Zoë Washburne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
someonetocarryyou) wrote2012-07-21 04:10 pm
someonetocarryyou) wrote2012-07-21 04:10 pm
Entry tags:
AU: Post-Serenity // Wash // Milliways-shaped place
Be a good soldier.
No matter how many men they lost, no matter how many battles they saw, that was the only way to push through.
Do the job.
Don't let the living down.
Mourn if you have time, not when you have time.
Zoë remembers every name of every man she put in the ground during the war and after. Hundreds. Men and women she fought beside, fought with. Men and women on the other side. Soldiers she shared rations with, blankets, foxholes, dirty jokes
hope.
They don't leave you, no matter if they were your zhì yǒu — close friends — or just the person you bled beside for an hour. They bind. They leave an epithet in your memory. You think of their names when you burn incense. You never forget. And, most importantly, you make sure you're a damn good soldier to honor their memory.
Time has passed since she put Wash in the ground; enough that the crew's back to something akin to rights, but not so much that the sight of Milliways doesn't make the hair on her arms stand on end. You could never see it if you were on the outside. She's as steady as ever. But, on the inside, she's poised.
Fight or flight.
(Fight.)
"Wēishìjì, qǐng," she says as she approaches the bar. The liquor appears in her hand as she sits, back to a corner and every exit visible. She'll take fifteen minutes to mourn.
And then she'll go back to doing the job.
"Xièxiè."
No matter how many men they lost, no matter how many battles they saw, that was the only way to push through.
Do the job.
Don't let the living down.
Mourn if you have time, not when you have time.
Zoë remembers every name of every man she put in the ground during the war and after. Hundreds. Men and women she fought beside, fought with. Men and women on the other side. Soldiers she shared rations with, blankets, foxholes, dirty jokes
hope.
They don't leave you, no matter if they were your zhì yǒu — close friends — or just the person you bled beside for an hour. They bind. They leave an epithet in your memory. You think of their names when you burn incense. You never forget. And, most importantly, you make sure you're a damn good soldier to honor their memory.
Time has passed since she put Wash in the ground; enough that the crew's back to something akin to rights, but not so much that the sight of Milliways doesn't make the hair on her arms stand on end. You could never see it if you were on the outside. She's as steady as ever. But, on the inside, she's poised.
Fight or flight.
(Fight.)
"Wēishìjì, qǐng," she says as she approaches the bar. The liquor appears in her hand as she sits, back to a corner and every exit visible. She'll take fifteen minutes to mourn.
And then she'll go back to doing the job.
"Xièxiè."
no subject
She opens her eyes and watches him, watching the fury leak out.
Soon.
"Is what?"
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"Is she..." he stares into his hands, unable to even look her in the eyes. "She's mine?"
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"Tā mā de, Husband. How can you ask me that?"
It hasn't been long enough for her pillowcase to dry of her tears, let alone for her to invite somebody new into her bed.
"Yes, Wash. She's yours."
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"I am a... colossal..." his tongue trips over much worse words before settling on; "...idiot."
But he's upset and doesn't even know how to begin to take this sort of news.
no subject
She gets up at last, and crouches beside him. Swallowing down the frustration, she sets to laying her hand on his back, comforting-like.
"I'm the idiot who finally agreed to start a family with you. And I'm the very, very lucky idiot who got a beautiful baby girl to remind me of you every single day."
no subject
"Go figure I'd be too dead to enjoy it."
Wash closes his eyes, trying to imagine what their baby girl must look like, what her life is like.
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"You're dead, Husband, but someone out there's seen fit to bring you here. Are you gonna waste it curled up on the floor feeling sorry for yourself, or are you gonna get up and look at me—"
Please look at me.
"—and make the most of whatever time we've got?"
no subject
He can't believe any of it, like part of him will always be watching the black unfold in front of them where he belongs... not cooped up somewhere that zaps him every time he tries to leave.
no subject
She couldn't believe it, either. Not the day Dr. Tam handed her this beautiful little bundle; not the day she found out the sickness wasn't just in mourning; not the day Wash was taken from her. She wonders if he remembers her begging him to get up, if he heard her then, if he'll ever remember.
(They had to drag her away.)
She half-smiles back. "I'll tell you about her, if you'll let me."
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"I'd like that."
no subject
"She's - tiny," she begins, laughter touching her voice. "And perfect. She frowns same way you do, forehead all pinched up. She can make a fuss like you, too."
She nudges him, running a hand up and down his spine.
"And she smells like honey, and earth, and wind. Perfect soft, sweet skin. Tiny li'l fists. She grabbed on to the Captain's nose once and wouldn't let go."