Left Behind

Zoë knew Wash would never really understand. When she and Mal got going, really going, telling the old stories so that neither of them could laugh for crying, or cry for laughing, Wash would laugh as hard as any. But Zoë knew.

And in the heart of her heart, that place only Wash had ever touched, she was thankful.

It weren’t the war hadn’t marked him. Weren’t none on their side the war hadn’t marked. Wash was on Ceres during the Alliance blockade, been one of the first to get sick and few to survive, when any good flier could have gotten supplies through and saved them. Zoë knew that was why Wash had taken to the skies in the first place.

But surviving a tragedy isn’t the same as helping to cause one, so Zoë knew Wash would never really understand, and that was one of the things she loved about him most.

Zoë also knew what to expect, pretty much, when the door slid open on Niska’s little torture tête-a-tête; knew what a good torturer could do to a man, even though this time the man was her very own. And Zoë knew her man would be alright, had to know, and that he could be brought back by her into the shuttle, weighed down to collapse by pain, fatigue and guilt alike only when that door of safety had closed behind them.

But Wash had surprised her: Zoë, who’d long ago quit being surprised by anything. When Wash stood decisively and walked strong into the cockpit to slide his fingers easy as ever over the panels, Zoë clutched tightly at Mal’s severed ear tucked against her breast. Then Zoë understood: there was a little piece of Wash left back in that room she’d never, ever get back.



Thanks to Viv for the inspiration and NeumeIndil for the quick beta look-see.