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[flybywash]

They call it the ghost months.

It used to keep time with the moon of Earth-That-Was, and it used to happen every year. They'd tell stories of the dead walking the earth: ancestors returned to visit their families, ghosts sent to snatch the living back through the gates of Hell. They'd burn offerings, perform plays; they'd avoid weddings, water, and open spaces after dark.

They still tell the stories, but only once every seven years now, and for two months straight instead of the ancient tradition of one.

On Sihnon, fires burn bright on the streetcorners, kept in tightly tamped containers with narrow grates along the top. The only paper money this side of the system will ever see (available in packets from the vendor across the street, ten fake bills for one credit) gets tossed inside by passerby, a tourist novelty, a casual afterthought.

Beaumonde's known for its giant theater festival that spans the entire two months, one new play every day. Traditionally, only the best new drama debuts here. A work based on Sing Hua's three-act novels is slated to take center stage at the exact midpoint of this decade's festival, a time slot accompanied by an elaborate all-day buffet and one that's fiercely contested over for years leading up to it. Tickets have been sold out for well over a year and a half.

Nobody living in the Bellerophon Estates will claim to believe the myths, but travel over the vast ocean slows come nightfall anyway. Some even walk to the edge of their property, lean over to look down at the waters, and silently drop paper boats over the side before retreating indoors.

On Serenity, they hold a moment of silence, and nobody finishes their entire meal or cleans up the dishes after dinner.

In Wash and Zoe's bunk, Wash falls asleep within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

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[flybywash]

"She was just here, and she -- "

He twists a hand into his hair, breathing shakily, eyes bright.

"I have to go. I-it's payment, she's taking me back, it's only for three months but I don't get a choice and she said she's gonna be back in four days to do it -- "

It's creeping dangerously close to a sob by now.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

He doesn't get any farther than she's taking me back before Zoe shakes her head, slowly at first, as if her body's still catching up with her mind, and then faster, more vehemently. It's as if she hasn't even heard the part about it being temporary. Maybe she hasn't.

"No."

That's all, at first, just one syllable of almost toneless denial. Then, fear and the beginnings of anger creeping in,

"No, she can't--"

Later on, it will occur to her that she can't is, if not a flat-out dangerous thing to say in reference to an Endless, at least a foolish one. Right now, if it did occur to her, she wouldn't care. The thought won't be stopped.

"She can't let you come back and then take you again."

[flybywash]

"She can do whatever she damn well wants." Head in both hands now, and still clutching at his hair; he can't see past the edges of his palms. "She's Death."

Helpless, he drops both hands with a defeated flourish and exhales, saying brokenly, "It's just extra time. All of this. That's all it is."

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Zoe just shakes her head again, her mouth set in a stubborn line, because right now, that's better than losing it the way she will if she doesn't clench her jaw and fist her hands in the covers.

"What if there's a way out of this? We can talk t' someone--there's gotta be something--"

Part of her's clinging to the fact that there was a way out of it, the first time.

Part of her's remembering that someone close to them had to pay a heavy price for that.

At the moment, most of her doesn't care.

[flybywash]

"Like what? Get Raven to dive back down there again?" He gulps. "It's only -- "

Blindly, he fumbles for her hand again.

"It's temporary." And as much for his reassurance as hers, to attempt some kind of anchor, he repeats it: "It ain't permanent. Three months, that's it."

Three months.

Naomi'll be half a year old.

Wash bites down on his lower lip, hard.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Zoe lets out a brief, humorless laugh, and that's a mistake, because she can't get her face back into its stoic mask afterward.

"Oh, sure. Just three months. That's nothin'."

Her voice cracks on the last word, and her hand closes over his, tightening convulsively.

[flybywash]

This does not help Wash's attempts, horrible as they may be, to pull himself back together.

He lets go.

It's only for the split-second it takes to pull Zoe into a tight, desperate embrace, hiding his face against her neck.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Zoe doesn't bother trying to pull herself back together. She just wraps both arms around Wash and holds on, her own face buried in his shoulder.

[flybywash]

"It's gonna be okay. It'll be okay."

And if it's shaking too hard to be understood, or spoken too soft to be heard...

Maybe that's for the best, if Wash doesn't exactly believe it anyway.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Zoe can believe it'll be okay. Eventually.

But as they've established, eventually doesn't help so much with right now.

Zoe pulls back, framing his face with her hands, and kisses him firmly, and then again, like Death's coming back in four minutes instead of four days and she has to get everything in while she can.

[flybywash]

In between: "I love you -- "

Wash kisses her back, hard, arms sliding down around her waist.

He could say it again, or I'll be back soon instead, but he isn't much for talking all of a sudden, nor of looking past this very moment of him and Zoe, together, taste and smell and touch and all.

Who knows how much he'll remember of it when he's there?

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Finally, Zoe pulls back enough to rest her forehead against his, her eyes closed.

Low, "Four days?"

[flybywash]

"Shi a."

He sniffles, and the pressure against her forehead lessens for a second as he looks over his shoulder at the ladder.

"God, I'm gonna have to get all the charts together and run diagostics and talk to River..."

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

A shaky exhalation of breath that's almost a laugh, and she drops her face into the hollow of his neck.

"Hadn't even thought about that, yet. But I guess someone's gotta fly this thing."



"Gonna be a lot to do, before."

It doesn't matter that she can't finish the statement.

[flybywash]

"Way more than a lot."

He's starting to slip into a distracted unsteadiness, one hand moving from Zoe's lower back to rub at his temple.

"I, I have to -- "

Wash doesn't realize that he's also starting to pull away.

He can't just take care of Zoe. He has to take care of them both.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

The hurt when he pulls away is unexpected.

And on the heels of her first thought--don't be ridiculous, he's got a job to do--comes another, just as unexpected.

Is this what it's like for him, with me'n'Mal?

It takes her by surprise, but she doesn't have time to dwell on it right now, and she doesn't stop Wash as he pulls away.

[flybywash]

Wash keeps rubbing his forehead as he grabs his clothes, trembling like he's struck with fever. It only stills when he notices what he's doing, and only for a few seconds.

"I need help getting the charts out," he says, not caring that it's a naked plea for something else entirely: I don't want to be alone. "Can't carry 'em all one-handed."

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Having a job to focus on right now is good.

So's not letting Wash out of her sight, if she can help it.

"Sure, baby."

A nod, and she slips out of bed as well, reaching for her own clothes.

[flybywash]

Soon they're dressed, and Wash pulls Zoe in for another lingering kiss before they make their way up the ladder. He heads straight for the bridge, putting most of his weight on his cane; Wash pulls open the lockers with a loud clatter and starts fishing out the charts.

And his notes, old and more recent alike.

And his datapad, which he usually keeps in their room, but remembers he stuck on the top shelf a couple days ago while he was working out some new vectors.

And a dusty flight manual, way in the back, and underneath the blankets are the other set of charts that he hardly ever uses because he's practically got them memorized, but what's to say somebody else won't, even if River is a genius mindreader --

Pretty soon he's just emptying the entire thing onto the deck, and none too quietly either.

[river_meimei]

River should be asleep; Simon checked on her before bed half an hour or so ago. She was sprawled on top of her bed, feet tucked beneath her pillow, poring over the latest issue of the physics journal Wash subscribed her to last Christmas.

"Go to bed soon, mèimei?" he'd said, putting a light hand on her shoulder.

"The ur-cosmological theory needs restructuring," she'd informed him. "I will."

She's still awake, though, and still frowning at her article.

After a while, her head lifts. "No," she tells the air, as if responding to someone else's question. "The substrate is inherently flawed. We'll have to account for three more early quantum states."

As if something's been decided, she rolls off her bed, knocking the pillow to the floor without noticing. Digital paper in hand, she slips out into the hallway.

[flybywash]

Flat surfaces at waist height tend to work a little better than the floor, even if they're smaller.

Charts first.

With Zoe's help, Wash grabs as many of them as he can and migrates to the kitchen to sort them out. Most of them are one digital sheet, the size of an ordinary piece of paper. One or two (the really old ones) are much larger, rolled up like scrolls.

He takes a seat and starts shuffling through them, one hand still combing fitfully through his hair.

[river_meimei]

Out into the hall, and up the stairs alongside the infirmary. River trails a hand along the railing, tracing textures along it. The stairway leads to the aft hall; the engine room is to one side, the kitchen to the other. It's to the kitchen she turns.

She pauses in the doorway, watching.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Zoe's just been sitting by Wash's side as he goes through the charts, one arm loosely around his waist.

She's the first one to get the sensation of being watched, and she half-turns, offering River a small (very small) smile before her hand moves up to Wash's shoulder, squeezing gently to get his attention.

[flybywash]

Wash looks up, first at Zoe, then at --

"River."

He makes as if he's about to stand, hands braced against the edge of the table, then thinks better of it and sweeps up the charts he's already sorted into a crooked-edged stack.

"Here, I've got -- " He starts to hold them out, but it turns into a vague beckoning gesture halfway through. "Talking should, um, happen. A lot of it."

[river_meimei]

"I was thirsty," River says vaguely -- an explanation, maybe, or just a comment.

But she moves forward after a minute, towards the table and the crate placed at the end of it. River likes makeshift seats better than actual chairs, often.