(no subject)

[flybywash]

He's hardly left the bridge since they lifted off from Beaumonde. Too many variables to track has made it way too much of a risk to stick Serenity on autopilot and leave her be, not for more than the time it takes to get some food or steal an hour's nap.

It ain't fair to leave all the baby care to Zoe, though. Not for this long.

(And it's unfounded, this far out in the black, but he doesn't like sitting in the pilot's chair with his daughter resting against his chest, her tiny hands bunched in a patch of shirt just over the thick scar that hasn't faded or smoothed out one bit.)

So he's on a couch in the kitchen lounge, buzzing with a hollow, detached energy that marks the weariness of a thirty-six hour adrenaline rush, with Naomi fast asleep in his arms.

Lucky kid.

Wash really wishes he could do the same right about now.

Comments

[gonna_live]

"What about what comes after?"

Barely audible.

[flybywash]

(Don't suppose askin' politely if we can have our fugitives back is gonna cut it.)

A bowl, a skillet. Set the temperature to medium. (Or is it supposed to be lower than medium?)

"Long and stressful flights are pretty much what passes for normal most of the time. We'll still be able to get out of there fast enough once they're back on board."

[gonna_live]

Kaylee doesn't say anything. Looks down. Ostensibly looking at Naomi.

[flybywash]

Wash cracks two eggs into the bowl, grabs a fork, and sort of...pokes at them a bit. Egg yolk seeps into the whites.

"I was hoping my clever non-use of 'if' there might've helped, but I'm guessing maybe not so much," he mumbles. "Duìbùqĭ."

Clink-clink-clink-clink-clink: he starts whisking the eggs.

[gonna_live]

Silence.






Low:

"It's fine."

Because she can't say there's no way they're coming home today. She just can't.

[flybywash]

Okay. They...mostly looked whisked enough.

Wash dumps them into the heated skillet and begins to stir.

Meanwhile, Naomi yawns, one foot kicking out. Her eyes blink open sleepily.

[gonna_live]

"Hey." Kaylee shifts her a little. "Mornin'."

(A lot can change in a year or two. ...Or in ten minutes, sometimes.)

Kaylee closes her eyes, just for a couple of seconds.

[flybywash]

"Ah!" Naomi agrees, and Wash looks over.

His smile, tired as it is, is more genuine than it's been all morning.

"Sounds like somebody's up," he says quietly as he reaches for a pair of plates, and the eggs -- a little runny, but edible -- are divvied up. "How's she doing?"

[gonna_live]

"Just fine." Half a smile -- and then she looks at the plates.

And considers protesting, because there's no way she'll be able to eat that much.

But decides against it.

[flybywash]

It's a start.

Plates balanced on one arm and cup of coffee in the other hand, Wash returns to the lounge area. (It's not a bad balancing act. He hasn't forgotten everything from that botched fry-cook job.)

"Trade you," he says, offering her one of the plates.

[gonna_live]

"In a bit." Quiet. "Figure we can do it in shifts. You go on."

[flybywash]

Wash's smile dims, but he nods, settles down across from her with his own plate, starts picking at his eggs.

Eventually, they do swap: Naomi's wide awake by then and fussing for her own breakfast.

When Wash apologetically leaves in search of Zoe, Kaylee's plate is still untouched.