Lessons of the Lost
**"Gan ni lao shi," as I'm informed, translates roughly to "Fuck your teacher (For not teaching you)"**
~Aiya, Huaile
When Mal entered the cockpit, the bottom third of what had been a fifth of whiskey sat teetering on Wash's control panel, gripped by neck of the bottle in Zoe's hand. She cast a look back, but though a little teary, he had never actually seen the woman cry.
"Wash again," he said, and it wasn't a question. She offered the bottle over and he took it. "A glass of some kind, I'm told, is not uncomplimentary to the drinking of hard liquors, if only for providing the illusion of class."
She didn't answer at first, but kicked her chair over at a little tilt to face him as he took a healthy swig himself. She folded her arms behind her head.
"You were never really the class act, Captain," she said. "All I do I learned from your bad influence."
"Yeah, but I'm fun when I drink," he said, smirking weakly.
"No, you're not," she said. "Just amusing."
He offered it back over but she shook her head, and there was a momentary silence, all but the engine rattle gone quiet in the awe of space. The crew was asleep, except perhaps River. But then, no one ever knew what hours River kept.
"And how is your little Albatross?" Zoe asked.
"You're deflecting," he said.
"I learned that, too."
"She's good," he said, finally. "As good as I've seen her, even after everything. Gotten all the killing out of her system, no more violent tendencies, seems to find a great joy in piloting."
She nodded, and he stopped midway into another drink, his face solemn with regret. "I am sorry we moved the dinosaurs."
"It's fine," she said. "It was the least attractive feature of him, besides the mustache."
"You're moving on, then? In your own, borderline alcoholic way?"
"I've buried men, sir. Good men. I'll bury more."
"Yes, you will."
She leaned over and grabbed the whiskey, and took one last sip before wiping at her lips and sighing deeply. She tried to stand and he caught her, and they both laughed for the first time in a long, long time in space.
He helped her down the corridor, her arm over his shoulders, the way he had always moved her. Injured, sometimes. Drunk others. She liked to keep one hand free, always the same hand, always the gun-hand. The handy little lever-action carbine strapped to her leg was never more than a quick tug and a light squeeze away from becoming death.
"I hear tell you had some words with Jayne today," Mal said.
"Jayne. " It was a statement that implied his name was a satisfactory answer.
"Dear, sweet, knuckle-dragging Jayne," Mal said, opening the ladder-entrance to her bunk. "We're a family, you know."
"I know," she said, sensing his sincerity despite her state.
"I know because I haven't, and won't shoot him," he said. "And I know because every day I get up, I really, really want to."
She smiled, weakly, and left his arm to put the heel of her boot to the first step of the ladder. He gave a look of concern at her ability to climb, but she shook her head and said "I'll make it."
"I believe you," he said. "And I am sorry about the dinosaurs."
. . .
When she lay in the bed, a double still, the same double, the creaky thing she had honey-mooned on and the one that stunk, still, of Wash, she turned on her side and looked at the dinosaurs all arrayed on the dresser.
She took her boots off. She sighed. It was enough.
"A leaf on the wind," she said. "Gan ni lao shi, a leaf on the wind."
She cut out the light.