The first time that Wash got involved in a firefight alongside Zoe, it was totally an accident. Well, an accident on his part; the rest of the firefly's crew seemed to search out danger, and so it was merely his own fault that he happened to be down in the cargo bay when the action went down.
He had been with Serenity for nearly three months at this point, and had proved his mettle time and time again, or so the Captain proclaimed. Wash didn't much care for the mechanic, Bester, but he was blown away by the beautiful and mysterious Zoe. He couldn't remember ever meeting a woman quite like her. She had successfully evaded his attempts at chivalry, courtship, and all other manner of flirtatious interaction, and Wash was at a loss as to how to approach her next. She never seemed impressed with him, but Wash was sure there were chinks in her armor; he just had to find them.
The Captain and his First Mate had returned unscathed from what appeared to be a successful, steal-from-the-rich-and-keep-mostly-for-ourselves kind of mission on Verdun. Mal had radioed up to the Pilot.
"Wash! Get yourself down here, we bein' a mite short on help!" There were a few tens of crates to be unloaded from a hired cart and stored away, and given the chance that Wash might be able to show off his large, semi-muscular body to the stoic warrior woman, he set the helm on auto alert and bounded down the stairs to give a hand. Zoe had seemed to yet to take a liking to him, even though he shaved off his mustache for her, and Wash constantly found himself trying everything he could think of just to get her to smile. He stood at the foot of the steps and took a deep breath.
"Don't worry folks, I am here at last to assist you in a helpful and masculine manner!" he cried jovially, hands spread wide. Mal glanced up at him and smirked, a snort leaving his lips, then focused back down to the matter at hand. Zoe didn't even glance up, which is why Wash was totally unprepared for the pair of leather work gloves that hit him square in the face.
"Put them on, masculine man," she spoke neutrally, checking off crates on a checklist, "don't want them vulnerable Pilot hands of yours to blister."
"Oh, Zoe, you wound me," he replied with a hand over his heart, trying to inject some humor into the situation. When she said nothing in return, he begrudgingly slipped the work gloves on and fell into place besides Mal. "Well that didn't go well," he mused to himself. "Way to look tough in front of the object of your desire." He sighed. "Zoe 1, Wash zero."
The three fell into a companionable silence while they worked, which left Wash feeling slightly on edge. His attempts at light-hearted conversation to make the time pass were met only with grunts and shrugs, from both sides, and so, frowning, he also lapsed into quiet. The cadence of the pick up, put down, pick up, put down, was starting to lull him to sleep, so to combat the feeling he began humming a little tune in time to the rhythm. When that got a glare from Zoe, he swallowed, and continued singing in his head, adding words as he went.
"My lady love…my lady fair…sure has got a nice derriere…OHHHH I'll melt her heart…I'll make her smile…if only I can kiss her lips a-while….OHHHH…"
Wash was completely caught up in his lyrical musings, getting ready to move into his third chorus, when Zoe held up a hand for silence. Wash only half-heartedly paid attention, figuring he had accidentally sung out loud again, and turned his back on the open cargo bay door to put down another crate in their orderly pile. He moved his hand off the box, and suddenly a hole appeared right where his hand had been. Wash stared at the hole for a moment, not comprehending, when a strong hand grabbed the back of his flight suit and shoved him roughly to the ground. Protesting, he looked up to see Zoe standing over him, her eyes searching the ever-darkening world outside. Mal was doing the same, motioning for Zoe and Wash to dash to safety.
A bullet hole, Wash's mind suddenly comprehended; that's what had appeared in the crate. Wash was stunned; he hadn't even heard the shot. Without time to ponder such thoughts further, Wash yelped as he was grabbed again, this time by his shirt collar, yanked forcefully to his feet, and pushed unceremoniously out of the way. Wash managed a glance out the cargo bay door as he flew past, and saw five men creeping out of the dusk, guns drawn and blazing.
Mal looked across the open cargo bay to his first mate and his pilot. Wash stood behind Zoe, confusion and worry clear in his bright blue eyes. Zoe looked hard across at her Captain, indicating slightly with her head at the fair-haired man behind her, an unspoken question in an arched brow. Mal nodded, and Zoe turned quickly to Wash.
Wash was surprised, to say the least, when Zoe spun around, and shoved another gun into his hands. "Here," she said, gruffly, "you might need this. I'm going to try and take some of those men out; I need you to cover me."
Wash fumbled with the weapon, his eyes going wide. "Cover you? While I am always at the ready with a quick get away, Ms. First Mate sir--" he started, but shut up quickly when Zoe's hand clamped across his mouth. She leaned in close. "No. Time." she hissed, eyes boring into his. Wash felt an uncontrollable shiver at the feel of her breath on his face, and he unconsciously breathed in her scent. Feeling heady at the smell of her, he barely noticed when she turned away, gun cocked and at the ready. "Today may be my day to die," he thought, "but what a way to go!"
Wash saw Mal's eyes count down from five, and when Zoe jumped out into the open, both he and Wash opened fire towards the outdoors, providing cover. Zoe strafed back and forth, and judging by the yelps issued out of sight, Wash figured she had taken down three of the men already. Wash continued firing blindly into the night, and turned when Mal emitted a triumphant yell as one of his bullets found their mark. One left, Wash thought, and listened for returning fire. Hearing nothing, he turned back to Zoe, who was crouched out in the open, quickly reloading her gun, eyes darting back and forth into the darkness.
Wash tempted a brief look out the door himself, and what he saw froze his heart. The last lone gunman was approaching Zoe from behind, crouched under the door ramp, and looked ready to strike. As he was taking aim, Wash realized with horror that, from her high vantage point and Mal's skewed angle, neither of them could see the danger before them.
Without even thinking, Wash leapt out of hiding with a roar, jumping down to the planet surface next to the ramp, startling not only the would-be assassin but Zoe as well. He heard her call out his name; was that fear in her voice? He didn't have time to dwell on this thought as his fist, as if it belonged to someone else, connected solidly with the jaw of the man before him, who staggered but did not fall.
Wash instantly cried out at the pain in his knuckles, waving his hand about. A little niggling thought about never hitting someone with a closed hand sprung to mind, but he was too busy jumping up and down at the pain of what he surely thought must be broken fingers to pay much attention. Hearing a whistling noise, Wash looked up just in time to see the butt of the other man's rifle loom into his vision before it crashed down upon his head. Wash's vision instantly went black and he tumbled gracelessly to the ground. As he fell into unconsciousness, he heard muffled yells, a voice calling his name, and a shot.
"Damn; I never got to sing Zoe my song," was his last thought as darkness claimed him.
The grip of Serenity's yoke in his hands was smooth and strong, a constant in this universe of infinite changes and unknowns. He could sense that his eyes were closed, but it didn't matter; he didn't need sight out in the Black. As he moved to grasp the yoke harder, he was startled to find that he no longer sat in his Pilot's chair, but lay in a comfortable bed, and he gripped not the helm controls but strong, soft shoulders. Smoothing hands over impossibly supple skin, he tried to open his eyes to see whom it was he touched, but couldn't. Lips were nipping at his throat, hands rubbing his chest, and he sighed in contentment. Squeezing the shoulders again, the foreign skin felt cold, rough, immobile under his fingers. Repulsed without knowing why, he used all his strength to pry his lids apart, and was stricken to see Zoe's lifeless body in his arms, as he crouched near Serenity.
"Pilot," he heard her say, but her lips did not move. Tears unabashedly welled up in his gaze, as if he could will her back to life. He thrust his face into the crook of her neck, sobbing, wanting to bask in that wonderful scent of her that he had smelled once before, long ago. "No! No, no no Zoe," he mumbled into her hair as he rocked her in his arms.
"Pilot," she called again, her voice everywhere and nowhere, surrounding him with its futility, because she was gone! She was gone…
"Wash!" The sound of his name on her lips wrenched a great cry from his own, and he looked up into the cloudy sky and blinked at his tears...
He blinked.
There was no sky, only the ceiling of the infirmary, the harsh fluorescents stinging his eyes, and the face of an angel gazing worriedly down at him. He took stock of himself, head throbbing, mouth dry, hand achy, tears running down his cheeks. "Zoe…" he breathed, incredulous. "You're alive."
If possible, the first mate's face grew even sterner, her frown deepening, and she moved back. "Yes, I am," she said, not a little angrily, "but you and your big damn hero reaction almost got yourself killed. I can take care of myself," she finished, and brushed a hand across his brow almost imperceptibly. He closed his eyes at the thrill of it, even as awful as he felt, but Zoe thought he was fading again, and lightly tapped his cheek. "Hey," she said, softer this time, "don't go anywhere now. You need to stay awake for a little while." She pulled away, walking over to a med kit. Wash tried to shake himself more awake, embarrassed at his tears, and wiped them away quickly. "Maybe she likes the sensitive type," he thought, ruefully. He hoped he hadn't cried her name out loud; he shuddered to think of the limp weight of her dead body as he had cradled it in his arms.
Zoe, mistaking his shudder for cold, placed a blanket over him. She lightly grasped his injured hand in hers, and he forced himself to look down as she said, "Not bad; I've seen worse. Might be needing a few days' rest, is all." He flexed his fingers gently, testing their pain. She was right; it wasn't as bad as he had thought earlier.
Without warning, she grabbed his chin in her calloused hand and roughly turned his face towards hers. "That was some stupid, idiotic thing you did, Pilot," she said forcefully, her voice full of anger.
Wash raised his eyebrows in protest, replying, "That may be, honeybuns, but I figure a knock on the noggin is much better than a Zoe full of holes. Less messy." He grinned, trying to get her to ease up, but she gripped his chin harder. Emotion flitted across her eyes for a brief moment, and then the wall of fury was back up.
"I don't cotton much to people squandering away their lives my account, Pilot. If you insist on dragging your sorry ass into scrapes now and then for no reason, you need to learn how to fight." She set her mouth in a firm line and stepped away again, this time making to leave the room. Wash stared at her back, straight and proud, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. He called out to her, jokingly, "Are you going to enroll me in some judo classes, then? Where do you propose I learn?"
The warrior paused, glancing back over her shoulder. She seemed to want to speak, but then turned again abruptly and walked out the door.
Wash leaned back against the medical bed, tired and achy, the day's events catching up to him. He wiped a hand across his face again, frowning. "I don't need to know how to fight," he mused to himself. "I flee, with style. Fleeing stylishly is my specialty." As he drifted into a healing sleep, he heard his nagging inner voice murmur, "You should at least learn how to punch a guy if you're going to stick it out with this crowd." Frowning slightly, he fell into slumber.
The next week or so was spent with too much sitting in the infirmary or his room, and not enough flying, walking, stretching, working, or any of the other activities that didn't bore him to tears. Wash especially didn't enjoy sleeping so much; the nightmare he'd had when he was unconscious would return, not as severe as before, but the dream always left him bursting out of sleep, breathless, tears on his cheeks, with the memory of it fading fast like sand through his fingers.
It seemed Mal didn't appreciate his genius Pilot sitting around much, either, especially since they were only a few days out of Verdun and he wanted to get them far from the planet, fast. Mal and Wash sat in the kitchen once or twice, playing cards with Bester until Wash became too weary. Mal was slightly concerned about his Pilot, as dark circles appeared under his eyes as the days went on, but Wash waved him off, saying it was only this sitting around business that was boring him to death. Mal seemed to ease off at that, and looked forward to when he could relinquish the helm again.
Zoe had had Wash come down to the infirmary twice during the week to check him for signs of concussion and to change the bandages on his hand and head. If she remembered how tenderly and emotionally she had cared for him before, she gave no indication of it. Zoe was now cold and clinical in her administrations, barely speaking, and, despite his attempts at lightening the mood with half-hearted humor and witticisms, Wash found himself frowning at her reaction. "Why does she close up to me?" he asked himself. "What's changed?"
Wash only got the briefest of glimpses into her feelings during these times, only when she repeatedly asked him if he had been getting enough sleep. Her voice would waver the slightest bit and, not wanting her to worry, he quickly launched into energetic tirades of protest that belied how exhausted he truly felt. He knew intuitively that she wanted to know what he was dreaming about, since he was certain that his cries didn't escape her sharp hearing in the night, but he wasn't yet ready to face the images during the day. Somehow, he always managed to make her accept this, and he was left again to sleepless, sorrow-filled nights.
She declared him fit for duty five days after he was injured, and he practically whooped with joy as he leapt down from the examination table. "On one condition!" she barked at his retreating form, halting him as he was about to run up to the cockpit. He stood without turning, and rolled his eyes. "Oh, please mother, can't I go play now?" he whined, jokingly.
Zoe simply placed a hand on her hip. "Tomorrow, you are going to begin sparring practice with me. Mal and I can't be looking out for you all the time, so I'll teach you some basics of hand-to-hand combat."
Wash's jaw dropped, and he turned around to face her. She stood stock still, her countenance leaving no room for argument. Wash's mouth flopped like a fish out of water, and he finally said with a gulp and a grin, "I was never any good at gym."
Zoe sighed, and shouldered her way past him out the door. "Nine hundred hours. Cargo bay. Get some rest," she called over her shoulder, and climbed the stairs to the bunk level. Wash stood in the infirmary, drawing a hand over his eyes. "What have I gotten myself into," he sighed to himself, and prepared for another restless night.
Wash stumbled into the cargo bay at exactly 9 AM the next morning, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. The dream had returned full force in the night, only now even the previous small comfort of the stranger's smooth shoulders and the familiar yoke of the ship were lost to the images of Zoe's lifeless body, limp in his arms, as he wept into her neck.
Wash shook his head to clear the unbidden visions from his mind, and then looked up, where he promptly fell down the last two steps into the cargo bay. Zoe looked up from where she was sitting, sharpening a knife, at the sound of his feet clanging down the steps, and gave a ghost of a smirk at the sight of him hanging onto the railing to keep from tumbling to the ground.
Wash's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was wearing only a tank top shirt in a deep red color, and her leather pants were unencumbered by the holsters she so often wore. Her hair was drawn back in a severe ponytail, and in sitting with her arms resting on her knees, he could see the definition in her shoulders, the curve of her collarbone, a slight shadowing near her chest as he got a good look down her shirt…
"Ai ya, you idiot, don't even think about it!" He thought to himself, clamping his eyes shut. "Don't let yourself get killed before the fight has even started!" He mentally slapped himself, and strode over to where the warrior sat.
Zoe finished sharpening the blade, laid the whetstone aside and, without warning, stood and placed the tip at Wash's throat. He froze, lifting his hands, laughing weakly, "Hey, hey now! Let's not be hasty here, sweetums. How am I supposed to learn if I'm already dead?"
Zoe did not move for a long moment, gaze steady on his face, then removed the knife and set it to the side. "First lesson, Pilot," she said, moving in a circle behind him, "never let down your guard."
Wash, unnerved by her circling, turned to meet her, engaging them both in a sort of deadly dance. "Huh," he snorted, "that's certainly one lesson you've got down pat." He barely had time to react as she dropped to her knees, whipping her leg around and sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell hard to the ground, seeing stars. With a groan, he looked up into the face of the woman he now knew he loved, the woman who did not love him back, the woman who did not love anyone. Her eyes were blazing with rage at his words, but the rest of her face was passive. Grumbling slightly, Wash rose to his feet. "Well, that's one way to get some emotion out of her," he thought wryly to himself, "just annoy her until she beats the crap out of you." Wash gave Zoe a little mock bow, and said "Touché, my dear. Maybe you can teach me something like that, instead of wiping the floor with me?" Zoe frowned, and both crew members settled in to see what Wash could do.
They circled and exchanged blows for the next half hour. Wash became increasingly more and more annoyed to find himself flat on his back much of the time, unlike Zoe, who was standing off to the side, picking her nails absently. He was able to get in a slap to the face or slight punch to the gut here and there, but he felt that she was letting him get those hits in. Frustrated by how the fight was going, he decided to try and get Zoe to open up.
As he made a weak jab at her shoulder, only to have her use his own momentum against him and shove him past her, he asked, "So, Zoe, Ms. Alleyne. I gather you don't laugh much, do you?"
Blocking another jab, and lightly punching him in the shoulder, she replied, "Takes too much time to laugh. Leaves you vulnerable to action around you, leaves your defenses down." She aimed a swift kick at his head, but he managed to deftly step aside.
Breathing heavily, Wash feinted left and tried his own kick, at her stomach, which connected with a slight 'oof' sound from Zoe. "Oh, I don't know," he countered, "I find that when I'm laughing, it's usually because I'm with people I enjoy, and I don't need to worry about keeping my defenses up!" The last word was grunted, as in turning around he had left his back open, and she had kneed him in the behind. Rubbing the hurt, he turned to face her again.
Zoe's face was gleaming with sweat, one slow trickle making its way down her neck and disappearing into her shirt. Wash was so caught up admiring her beauty that she easily grabbed him in a headlock. Words breathy as she struggled with him, she answered, "That's why you're the one getting fightin' lessons, not me." She let him go, spinning, with a hard shove, and brought her hands up in a classic boxer's stance.
Wash could feel himself tiring, the week's lack of sleep catching up with him, but he couldn't stop now, not when she was actually speaking to him. All right, chastising him, really, but he'd take what he could get. "You know, you should try it; you might like it, laughing and smiling and caring about other people--"
"I DO care about other people!" she interrupted him harshly, and punched him hard, near the brow. Wash staggered back, lifting a hand to his face that came away bloody. Wash's eyes widened in surprise, then furrowed in anger. "Okay, this is getting a little much," he thought to himself.
Wash made a quick move and kicked Zoe in the shins, and it was so unexpected that she fell to her knees. "You really care about people, huh Zoe?" Wash taunted, circling her as she had done to him earlier. "Has it ever occurred to you that other people care about you? That your lack of emotion doesn't cause others to turn away?" He was getting angry now, and could feel himself hyperventilating, but the floodgates had opened, the pent up fear and sorrow of his dreams spilling out into his waking hours. He angrily wiped away a tear that managed to slip past his defenses. "Has it entered your mind that people care about you so much; that the absolute worst thing that they can think of is to see you in danger? Or in pain?" He moved forward to jab at Zoe's shoulder, and she stood, whirling, to grab his biceps in a vise-like grip. He grabbed hers in turn, and suddenly they were face to face, lungs heaving, bodies trembling. Wash was unprepared for what he saw in her eyes.
She knew there were unshed tears brimming in her gaze, but she would not let them fall. Staring back into the Pilot's--no, Wash's--blue eyes, she understood why he had been having the same nightmare, over and over, that made her heart ache to hear him cry out in his sleep. His words entered her mind, clearing the fog of battle and stress. The nightmares were about her?
Wash was dumbstruck at the look of sadness and fear that Zoe was showing him so blindly in her eyes. He saw the reaction as his words hit home, but was not prepared for her low response. "How do you think I feel, knowing you risked your life to save mine, without thinking about your own safety? How do you think I felt when I saw that man raising his gun to your head?" A single tear escaped her eyes, and Wash understood. And like a man possessed, he kissed her.
Ai ya, and he was kissing her and kissing her, and she tasted so good, and his eyes were closed and he felt the soft, impossibly smooth skin of her shoulders underneath his touch that he knew would not turn into the lifeless woman from his dream. And she was kissing him back, her hands running through his hair and splayed out across the breadth of his back, and he was lost in the feel of her.
They broke apart, chests heaving, still maintaining contact. The tears in her eyes were gone, as if they had never been, and she reached up to wipe an errant drop from his face. He stared at her, amazed, as if he had imagined the last few minutes. Her eyes shifted slightly, suddenly, and he only had time to wonder as she made a quick movement, turning, and used his arm to flip him over her shoulder and onto his back. She jumped down to her knees, straddling his chest, whipped out a gun from her calf-holster, and held it unwavering to his temple. He looked up all the way up the length of her body, glistening with sweat, her heavy breathing and bright, white smile. She was smiling? He sucked in a breath.
"You're dead," she said, with laughter in her voice. Wash laughed right back, unbelievably pleased at her playfulness. "Then I may die, sweet lady," he whispered, grinning, and after a long, lingering look up her body once more, stated, "but what a way to go!"
Smirking, she removed the gun from his head and rose gracefully, like a proud swan from the floor. She backed up a few steps, grabbing her knife on the way, and turned and began to walk up the stairs.
Wash flipped over onto his stomach, still catching his breath, hungrily watching the sway of her steps as she mounted the steps. He had lost himself in thought until he realized she had stopped, gazing back at him playfully. "Well? Are you coming?" she asked with a twitch of her lips, and turned and walked out of sight.
Wash blew out a deep breath, and laid his damp forehead on the cool cargo bay floor. In truth, his head ached madly, he was utterly exhausted, and did not know if he had the strength to stand. But images of Zoe's cocoa skin beneath his fingers and her tresses in his palm spurred him to action. He stumbled wearily but smiling towards the stairs and to their bunks, wiping a hand across his brow. "Zhu a, what a way to go indeed!"