"You are quite drunk, husband…"
"Maybe so. But I do so love the sound of that word."
"What, drunk?"
"No. Husband. Say it again. Sl-l-looowly."
"Hah-ha! Stop. Don't! I'm…I'm ticklish—Wash--!"
"Come on-n-n…"
"Hu-husband! Gah! Husband! Stop it, or I swear--"
"Adorable. She's blushing, Mal. She's blushing, can you believe that? Blushing for li'l ol' me, Hoban Washburne, the luckiest guy in the 'verse. I think I like that li'l blush across my new wife's cinnamon cheeks. Hmm…what else can I do to make her blush?"
"Kaylee—Kaylee! Hah—no, stop it, I said! Wash! Gorrammit--!—Kaylee, put the camera down, now!"
"Nuh, uh. This is better'n watchin' porn on the Cortex. It's goin' in the Serenity scrapbook!"
"Miss Kaywinnit Lee, you better turn that gorram vid--"
She frowned. Click. Paused it.
Since the war, her hearing had got so she could hear a cockroach's scuttle through ten inches of steel. Got even better this year, without his customary snores. Hard sleeper, that one, but he sure could wake up funny. She'd laughed at the odd little snorts catching her off guard. Good way to wake up in the morning, with laughter. Took a while to get used to not hearing it, and sleeping had been a right chore for some time. Probably didn't get much more than four hours for six months or so. But now, sleep came almost easy. Normal, even.
Still. Made her feel worse off, like he was somehow less important.
Maybe that's why she was playing their tapes overly much, besides the anniversary fact. First time in six years they weren't gonna celebrate it, and that…well, that just cut deep. Weren't no other words for it. Almost as deep as when she knew he wasn't coming, that it weren't just her imagination hoping and playing tricks.
She quietly reached for her sawed off shotgun. A small, near soundless scuttle helped her ignore that old devil ache, for now. She stood slowly, making the barest whisper of a noise. She didn't take nothing for granted, since Jubal Early.
"Wei…"
The scuttle became a subtle scratching; someone's bad attempt at knocking.
"If you're comin', come. If you ain't, you'd best keep movin', hear me?"
A pause. Then: "Heard you."
She pulled a small face and sighed, and the gun returned to the bed table. She'd taken to sleeping beside it, like Jayne did his guns. Not something she was overly proud of, but she took comfort from it, nevertheless. Less painful, that way.
She turned a chair backwards and gracelessly straddled it. "River. C'mon. It's okay, you can visit a spell."
"Heard you," the girl repeated, scrambling down the ladder, and the slip of a thing smiled shyly. Hard to believe she took down a pack of Reavers a year back. Hard to believe…to believe how much trouble she could be…
Still. That was all done and gone. Nothing left to cry over, wasn't nobody's fault. Just happened, was all. Just happened, and nothing could be done to fix nothing. And so the girl had taken to her over the months, maybe from some deeper guilt or some nonsense. It had taken some getting used to, but the shadow felt comfortable now, like a second skin. Wasn't anything to it – the girl just bonded. Took to it like an orphan bird finding shelter beneath an old hen's wing.
"Sorry, River. Didn't mean to play the vid so loud."
River shook her head, and the year had been kind to the girl; she was more woman than girl and she had most her mind back, but there were times when no one understood and she had to struggle to be heard. Wasn't a bad thing, necessarily, just a different thing.
Like hearing a cockroach's scuttle through ten inches of reinforced steel.
"Not what I meant, Zoë." River gently tapped her forehead and a crooked smile graced her lips.
Sheepishly, she mimicked River's grin. "Yeah, guess it can be kinda hard when we get into our moods. I'm sure Mal and I are big enough headaches. Literally."
"Mm, hm. But there's more…" River craned her slim neck, peeking over, watching. Seeing in that funny way she had, seeing what others didn't see. "You weren't really mad."
Turning, they both saw the woman in the clip. A dull ache was all she felt at it, like an old healing scab – a little itchy, a little sore, was all. "Was a long time past, River. Long time ago, and it ain't worth remembering the past. Mal's right about that." She reached to switch it off, and was surprised by River's lightning quick hand. Gorram, she hadn't seen the child move, let alone hear steps. Huh. Maybe River'd meant to be heard at the beginning, after all--
"No, don't turn it off. I want to hear. May I? Hear?"
"It's boring, River, honest. Ain't much to see, and it was just the four of us actin' like feng le kids." Wedding celebrations were all kinds of gorram nonsense. "Nothing to see. Nothin' important anymore. Should've erased it--"
"No," River said, and the vehemence in the child's voice was surprising. "Let me see. I need to see."
River's eyes were unnaturally bright, now, and echoed memories of her less lucid days. "Keep it on."
Didn't do any good arguing with the child when she got in her moods. Even her brother found that out, after gettin' bit a fair number of times. "Fine. Go ahead. Watch it, if it helps."
"I've been practicing."
Click.
"—off! I ain't playin' with you, girl!"
Desperation in her voice. Fear, now. Fear of uselessness, of someone taking advantage. Fear of losing ground to the enemy. Of losing the higher ground. Her fingers were hidden beneath his long, bright sleeves, and no one saw. But nails were drawing blood. She was in charge. She was--
"No. Not this time." No one knew, but he knew. Mal did not know. He knew.
"You don't get to win this time dong ma?" His voice was a butterfly's caress but the vid picked up every word, every nuance. "Struggle not, my dove. Everything's shiny, it's okay. We won. We won the war, Zoë. We both won the war."
He grabbed her waist and murmured calm, deftly mollifying the hellcat inside. She felt less ticklish. Not so crowded, now. He could control a whole gorram plane with the barest of touches, and knew just how to maneuver through minefields. He nosed her jaw and his bright cheeks, flushed crimson from drink and truth, hid the barest of smiles. He did not care. He understood, and he did not care. He wasn't so drunk anymore, or rather he had transferred his drink to her. She felt warm. More than loved, more than happy. She knew beyond a doubt, beyond the black, despite Mal's hard, uncomfortable stare that she had chosen wisely.
"Aww--"
"Kaylee, turn it off. Let the lovebirds have their fun."
"Cap'n, they'll wanna see this la--"
"Don't worry 'bout it, Kaylee." Her man. She was on air. She was being pulled, but she could not feel it. "We were just leaving. Right, Zoë?"
"Mm. Leaving. Right."
The camera followed them up the stairs, right before a hand covered the lens.
"Hey, I was only--"
Hissss…
"That's…the end, River. That's all K--"
"Shh!" The girl's eyes were screwed tight and her lips began moving at a furious pace. The trance was a devilish thing to see, almost scary, but beautiful in its own way. Beautiful and dangerous, like a tantric ballet.
"River--?"
River held up a hand. It wouldn't take much to get Simon, and considering the doc wasn't but two feet away from his sis at all hours of the ni—
"What--?"
River had grabbed her arm and held tight. Struggling would be foolish, and it wouldn't make sense to struggle against it. If she needed to, she could break River's arm. Instead, she let the child's thin, razory nails dig deep into her arm.
Drawing blood.
Drawing life.
"It's okay," River whispered, eyes still closed. "You don't need to struggle anymore. Remembering…to remember is to win the war. Don't forget to win the war, Zoë. He loves you. He wants you to win."
River's eyes opened, bright and lucid, clear. The child's grip peeled away, but the marks – the wounds – were fresh once more.
"Happy Anniversary."
For the first time in a year, Zoë let tears caress her cheek – and they felt light, like her man's kisses.
Perhaps Wash hadn't forgotten, after all.