(no subject)

[flybywash]

Wash doesn't know what wakes him up nearly an hour and a half before his alarm's set to go off. He'd like to think it's something other than the quiet, sinking knowledge of what day it is.

He knows it probably isn't.

Zoe's still asleep; he props himself on an elbow to watch her in silence. After a while, he smiles faintly -- it hurts a little -- and shifts his weight, enough to let him rest a hand on her hair and gently run his fingers through it. The knotted bracelet of ship's rope and wires is still fast around his wrist.

It's been six years of marriage and he still can't get over how beautiful she is; or how lucky he's been, to be able to do this almost every single day.

Comments

[flybywash]

"None whatsoever."

He sneaks a kiss on her cheek when she's in range, then, Naomi still happily gumming the fist that's holding fast to his shirt, starts in on the food.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

There's a bit more back-and-forth as they sit and eat, purposefully kept light, and if it doesn't manage to be as playful as it would on some other day, the smiles they exchange now and then aren't forced.

[flybywash]

And when the plates are empty, save a couple tenacious bits of egg and toast crumbs, Wash cradles Naomi a minute longer before he even thinks about getting up.

It's not that he's reluctant, exactly. It's just...

You want to make time like this count.

So it's an extra minute before he hands her back to Zoe, saying, "Here. I'll get the dishes."

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

You do.

Which is why Zoe keeps her hands brushing Wash's for longer than is strictly needed, and leans up to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you, dear."

[flybywash]

Wash smiles. "Wŏ ài nĭ," he murmurs in her ear before gathering the plates and cups, easing his way over to the sink without his cane.

It doesn't take long for the water to warm. Plates first, scrubbing off the crumbs; then the first plastic cup. Something sticks to the back of his left hand as he's rinsing it, and Wash rubs it absently to brush it away.

Except the faint, gentle pressure, like fingertips ghosting across his knuckles, doesn't stop.

And nothing's there when he glances down.

Wash freezes.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe sees him go still, and turns her head, brow furrowing slightly.

"Wash? Honey?"

[flybywash]

It could just be an illusion. Nerves don't fire right, sometimes, it could just be...

He doesn't know.

Wash is still holding the wet, sudsy cup as he turns, and his voice is a little strangled as he says, "Zo' -- "



And in the hovering space between heartbeats,
he hears a sound like blood in his ears,
or the rush of shattering glass,
(it's time to go)
or broad, fathomless wings.

Wash gasps.



Where he stood, there's nothing left. The glass clatters against the floor and angles sideways, rolling to meet the left-hand shelves.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

There's no shocked exclamation, no jumping up to run to the spot where he was. Zoe sits, still looking at the empty air where his face was a moment ago.

After some time--maybe a minute, maybe an hour, she can't see that it matters much right now--she stands up and walks to the sink, shifting Naomi to one arm as she bends down to pick up the glass, then straightens to put it in the sink and turn the faucet off.

She stands there for a while.

Eventually, Naomi starts fussing, probably needing to be changed. Zoe shifts her grip on the baby again, turns, and makes her way out of the kitchen.