flybywash | (no subject)

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It's turning into yet another late night on Serenity. He's checked the course as many times as he can, done a couple of fuel-conserving tweaks on it, and wrapped up part forty-eight of The Rolling Plains of That Grassy Place. (Oscar died a horrible death at Crichton's stubby little hands. It was very sad.)

So now Wash is sitting on the cargo bay catwalk with a stack of paper scraps. The spaceball hoop's winched down a few feet, and he's aiming some neatly-folded paper airplanes through it.

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Wash sends one more airplane diving over the railing, then leans back to look up at Kaylee, one hand gripping the bar as a counterbalance. He smiles.

"The way I figure it, they're piloted by a race of tiny tiny people so small we can't see 'em. And they sneak on board when I'm not looking. It keeps my conscience clear."

He takes another bit of scrap -- a Blue Sun label yanked off a bottle to make way for a handwritten one -- and smooths it out. "What's got you up so late?"

"On patrol against tiny tiny people so small we can't see 'em."

Kaylee grins at him.

"What about you?"

"Work, more work, and prehistoric drama." The smile tilts toward wry. "Also the two cups of coffee I had an hour ago."

He gets to work folding the label, then pauses, picks up another scrap, and offers it to Kaylee with a want to try? look.

"That'd do it," she says, and eyes the scrap.

And then takes it, and sets to work, settling beside him. "So was the coffee part of the drama?"

"Mm-hmm. Integral prop in the final scene. Barry almost drowned in it." He tsks, sadly. "If it wasn't for Trip's quick thinking, he'd no longer be there on that console."

He points over his shoulder in the direction of the bridge. The label gains two more folds.

"...you ever gonna write any of this down?" Curiously, as she works.

Wash chuckles faintly. "I've been thinking about it," he says as he tweaks the wings of his plane. "Could be something to give Naomi in a couple years. You think she might like it?"

Beat.

"Once we get her over that I-don't-know-how-to-read hurdle."

"'Course she would." Kaylee beams. "And till then, you can read it to her."

"With creative dinnertime reenactments." He's grinning as he launches the completed plane through the hoop. It leans into a lazy right turn and spirals down to the cargo bay floor, a faint tak sounding as the nose collides with a crate.

Then he leans both arms along the lowest part of the rail and sighs.

"Not even two more months left. God."

Sidelong look.

"It's gonna be fine."

"Shì a. Wŏ zhī dào."

He cups his hands.

"In fact, I plan to maintain that as my one flawless island of 'fine.' Maybe cultivate it a little. Add some trees."

"What kind?"

Kaylee likes trees.

"Palm."

Duh.

Thoughtful, "Maybe some kinda evergreen, too. What're those things called, Douglas firs?"

"...you can have palm trees and Douglas firs together on the same island?"

Mildly indignant, "On my island of happy and fine, you can."

He selects another bit of scrap for folding. It's probably going to yield a plane that's barely an inch long.

This does not deter him.

Kaylee considers this. "Shiny enough, I guess."

And looks down at her airplane.

It's a little askew.

He continues his own work in silence for a few seconds.

Half-muttered and dry with self-depreciation, "Kind of sad how that's becoming the incident with the least amount of associated scary lately."

Silence.

"Maybe ain't surprisin', though."

She's refolding the plane.

"Yeah." Resigned. "Not so much."

He reconsiders his plane, then swiftly unfolds it and starts again with a different design.

"Keeping up the illusion for a couple more months would've been pretty shiny, though."

Gently: "Kids ain't scary."

Beat.

"And the other stuff is. So. Not...it ain't hard to understand."

Mustering up enough lightness to qualify as 'teasing,' "What, you've never had nightmares about twenty-foot-high babies crawling around the cargo bay?"

'Cause...he totally hasn't either. Ever.

Right.

Staring.

"No."

"Yeah, uh." Cough. "Me neither."

And Wash quickly finishes up The Littlest Airplane That Could and lobs it at the hoop. It makes it halfway through.

Headtilt. "Ain't bad."

Proudly, "I'd say a mid-hoop landing's worth at least two hundred points."

Wash glances at Kaylee's plane, then tilts his head toward the hoop.

"Think you can beat it?"

Kaylee looks down at the plane.

Up at Wash.

Wry, and resigned: "I'm a mechanic, Wash, not an engineer."

Wash sighs in mock-disappointment.

"Here." He holds out a hand toward the plane. "Can I see?"

"All yours." She hands it over, and rests her chin in her hand. "I better leave the flyin' to you."

"This kind? Nah." He examines her plane. "It's more fun if I've got company. This ain't bad, all it needs is -- "

Wash adjusts two of the folds and adds one more, angling it so Kaylee can see.

"Like that."

A flick of the wrist, and it clears the hoop easily to join the other planes littering the floor.

"I'd burst into applause, but that'd mean movin'."

A grin. "I'll live. I've got a good imagination."

He settles his arms back across the railing, swinging his feet absently.

Silence.

Then, quietly:

"You sleepin' all right?"

His feet stop swinging, then start up again, slower.

Wash looks down at the mess of airplanes and says, just as quiet, "Not really."

A hell of a lot better than he was, yes.

It's still a rare night where he doesn't wake up midway through, or just not even bother trying until some ungodly hour.

"You remember that tangerine from -- a while back?"

From before you died is perhaps not the most tactful thing to say ever.

Wash takes in a breath.

"Yeah."

He hadn't, at first; not until he woke up the next morning and realized he hadn't dreamt of Reavers. But that was a while ago.

He's looking at Kaylee now.

"Daniel...left another one."

She's smiling.

"Piece with your name on it, if you want it."

This, like he said to Zoe, has really not been his best month ever.

It's been a damn long one, actually, and he's exhausted, and desperate to get -- if not an ending -- some kind of break from it all. Even if it's just one night.

So it might not be the same crashing relief as it was when Bernard gave him that potion, but it's clear and bright all the same.

"Kaylee..." He swallows, tries again, nods. "Yeah. I do. I -- " and a small laugh, "I could really, really use that. Xiexie."

Her smile is warm. "Won't be but a minute."

Kaylee rises, clatters down the stairs, exits the cargo bay by the infirmary.

And is back, quickly, fruit in hand. "Haven't touched it yet. Mind doin' the honors?"

"Not at all."

It smells heavenly. Wash cradles it in his palm for a moment before carefully breaking the rind with his thumbnail. He strips a bit of it away in one long curl, enough to separate one segment from the others, and passes the rest back to Kaylee.

Tastes heavenly, too.

He closes his eyes, savoring it.

Which...seems like a private kind of ritual. It was different the first time, when they all took some. Before it all went to hell.

(Well.

Even more to hell than it already had.)

Now...it's just Wash.

Kaylee rests the tangerine on the floor and reaches silently for another scrap of paper, and busies herself.

Not a paper airplane. A bird.

With a small, contented sigh, he opens his eyes and rests his forehead against one of the rails. One hand rises to curl around the smooth metal.

"And now I just have to wait for the coffee to wear off."

Sheepish.

Cheerful: "That's why tea's better."

She holds out the bird for inspection.

"Hey. Do not blaspheme my choice of beverages, you."

Smiling, Wash pokes the tip of its beak and makes a small noise of approval. "Shiny."

Kaylee regards it thoughtfully. "...bet I could get Sunny to glitter it."

He snorts. "Ain't gonna argue that. You stay still for more than two minutes around her, there's glitter. Occasionally less. Sometimes even if you're moving constantly."

Beat.

"Wonder if she'd do it if you had a whole flock of them."

"...what kind of question is that?" She's grinning. "'Course she would."

A whole flock of glittery paper birds.

Just think of the dinnertime sabotage opportunities there.

The best approximation of Wash's expression as he grabs another paper scrap is, 'oooooh.' "This," he proclaims, "has to happen. Here, can you show me how you -- ?"

Planes are easy. It's the more artistic paper folding that trips him up.

"Shi a. Okay. So. You start with a square piece -- "

All in all, there are worse ways to wear off a caffeine high before bed.

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