A/N: Happy finals, guys. Enjoy (hopefully).
When the war is over and the prison doors finally opened, Zoe falls right in step with Mal. They don't walk like soldiers anymore, but there's still comfort in solidarity. Mal leads them away from the prison, away from the gleaming Alliance city. He pauses for a moment at a run-down boatyard but continues onward. Zoe, loyal as ever, follows.
They go offworld, on the crappiest piece of fei-oo Zoe has ever laid eyes on. It looks like it's held together with spit and prayers, but they're the cheapest boat offering to go the furthest. Mal gets them passage, two extra hands asking only the price of the voyage. They land on an Alliance-run world. Mal picks another ship. Zoe follows.
Their feet touch ground on every outlying planet in the system. Persephone, the old base of Independent top command, is barely recognizable; other strongholds are nearly the same but for the imprint of Alliance-issue treads on the dirt streets. Each place Mal surveys with darkened eyes and downturned mouth. Zoe keeps her bags packed and follows.
They've worked on dozens of ships and boats of every size in every state of repair and walked on every type of dirt in the 'verse. Mal keeps moving. Zoe keeps following.
On a moon named Whitefall Mal falls into the mayor's bad graces. They're between ships, so Zoe drags him, bleeding and swearing, out into the scrub. She goes back and ambushes the hunters, then uses the horses to take them even further out. The riding jostles Mal. "Gotta keep moving, sir," she says in apology. His name still feels strange on her tongue.
Mal laughs, clutching painfully at his gutshot as he does. "Don't I know it, Zoe." He passes out not long after. Zoe wishes for a safe place, for a proper needle and thread, for anesthesia beyond the fifth of whiskey in her pack. She prays, despite how Mal would have scowled at her had he been in a position to overhear. Her wishes go unanswered.
Three days later, Zoe emerges from the barren wasteland they'd retreated to. There's an old pistol on her hip, a bloodied brown coat on her shoulders, and determination in her eyes.
This time, she leads.