Grace

by Random Mushroom

Grace is Zoe and Wash's daughter. She wants to go on a job. She's thirteen. Her Mum wants her to stay safe. Grace wants to prove herself. Her Mum won't let her come. Grace just won't listen.

Disclaimer – I don't own Firefly or any of the characters. I wish I did, but if we all get our wishes we'd be spoiled, wouldn't we? And no one wants that. (Well I do, but that's beside the point.)

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"No," said Mum emphatically, looking from me to Mal. "Your not coming."

Her and Mal were sitting at the table. I was standing up, arms crossed, desperately wishing I was taller, so I could tower over them. It would be so gorram shiny to tower. I had to settle for standing on tip toes. O hoped they wouldn't notice, and bring age into it.

"You are a mite bit young," said Mal.

Damn. At least I had an argument prepared.

"You took River with you on a job, when she was seventeen. Kaylee said. That's only four years older than me. Plus, I'm a volunteer. That's got to be worth a couple of years."

"No," said Mum.

Mal gave a little shrug – What your mother says.

"It's too dangerous," said Mal.

"Trust me, I know it's dangerous," I said. "My dad got killed on a scheme of yours, remember?"

Then I walked out. Bringing Dad into an argument was a sure way of loosing it. It always put them on the defensive, and made them really stubborn and determined. Thing is, they still feel guilty, fourteen years on.

I went over to my bunk and slumped down. It wasn't fair. Simon had taken John on a job once. And he's only ten. The job had involved legally acquiring a goldfish, but that's beside the point.

I hate it. They're so gorram overprotective of me. Cos of Dad. I look like him – blond hair, fair skin. Not dark like Mum.

But I'm a disappointment, I know I am. I've heard all the stories about Dad, about how he was funny and had toy dinosaurs and wanted to take up goose juggling. I'm not like that.

I'm not like Mum either. That's why I want to go on the job. To prove that I can be brave, even if I'm not a Zoe or a Wash. To prove that I'm still… useful, I'm still worth something.

That's why I will go on the job.

I'll just have to plot and plan a bit and find a better way.