it is. And I'm Wash," he replied eagerly, still holding her hand, pulling her gently forward, gesturing toward the co-pilot's seat. "Sit down if you like. Gotta bunch of ideas about up-grading Serenity's helm controls, could be lots of fun!"

Kaylee looked back to Mal to see if that were all right, and he smiled, giving her the nod. So she settled into the chair, letting her eyes roam from the helm, out into the Black and back, rattling off questions, Wash happily answering.

After a couple minutes, Zoe leaned toward Mal to say quietly, "Gonna go check her bunk, make sure Bester didn't leave anything nasty behind, do a bit of cleaning."

"Thanks, Zo'," he said warmly, truly grateful she was taking this chore on, a gesture of welcome to their new crew member, and an affirmation she was backing his impulsive decision to hire Kaylee on. With a little nod, she turned and left.

He stood in the center of the bridge, back a ways from the helm, arms crossed over his chest, just listening to his crew talk, to Kaylee's curiosity and enthusiasm, to Wash's growing pleasure. Understood maybe two words out of five of the chatter just spillin' outta their mouths, but he didn't mind that, not a bit. Realized he was smiling like a bun dan, but he didn't mind that either.

Some fifteen minutes later, Zoe came back up to stand beside him, listening for a while herself. Her face was completely still, but Mal knew she was smiling just as hard as he was, on the inside. She spoke up, though, when Kaylee paused to take a breath.

"Hey, Kaylee." The girl turned to face her right away, eyes a little wide, maybe a tad daunted by her new stoic first mate. Mal was surprised and gratified when Zoe actually smiled at her, something she never would have done with a new recruit, as she said, "How 'bout we get you unpacked and settled into your bunk?"

Kaylee stood up immediately, clearly eager to explore the space that would be her very own. "Oh, that would be really nice, Miss Alleyne-"

Zoe cut in, still smiling. "Just Zoe."

"Zoe," Kaylee repeated shyly, stepping toward her.

As they started aft, Zoe went on, saying, "After that, I'll show you around the kitchen. We all do our bit with the cookin' and the clean up."

"Shiny!" Kaylee lowered her voice as she asked, sounding a little shocked, "Even the captain?"

Zoe chuckled. "Yep."

Mal watched them leave, then stepped forward to lower himself into the co-pilot's seat, finding it still warm with his new mechanic's body heat. He sighed, staring out into the Black, enjoying the view. Wash echoed his sigh, stretching out his legs, lounging back with one elbow resting on the arm of his seat, his opposite wrist draped over the yoke.

"For sure knows her stuff," Wash said, in a tone of deep satisfaction. "Really looking forward to digging into the helm controls with her. And cheerful! Crew is always better with a little cheer in it." He sighed again, a contented smile curling his lips. "What a sweet kid."

Seeing his opening, Mal pounced on it. "That's right, a sweet kid. Just a kid. One not to be taken advantage of." Wash swiveled to face him, brows climbing at his tone, which meant Mal could peg him with a straightforward stare as he continued meaningfully, "You reading me?"

Wash lifted both hands as he assured him, "Loud and clear, Captain. Loud and clear." One hand came to rest over his heart as he raised the other up higher. "You got absolutely no worries from me on her account."

And Mal believed him. Didn't stop the niggling fretfulness that he just might have some worries from Kaylee on Wash's account. Couldn't quite put out of his mind how she'd come to be on his boat in the first place.

"Right, then," he said with a quick nod. He rose. "Gonna go make sure she's settlin' in okay."

"Haibucuode, Cap'n." He gave Mal a slanting, complicit smile, knowing he was opening himself up for a gibe with his next words. "Hope she's a better cook than I am."

Mal took him up on it, tossing over his shoulder as he turned, "Not much to worry 'bout there." And Wash chuckled at the hit.

Mal had got as far as the outer bridge hatch, when from behind him he heard the zzzup sound of a zipper opening. He stopped, one hand on the hatch frame, twisting to look back at Wash. Facing forward, his back to Mal, he was looking down, fiddling with something in his lap. With a little jolt of alarm, Mal wondered what the hell, in that area, Wash had just zipped open. Then his hand came up, holding the T-Rex before him, having just pulled it from the duffel.

"Rawr," Wash growled gruffly.

Shaking his head, grinning so wide as to near split chin from cheeks, Mal started down the stairs, feeling, just at this moment, that things were pretty gorram right in the 'verse.

~*~

bun dan – idiot

douhua – soybean custard

Gongnui – "Ox," a class of mid-size transport vessel

Haibucuode – all right, okay, fine

Shen me? – What? Huh? Excuse me?

Shi – affirmative, yes, okay

Tian xiaode – Name of all that's sacred

Tianxia suoyoude ren dou gaisi. – Everyone under the heavens should die.

wuyong feiwu – useless failure, idle loser

zaijian – goodbye