A Rememberin' Mood
Dec. 24th, 2011 12:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stringertheoryTitle: A Rememberin' Mood
Rating: PG
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Characters: Zoe, Mal, Inara, Simon, Kaylee, River, Jayne
Word Count: 1352
Categories: angst, grief
Spoilers/Warnings: Post BDM. Spoilers for same.
Summary: Sometimes, Zoe gets in a remembering mood.
Note: Been sitting on this one a long while. Here, have some Whedon-verse melancholy.
Zoe was fine. Really she was.
There was still an ache deep inside her, a combination of things taken and things that would never be, but it was gentler, more familiar than it had been. And sometimes, alone in her bunk after an unusually difficult day, she might curl up on her side in bed and idly wish to not be so damn alone, but that was rare. And every once in a while she just got tired, but no one could hold that against her. Life on Serenity wasn't the easiest in the world.
She was fine. Really. But sometimes she would get in a remembering mood.
When those times came, she made an effort to be alone, taking to her bunk earlier than usual, staying up late when she preferred some other place on the ship to sit and think. She would have liquor when they had it, coffee when they didn't, or some of Inara's tea if supplies were otherwise low on everything else. Drink in hand, she would sit and let her mind wander where it would, accepting both the happiness and the pain, the bittersweet sting of memory.
On this particular night, she wound up in the galley, sitting still and solitary at the table, a bottle of Kaylee's engine brew at her elbow and a half-filled glass on the table in front of her.
It was late - still early enough that going to bed wouldn't be a wasted effort, but late enough that anyone with a calm mind would have been fast asleep. Zoe's mind was filled with images and moments and the sound of Wash's voice. That was probably why she didn't hear Mal until he was standing in the doorway, watching her with a troubled and knowing expression on his face. He didn't say anything, just walked into the kitchen and reappeared with a glass of his own. Sitting down heavily beside her, he reached over for the bottle and poured out a measure. They drank in companionable silence for a minute or two before Mal spoke.
He was studying his glass where it sat on the table, fingertips resting lightly on the lip as he spun it slowly left and then right, the liquor inside swirling amber. Without looking at her, he began a tale of the first drunk night he had spent with his new pilot. The two of them had drank themselves silly celebrating a successful job, the late night and the liquor leading from one silliness to another. Mal had unintentionally and quite unconsciously insulted Wash's moustache, which led to Wash being mortally offended, which led to an all-out brawl of little effect given the soused state they were in. Needless to say, when Zoe found them passed out in a heap in the cargo bay the next morning, both bruised and mortified and much worse for the wear, they had agreed to never mention it again.
The story was one she knew well enough, having wheedled the details out of her husband long before, but to hear it told again so easily, so familiarly, soothed her in a way that her quiet remembering hadn't. She was smiling, too, a genuine smile that she had begun to believe she'd lost.
As Mal refilled her glass and added to his own, they heard muffled laughter from the hall. Mal's jaw tightened ever so minutely as Simon and Kaylee stumbled in, Kaylee slightly giggly and wearing Simon's shirt, Simon missing his shirt and grinning like a fool. The pair came up short on seeing them there, somewhat uncertain at first as to whether they should leave or stay. After only a small hesitation, they headed for the table. Kaylee grabbed two more cups and another bottle from the kitchen first and then sat beside Simon to Zoe's right. The second bottle was cracked, glasses were topped off, and after a few minutes of silent drinking, more stories were spun.
Not long after, Inara appeared, sitting quietly to Mal's left. Simon brought her a glass as well and, much to Mal's amusement, she tossed back a shot of the brew without a flinch before filling the glass up again. They listened to Kaylee tell of how Wash had comforted her with stories about his own travels when he found her moping around the engine room, homesick after a few months in the air.
Inara, in her turn, described the time Wash had come to her prior to his and Zoe's wedding to ask for advice on traditions. She snickered as she talked about misunderstanding his intentions and his resulting uncomfortableness and utter embarrassment over the direction their conversation took after the miscommunication. Caught up in the humor and relaxed by the liquor, she sniggered enough to affect the others, Kaylee joining her in a fit of the giggles and even Mal chuckling softly. She laughed louder than any of them had ever heard from her, laughed so hard that tears of mirth joined the tears of sadness already on her cheeks, mixing them so that no one could tell the difference.
Halfway into another of Mal's tales, River drifted in, floating to the table as if the night had been a planned meeting. She sat quietly, plucking the bottle out of an astonished Simon's fingers and taking a swig. After tucking the bottle back in his hand, she pulled her legs up to her chest and stared at the table with wide, dark eyes as the tales continued.
Tracing patterns on the table top during a lull in the storytelling, she spoke of feeling Wash fly. To River, he had felt like part of Serenity, the steady mind leading the ship through the treacherous Black. But when she looked at the ship through him, she saw so much more. He was connected to the ship instinctively, she told them, like separated twins, one born of flesh and blood, the other of steel. Though River knew how to fly, she had never flown. But Wash had soared.
In the silence following River's revelation, Jayne stomped in. He stopped abruptly two feet into the room, eyes flickering from one face to another, before he ambled in as if he had expected the crowd. Grabbing a glass, he plunked himself down at the table and Mal slid a bottle to him. Jayne filled his glass, gave a silent toast and downed the contents, then refilled the glass and slid the bottle back down the table. He grumbled a bit about all the noise and why every-damn-body had to be up when all he wanted was a quiet drink, but before too long he was making toasts to the man he called "the best damn pilot there ever was" and recounting his own tales. Unexpectedly enough, he was the only one to tell a truly sad story, leaving not one dry eye among the group.
As the night drew on, two more bottles were opened and, one by one, they all drifted into sleep, talk and laughter fading into the peaceful quiet of a room full of slumbering souls.
Zoe was the first to wake the next morning. Rubbing her eyes, she took in the room. Simon and Kaylee were spooned together on the sofa; Jayne, passed out, was sprawled across a chair; and River was curled up under the table, snoozing gently at Mal's feet. Mal was half on the table, one arm thrown out with his hand palm up, the other supporting his head. Inara was much the same, head resting on her folded arms. She was leaning against Mal, her dark curls draped over the curve of his elbow as they both slept.
Knowing it would be much needed and very much appreciated, Zoe steeped a large pot of coffee and set a kettle to boil for Inara. Then she fixed a cup for herself, leaned against the kitchen wall, and waited for her family to wake up, smiling softly to herself as the memory of her husband - brought to life again through the eyes of others - danced through her mind.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Characters: Zoe, Mal, Inara, Simon, Kaylee, River, Jayne
Word Count: 1352
Categories: angst, grief
Spoilers/Warnings: Post BDM. Spoilers for same.
Summary: Sometimes, Zoe gets in a remembering mood.
Note: Been sitting on this one a long while. Here, have some Whedon-verse melancholy.
Zoe was fine. Really she was.
There was still an ache deep inside her, a combination of things taken and things that would never be, but it was gentler, more familiar than it had been. And sometimes, alone in her bunk after an unusually difficult day, she might curl up on her side in bed and idly wish to not be so damn alone, but that was rare. And every once in a while she just got tired, but no one could hold that against her. Life on Serenity wasn't the easiest in the world.
She was fine. Really. But sometimes she would get in a remembering mood.
When those times came, she made an effort to be alone, taking to her bunk earlier than usual, staying up late when she preferred some other place on the ship to sit and think. She would have liquor when they had it, coffee when they didn't, or some of Inara's tea if supplies were otherwise low on everything else. Drink in hand, she would sit and let her mind wander where it would, accepting both the happiness and the pain, the bittersweet sting of memory.
On this particular night, she wound up in the galley, sitting still and solitary at the table, a bottle of Kaylee's engine brew at her elbow and a half-filled glass on the table in front of her.
It was late - still early enough that going to bed wouldn't be a wasted effort, but late enough that anyone with a calm mind would have been fast asleep. Zoe's mind was filled with images and moments and the sound of Wash's voice. That was probably why she didn't hear Mal until he was standing in the doorway, watching her with a troubled and knowing expression on his face. He didn't say anything, just walked into the kitchen and reappeared with a glass of his own. Sitting down heavily beside her, he reached over for the bottle and poured out a measure. They drank in companionable silence for a minute or two before Mal spoke.
He was studying his glass where it sat on the table, fingertips resting lightly on the lip as he spun it slowly left and then right, the liquor inside swirling amber. Without looking at her, he began a tale of the first drunk night he had spent with his new pilot. The two of them had drank themselves silly celebrating a successful job, the late night and the liquor leading from one silliness to another. Mal had unintentionally and quite unconsciously insulted Wash's moustache, which led to Wash being mortally offended, which led to an all-out brawl of little effect given the soused state they were in. Needless to say, when Zoe found them passed out in a heap in the cargo bay the next morning, both bruised and mortified and much worse for the wear, they had agreed to never mention it again.
The story was one she knew well enough, having wheedled the details out of her husband long before, but to hear it told again so easily, so familiarly, soothed her in a way that her quiet remembering hadn't. She was smiling, too, a genuine smile that she had begun to believe she'd lost.
As Mal refilled her glass and added to his own, they heard muffled laughter from the hall. Mal's jaw tightened ever so minutely as Simon and Kaylee stumbled in, Kaylee slightly giggly and wearing Simon's shirt, Simon missing his shirt and grinning like a fool. The pair came up short on seeing them there, somewhat uncertain at first as to whether they should leave or stay. After only a small hesitation, they headed for the table. Kaylee grabbed two more cups and another bottle from the kitchen first and then sat beside Simon to Zoe's right. The second bottle was cracked, glasses were topped off, and after a few minutes of silent drinking, more stories were spun.
Not long after, Inara appeared, sitting quietly to Mal's left. Simon brought her a glass as well and, much to Mal's amusement, she tossed back a shot of the brew without a flinch before filling the glass up again. They listened to Kaylee tell of how Wash had comforted her with stories about his own travels when he found her moping around the engine room, homesick after a few months in the air.
Inara, in her turn, described the time Wash had come to her prior to his and Zoe's wedding to ask for advice on traditions. She snickered as she talked about misunderstanding his intentions and his resulting uncomfortableness and utter embarrassment over the direction their conversation took after the miscommunication. Caught up in the humor and relaxed by the liquor, she sniggered enough to affect the others, Kaylee joining her in a fit of the giggles and even Mal chuckling softly. She laughed louder than any of them had ever heard from her, laughed so hard that tears of mirth joined the tears of sadness already on her cheeks, mixing them so that no one could tell the difference.
Halfway into another of Mal's tales, River drifted in, floating to the table as if the night had been a planned meeting. She sat quietly, plucking the bottle out of an astonished Simon's fingers and taking a swig. After tucking the bottle back in his hand, she pulled her legs up to her chest and stared at the table with wide, dark eyes as the tales continued.
Tracing patterns on the table top during a lull in the storytelling, she spoke of feeling Wash fly. To River, he had felt like part of Serenity, the steady mind leading the ship through the treacherous Black. But when she looked at the ship through him, she saw so much more. He was connected to the ship instinctively, she told them, like separated twins, one born of flesh and blood, the other of steel. Though River knew how to fly, she had never flown. But Wash had soared.
In the silence following River's revelation, Jayne stomped in. He stopped abruptly two feet into the room, eyes flickering from one face to another, before he ambled in as if he had expected the crowd. Grabbing a glass, he plunked himself down at the table and Mal slid a bottle to him. Jayne filled his glass, gave a silent toast and downed the contents, then refilled the glass and slid the bottle back down the table. He grumbled a bit about all the noise and why every-damn-body had to be up when all he wanted was a quiet drink, but before too long he was making toasts to the man he called "the best damn pilot there ever was" and recounting his own tales. Unexpectedly enough, he was the only one to tell a truly sad story, leaving not one dry eye among the group.
As the night drew on, two more bottles were opened and, one by one, they all drifted into sleep, talk and laughter fading into the peaceful quiet of a room full of slumbering souls.
Zoe was the first to wake the next morning. Rubbing her eyes, she took in the room. Simon and Kaylee were spooned together on the sofa; Jayne, passed out, was sprawled across a chair; and River was curled up under the table, snoozing gently at Mal's feet. Mal was half on the table, one arm thrown out with his hand palm up, the other supporting his head. Inara was much the same, head resting on her folded arms. She was leaning against Mal, her dark curls draped over the curve of his elbow as they both slept.
Knowing it would be much needed and very much appreciated, Zoe steeped a large pot of coffee and set a kettle to boil for Inara. Then she fixed a cup for herself, leaned against the kitchen wall, and waited for her family to wake up, smiling softly to herself as the memory of her husband - brought to life again through the eyes of others - danced through her mind.