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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.

Comments

[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.

[flybywash]

A breath. "Okay. I've got these..."

He sets down the stack of digital paper between them, only to lift off the top two sheets and move them to another pile. "Not really sorted out yet, but it's kind of a start -- it might be better if it's alphabetical by quadrant, but, um, for now I've just got it so it's closer to what you're actually seeing out there than what's..."

He scratches a spot between his eyebrows.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

"Honey."

Zoe's hand moves again, from shoulder to neck, rubbing gently.

"I think you should probably just start from the beginning."

[river_meimei]

River flinched, her expression flickering through startlement and confusion, in a moment when Wash was looking down at the charts.

She's listening; her shoulders are hunched, and her gaze slides from the charts to Wash and Zoe and the empty air around them. Mostly, she focuses on the charts.

She's silent.

[flybywash]

"Right. Beginning. Right."

Vaguely, as he shuts his eyes for a moment and exhales.

"I'm." He opens his eyes, looks at River. "Gonna have to leave for a couple months. And this isn't -- it ain't like I'm asking you to do all the flying, but last time I wasn't around you were..."

He trails off.

[river_meimei]

"What you do," River says, low.

Her head snaps sideways a fraction of an inch, and her breath shudders with sudden comprehension or sudden vertigo. It passes in an instant, as usual, and it leaves her face wearier and older.

"You want to stay," she whispers to the chart, fingers twitching against nothing.

"I want to ask. Please."

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Zoe sucks in a sharp breath, and her fingers on Wash's neck tighten until she forces them to relax.

I didn't ask him. If I can keep from that--

But it's not the same for River to control herself and not say something, and Zoe knows it.

That only takes a little of the sting away.

[flybywash]

Wash's throat works, and he nods, quick and jerky. Under the table, he finds Zoe's free hand and laces his fingers through hers.

"Ask what?" he manages.

[river_meimei]

"Said she wouldn't," River whispers.

She turns her head away sharply, looking down, and her arm wrap tightly around her stomach. Her eyes are bright with tears.

There are tears in her voice, too. "Ontological inevitability."

[flybywash]

"Guess she changed her mind."

It's only because of what she said before she left -- don't make me rethink my decision -- that it isn't as bitter as it could be.

Wash rubs his mouth with the side of his fist. "She's not taking me forever," he says, as gently as he can when he's still grasping, desperately, for some way to accept this. "I'll be back in three months. But that's...

"It's still three months without a pilot."

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

Zoe doesn't want to be here.

She wants to be in bed, asleep, with her husband next to her and not going anywhere.

But she is here, and there's work to do.

One hand is still gripping Wash's. With the other, she reaches out and touches River's shoulder gently.

Low: "Hey. We're gonna get through this, okay? We're gonna get through it together."

She says it with as much certainty as she can muster.

"But meanwhile, we gotta keep this thing in the air."

[river_meimei]

River nods, a little.

Closes her eyes, and swallows, and nods again.

"Keep her waiting for you."

She raises her eyes to meet Wash's, as another tear slides down her cheek. "Seats warm."

[flybywash]

Wash flinches, as if this blow to his rapidly crumbling composure was a physical one, and takes an audible, shuddery breath as his hand goes back to his mouth.

His eyes have snapped closed again, tightly; not quite fast enough to hold back the sudden well of tears.

He can't look at her for a while. Can't look at anything.






But he finally nods, and while he can't quite pitch his, "Xiexie," above subaudible, at least he's managed it at all.

[badinlatin]

The crew knows Mal well enough that, even though the entire crew could probably be diagnosed with some level of insomnia, Mal's probably the worst case of them all. Usually he works through it by exercising his captainly prerogative of wandering through the ship, making sure everything's squared away even though there's no reason why it wouldn't be.

Walking in on Zoe and River, and Wash with a look that he hasn't seen for awhile

When did saying I would go to that edge again for anyone on this ship turn out to equal that I wanted to do that?

and was vaguely hoping never to see again.

"What."

Eyes wide.

[righthandwoman.livejournal.com]

"Sir."

Zoe doesn't try to smile. He'd know how false it was.

"We've run into somethin' of a problem."

It's almost a successful deadpan.

[badinlatin]

Mal's eyes continue to shift from Zoe, to River, to Wash and back again. He can't seem to focus on one person, because each is wearing an expression of jarred discomfort that makes the hairs on the back of Mal's neck stand up.

Mal says absolutely nothing. Mentally, however, he begs for someone to explain, and explain quickly so that his mind doesn't extrapolate what could possibly be the matter like this.

[river_meimei]

"Reversion to charted waters," River whispers. Her voice wavers, tear-clogged.

"Open the gates and keep the scales level. Gonna be okay, captain."

Whether she believes that last or is just trying to reassure everyone else isn't entirely clear. Maybe even to herself.

[flybywash]

Bleakly, and just as shaky as River: "Or, in English..."

Pause.

"Slightly clearer English." He rubs his eyes, which are starting to redden, and looks up at Mal. There's a moment where he makes a futile attempt to swallow back the lump in his throat. His Adam's apple bobs.

He doesn't know how many more times he'll be able to explain.

"Ain't gonna be around for a while, Mal. She's taking me back."

[badinlatin]

She.

Mal doesn't belong to Her anymore.

God Damnit, neither does Wash.

"...Raven, I can ask him..."
You can't leave the ship again
Even while saying it, he knows it won't work.

[flybywash]

"No."

He's shaking his head as soon as he hears the name, and then braces his forehead in both hands. Wash's tone's dropped into numb recitation as he says, "It's for three months, give or take. I've got all the charts together, I'm gonna run in-depth diganostics for Kaylee, Zoe knows the manual password to my datapad but I'll give it to you too so you can get past the voice recognition, you got by fine flying without me for a couple days, you'll -- "

It cracks, slightly.

"You'll be fine."

They have to be.

[badinlatin]

They'll survive.

Things were going too rutting well.

Mal straightens himself, physically and mentally tightening and hooking both thumbs through beltloops.

Cough. "What do you need from me?"

[flybywash]

"Right now?"

He drags his hands down his forehead, over his face, and thinks as best he can.

Finally: "Help me look these over -- " a helpless gesture to the charts -- "and tell me if you got anything resembling a course planned for the next month. Or couple of weeks. Anything."