firefly fic
Nov. 17th, 2005 09:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivendellroseAlright, so... I'm not sure where this came from, but it started out as a little bit, just trying to get a handle on Zoe from Mal's perspective, and then... well, it got to be not quite so little, but kept the same old theme. It hasn't been beta'd (...as usual...), which means I might be making changes on it as I go over it, but for right now, I'm happy with it. Mal gets a bit... rambly, so I do apologize for that. That's just how his voice works, in my brain.
Yes, Mom - now I'll write you River/Jayne. ;)
Series: Firefly
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish it weren't so, and I'm not making money. Off anything, really, but especially not off this. All concept credit goes to Whedon.
Characters: Mal and Zoe, with a bit of Wash.
Warnings: None, unless you count Mal talking like Mal, and mention of the war. Other than a bit of language, it's safe for kittens, puppies, and even folks who haven't seen the movie.
Title: "Of Tempest and Stone"
"Morning, Captain."
"Morning, Zoe." The sound of her feet on the deckplates had warned Mal of his first mate's approach before she spoke - he wasn't entirely sure how, but he'd come to recognize her footsteps among the rest of the crew. Jayne made more noise, for one thing, and Kaylee could hardly ever be pursuaded to walk as deliberately as Zoe did. Maybe it was all those years of her sneaking up behind him, during the war. No mortal being should've been able to move as silently as Zoe did, in those days. Those memories made him glad for the smooth sound of her boots, now - they meant she didn't need to be so stealthy anymore.
"Coffee on yet?"
"If you mean that roasted-grain go se Kaylee picked up at the last landing, yeah, it's on the stove."
He heard the scrape of metal on metal as she removed the coffee carafe from the stove, and the clink of ceramic as a mug was lifted from the cupboard, then silence for a moment, followed by footsteps that led to his side, and the chair being pulled out as she took her seat in silence. Others might chatter, but Zoe inhabited silence as though it was her natural state, comfortable and confident that words weren't needed.
Sometimes, Mal wondered what benevolent chance in the mind of some military paper-pusher had brought Corporal Zoe Alleyne to be assigned to his regiment. Since the day he met her, he figured she'd saved his life probably between ten and twenty times, which for knowing her a total of about nine years made for a pretty high frequency of near-death. And even beyond those direct, discrete moments where her knife or gun or attention to the sound of a scraping on the stones near them had saved his sorry ass from being blown full of holes, or when she'd hauled him back from who-knew what hell-bent, moronic plan or stubborn determination, he couldn't shake the feeling that Zoe'd saved him more often than that, and in more important ways.
After Serenity Valley, after the surrender, he'd been a broken man. Still was, by most accounts, but at least now he had some solid ground beneath his feet, some folk around him to rely on and think on when he didn't care for himself whether or not he got up in the morning. Back in that forsaken camp, waiting for the higher-ups to make their peace while his men died around him, all he'd had was Zoe. Zoe who'd lost as much as him, seen as many die, caused as many deaths that now looked to be pointless as they'd been abandoned by the men and women who ordered them into that hell-hole... but it didn't seem to tear into her like it did him. Didn't tie her guts in the same knots he felt in his, because she was stronger than that. Didn't leave her looking at her gun like it might be a way out of the nightmare they'd woken up in, or cursing the god who'd betrayed them. Maybe she'd never believed, maybe she'd given up long ago, or maybe she knew something in a bone-deep sort of way that he didn't have. All that mattered was that when Mal Reynolds flailed and faltered in quicksand and riptides that threatened to drag him under, Zoe was the solid earth that held his head above the surface.
Making her the first mate of his boat was the absolute least he could do. He'd never questioned, never doubted for an instant that if he could buy himself some freedom, he'd give Zoe the option to join in on it with him, and a weight had lifted from his stomach when her doubts about the ship had turned to "where are we going to find a crew to fly this piece of tin?" No word in all the 'verse had ever sounded better than that 'we.'
Another set of footsteps approached the dining room, and Mal glanced aside to see his pilot, his blond hair sticking up on one side and flat against his face on the other, still buttoning one of his loud printed shirts.
"Mornin', baby."
"Good to see you awake, husband. Coffee's on the stove."
And when she'd hooked up with the pilot she'd claimed to dislike... well, Mal wasn't going to pretend he'd been happy from the start. Hell, he'd been angry and, to be honest, he'd been scared, too. He'd been scared she'd get hurt, scared that Wash wouldn't be good to her, and scared most of all that his rock-solid Zoe, his right hand, wouldn't be needing him anymore. Assuming she ever had at all, that was, which was a big damned assumption. He sure as hell still needed her.
"We ought to be landing on Angel in a few hours," Wash remarked, ripping the silvery package around a protein bar. "I already waved ahead to Dawson, so he's ready for us."
Mal smirked. "Hopefully not too ready."
"Don't think we'll have any trouble with him, Captain, but Jayne and I'll be ready if it goes down." Zoe accepted a second bar, handed to her by her husband, and dipped it in her coffee.
"Good to know."
Something had definitely been looking out for Malcolm Reynolds the day he'd recieved Zoe into his regiment, and it had left him with the best friend he ever expected to know. Good times and bad, she'd stood by his side, kept him strong, and sane, at least as much as anybody could, he figured. When he went to her a few mornings after her wedding and asked her straight out whether he'd be needing a new first mate, she'd looked at him like he was crazy. Asked him whether he hadn't noticed that she'd married his damned pilot, not some fool planning on running away into the black never to return. He'd nodded crisply, made a joke of it, and moved on, but inside he'd been stunned absolutely speechless. Somehow, even after all those years, it hadn't quite struck, at that point, that she didn't have any designs on leaving him behind, whether or not she'd found love to add to her life.
"I'd better get up there, work on the landing sequence." Wash downed the last of his coffee, kissed his wife, and waved at Mal with his protein bar still in hand as he crossed the kitchen toward the bridge.
Zoe shook her head as he went, took another sip of her coffee, and Mal sat back, stretching his arms behind him. Soon, he guessed, the Shepherd, Kaylee, and then Simon and River would be joining them at breakfast, and Jayne, too, whenever the big man hauled himself out of his heavy sleep. But for now, he liked the quiet, taking in the soft humming of his ship and the settled-belly feeling of freedom, with Zoe next to him at the table, relaxed and smiling quietly to herself in a way that spoke of peace. As long as Zoe was smiling, Mal decided, weren't much in the 'verse that could be wrong.
Yes, Mom - now I'll write you River/Jayne. ;)
Series: Firefly
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish it weren't so, and I'm not making money. Off anything, really, but especially not off this. All concept credit goes to Whedon.
Characters: Mal and Zoe, with a bit of Wash.
Warnings: None, unless you count Mal talking like Mal, and mention of the war. Other than a bit of language, it's safe for kittens, puppies, and even folks who haven't seen the movie.
Title: "Of Tempest and Stone"
"Morning, Captain."
"Morning, Zoe." The sound of her feet on the deckplates had warned Mal of his first mate's approach before she spoke - he wasn't entirely sure how, but he'd come to recognize her footsteps among the rest of the crew. Jayne made more noise, for one thing, and Kaylee could hardly ever be pursuaded to walk as deliberately as Zoe did. Maybe it was all those years of her sneaking up behind him, during the war. No mortal being should've been able to move as silently as Zoe did, in those days. Those memories made him glad for the smooth sound of her boots, now - they meant she didn't need to be so stealthy anymore.
"Coffee on yet?"
"If you mean that roasted-grain go se Kaylee picked up at the last landing, yeah, it's on the stove."
He heard the scrape of metal on metal as she removed the coffee carafe from the stove, and the clink of ceramic as a mug was lifted from the cupboard, then silence for a moment, followed by footsteps that led to his side, and the chair being pulled out as she took her seat in silence. Others might chatter, but Zoe inhabited silence as though it was her natural state, comfortable and confident that words weren't needed.
Sometimes, Mal wondered what benevolent chance in the mind of some military paper-pusher had brought Corporal Zoe Alleyne to be assigned to his regiment. Since the day he met her, he figured she'd saved his life probably between ten and twenty times, which for knowing her a total of about nine years made for a pretty high frequency of near-death. And even beyond those direct, discrete moments where her knife or gun or attention to the sound of a scraping on the stones near them had saved his sorry ass from being blown full of holes, or when she'd hauled him back from who-knew what hell-bent, moronic plan or stubborn determination, he couldn't shake the feeling that Zoe'd saved him more often than that, and in more important ways.
After Serenity Valley, after the surrender, he'd been a broken man. Still was, by most accounts, but at least now he had some solid ground beneath his feet, some folk around him to rely on and think on when he didn't care for himself whether or not he got up in the morning. Back in that forsaken camp, waiting for the higher-ups to make their peace while his men died around him, all he'd had was Zoe. Zoe who'd lost as much as him, seen as many die, caused as many deaths that now looked to be pointless as they'd been abandoned by the men and women who ordered them into that hell-hole... but it didn't seem to tear into her like it did him. Didn't tie her guts in the same knots he felt in his, because she was stronger than that. Didn't leave her looking at her gun like it might be a way out of the nightmare they'd woken up in, or cursing the god who'd betrayed them. Maybe she'd never believed, maybe she'd given up long ago, or maybe she knew something in a bone-deep sort of way that he didn't have. All that mattered was that when Mal Reynolds flailed and faltered in quicksand and riptides that threatened to drag him under, Zoe was the solid earth that held his head above the surface.
Making her the first mate of his boat was the absolute least he could do. He'd never questioned, never doubted for an instant that if he could buy himself some freedom, he'd give Zoe the option to join in on it with him, and a weight had lifted from his stomach when her doubts about the ship had turned to "where are we going to find a crew to fly this piece of tin?" No word in all the 'verse had ever sounded better than that 'we.'
Another set of footsteps approached the dining room, and Mal glanced aside to see his pilot, his blond hair sticking up on one side and flat against his face on the other, still buttoning one of his loud printed shirts.
"Mornin', baby."
"Good to see you awake, husband. Coffee's on the stove."
And when she'd hooked up with the pilot she'd claimed to dislike... well, Mal wasn't going to pretend he'd been happy from the start. Hell, he'd been angry and, to be honest, he'd been scared, too. He'd been scared she'd get hurt, scared that Wash wouldn't be good to her, and scared most of all that his rock-solid Zoe, his right hand, wouldn't be needing him anymore. Assuming she ever had at all, that was, which was a big damned assumption. He sure as hell still needed her.
"We ought to be landing on Angel in a few hours," Wash remarked, ripping the silvery package around a protein bar. "I already waved ahead to Dawson, so he's ready for us."
Mal smirked. "Hopefully not too ready."
"Don't think we'll have any trouble with him, Captain, but Jayne and I'll be ready if it goes down." Zoe accepted a second bar, handed to her by her husband, and dipped it in her coffee.
"Good to know."
Something had definitely been looking out for Malcolm Reynolds the day he'd recieved Zoe into his regiment, and it had left him with the best friend he ever expected to know. Good times and bad, she'd stood by his side, kept him strong, and sane, at least as much as anybody could, he figured. When he went to her a few mornings after her wedding and asked her straight out whether he'd be needing a new first mate, she'd looked at him like he was crazy. Asked him whether he hadn't noticed that she'd married his damned pilot, not some fool planning on running away into the black never to return. He'd nodded crisply, made a joke of it, and moved on, but inside he'd been stunned absolutely speechless. Somehow, even after all those years, it hadn't quite struck, at that point, that she didn't have any designs on leaving him behind, whether or not she'd found love to add to her life.
"I'd better get up there, work on the landing sequence." Wash downed the last of his coffee, kissed his wife, and waved at Mal with his protein bar still in hand as he crossed the kitchen toward the bridge.
Zoe shook her head as he went, took another sip of her coffee, and Mal sat back, stretching his arms behind him. Soon, he guessed, the Shepherd, Kaylee, and then Simon and River would be joining them at breakfast, and Jayne, too, whenever the big man hauled himself out of his heavy sleep. But for now, he liked the quiet, taking in the soft humming of his ship and the settled-belly feeling of freedom, with Zoe next to him at the table, relaxed and smiling quietly to herself in a way that spoke of peace. As long as Zoe was smiling, Mal decided, weren't much in the 'verse that could be wrong.
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Date: 2005-11-18 06:22 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-11-21 01:20 am (UTC)Glad you enjoyed!