flybywash | (no subject)

(no subject)

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 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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