Black and White
Rated: PG
Category: Gen, Ficlet (442 words), Mal/Zoe/Wash Friendship, Wash/Zoe.
Spoilers: War Stories.
Summary: Post-War Stories, Mal Has A Change Of Heart.
Note: Written in response to the LJ prompt of 'Ink' on ff_friday.
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It was black and white, like ink on paper.
In all honesty, that's how Mal had always felt about Wash and Zoë. His feelings were crystal clear.
He'd never liked them being together, not one bit.
He hadn't gone to their wedding ceremony, and while a part of him regretted that for Zoë's sake, most of him didn't give a damn. He hadn't liked the idea, and he'd refused to go parading around pretending he did just because that's what had been expected of him.
But things have a funny way of changing sometimes, and as Mal's left hand fiddled with his newly repaired ear, his right spun a simple pen, stolen from Inara's shuttle, round and round.
The pen had almost touched the old-fashioned parchment paper on his desk twenty times, but so far it had yet to accomplish its task.
Mal finally sighed and set the pen down. Then he stared off into space for a long moment.
After what seemed like half of forever, Mal slowly took a swig of whiskey from the flask next to him, nodded once, and picked up the pen again.
In one swift motion, he scribbled something on the paper.
When he was done, he held the paper at arm's length and admired his work. A slightly drunken smile parted his lips and he nodded again in satisfaction.
It would be two days before he snuck that paper back into its usual, secluded place in Zoë's personal trunk in her quarters, but she wouldn't miss it. She had no need to stand on ceremony, and she didn't often look at it. In fact, it was a testament to Mal's knowledge of her that he'd known exactly where to find it when he went looking for it. Many might choose to show it off, but not Zoë. For her, this was something private, not public.
No, it would be much longer before Zoë dug out her certificate of matrimony. In fact, when she finally did, her husband would be gone, and she'd be intent on destroying the blasted thing. But somehow, even in her blind and violent rage, Zoë would notice something that did not belong on the official document. It would stay her hand, and it would finally open the floodgates of her grief.
For there, in black and white, in ink on paper, for all to see, was the support of one who meant more than Zoë could ever explain. His signature was illegible for most, but Zoë had no trouble reading it.
Malcolm Reynolds, Captain.
Zoë didn't destroy the damn thing, after all. She ended up keeping it a good long time.