Clemency was as backwater as any planet Wash had ever been on, but for a month it became his home while he attempted to sort out his life. He found it nearly impossible, because, according to all the records he could access, he was dead. The town on Clemency he had made it to, called Marshall Hill, had exactly one uplink to the Cortex, and the owner charged a credit for every five minutes Wash spent on it. And even so, it was a hot commodity, something he had to schedule time on far in advance.
His first priority had been to access his bank account; he needed new clothes and food, desperately. His accounts were locked to his access code, however. He took a little solace in the fact that, clearly, Zoe was alive and well, but it did not settle the uneasy feeling he had in his gut. His records stated he had died over a year ago, but nowhere he searched gave specifics.
That first day, confused about his supposed death, he had put in a call to Serenity without thinking about it. He had hung up before the call had completed, however, suddenly aware that if the records said he was dead, then they probably thought he was, too. His desire to speak with his wife was great, but he didn't know if it was safe. The words of Book haunted him, too, as he remembered the man had known they were both dead and that was why the crew hadn't come to rescue them.
So he resisted contacting them and tried instead to research his dilemma. Those days dragged on into a week, and the most he discovered was the fact that Serenity had been involved in some sort of illegal broadband broadcast that he had no recollection of. Reports varied on what it had been about, but somehow most of them seemed to imply that the crew had discovered a resort planet that had lost contact with the Alliance ten years ago; whether or not this was a good thing seemed debated.
It didn't make sense to Wash, and he determined to worry about it later, once he got in touch with the crew in person. He planned to do that on Persephone, and to get there he had to improvise. It was impossible for him to draw the funds he needed out of his bank account, and it was impossible for him to store the new money he acquired on a credit chip because he had no identity with which to credit.
Unable to proceed without funds, he went to the magistrate of the town to explain he was a new arrival from a rim world who had never been in contact with the Alliance before. They fingerprinted him and took his retinal scans, and when they asked him to sign his name, he wrote Tian Tuan Ti. It felt right to him, as he'd been called 1020 for well over a year, and at the same time, Tian—sky—felt somehow fitting and freeing.
With a name and a new identity card, he found life marginally easier. He sold his stolen Alliance items slowly over the course of a month and squirreled away as much of the money as he could, hoping to eventually afford passage to Persephone. He took menial jobs as he could when his health allowed it, and worked nights to stay as best he could out of the eyes of anyone who might be looking for him.
On the first day of the new month, he met the captain of a transport vessel who agreed to fly him into Persephone City's Eavesdown Docks in exchange for all the money he had saved up. Wash agreed quickly, despite the uneasy situation that would put him in when he arrived penniless.
The trip was going to take two weeks to arrive, and Wash arranged a deal where he'd work janitorial services on the boat during that course of time if the captain would cut the cost of his fare down. They came to an unwritten agreement so that when Wash finally set foot on Persephone, he would be rich enough to afford an order of dim sum and a soda.
He forewent food, hardly bothered by hunger anymore, and immediately set out writing a fake resume. With that in hand, he managed to convince the head postmaster at the post office the crew of Serenity always got their mail from in the Eavesdown Docks to hire him on as a fulltime desk clerk.
The hours were long, but since he sat for most of them, he did all right. The job included lunch, insuring he ate well at least once a day, and he had easy access to the postal supplies. His first day on the job, he took a discarded crate, slapped a label addressed to Serenity on it, and mailed it to their office. He took great delight in writing out the claim slip when it returned, knowing that in due time the crew would be forced to come in and retrieve it.
It took them six weeks to come.
By that time, Wash had already sent eighteen more letters into his post office, trying to create a large enough cache to entice them. In the end, he figured the last box he'd sent, branded with the warning, "Urgent – Perishable," was what had finally done it.
They came in, all of them, right after lunch. Wash watched them from behind his desk counter for several seconds, aware that none of them even noticed him. Mal wore a black shirt and his khaki war pants, keeping an aloof scowl on his visage as he looked over the interior of the mailroom. Zoe stood beside him, her hair pulled back from her face, her dress a standard navy blue shirt and leather vest. Seeing her again made Wash ache in a way he hadn't know he still could. She seemed as cautious about being in the room as Mal was; they clearly suspected something was afoot. Wash knew they'd never received eighteen packages at once before and figured that was it.
Jayne was bigger than Wash remembered and more lumbering. He seemed slightly less on guard than Mal or Zoe, probably because he half hoped one of the packages was for him. His style hadn't changed at all, and he was wearing an orange shirt Wash had seen him in many times before. Kaylee was smiles and sunshine, and her bright-eyed disposition made him see a bit of brightness that he'd forgotten existed in the world. She wore her standard green jumpsuit but had a very pretty pink and white silk Chinese shirt on over it. She hung back from Zoe, Mal, and Jayne, staying near Simon.
Simon was actually wearing darker clothes than Wash was used to—he had an olive green silk shirt with a black jacket over it. He seemed somehow thinner, and his face was gaunt. His eyes seemed the same, though, as he walked rather protectively beside Kaylee.
River brought up the tail, dressed in her ever-eccentric colorful skirts and sweaters. She had on combat boots and let her hair hang wild and limp, as she always had. There was a way she carried herself, though, that sat strange with Wash. She seemed somehow more self assured and aware of her surroundings than he remembered; she seemed older. Her eyes weren't narrowed and discerning like Mal or Zoe's, but it was clear she was taking careful assessment of the room and cataloging the contents.
Wash's manager went out and spoke to them, bringing out the first crate that had been sent to them as well as the other envelopes that Wash had mailed. Mal took them warily and then signed for them. He passed the envelopes out amongst the crew while he tackled opening the crate. Wash smiled to himself, watching as the empty items befuddled them all.
Once they had all peered into the empty crate with expressions of confusion and discarded the empty envelopes, Wash slipped off his stool and pushed through the door that separated his clerk room from them. The door creaked loudly, which collectively drew their attention to him. He smiled easily and said, "Hey guys. Been awhile."
He was met with a long stretch of silence as the six of them stared hard. He had played this scene over and over in his head during the past month, and every time it had unfolded with Zoe's eyes widening and then her flinging herself into his arms. In various scenes, she had even begun crying in joy at seeing him.
There had been a lot of hugging and crying in his daydreams, in fact, and usually it followed up with a good round of Welcome Home Sex back in his bunk on Serenity. There had been variations, of course, but none of them had included Mal and Zoe with their guns drawn on him, as they did now.
"Wash?" Kaylee asked, her voice light and confused. Her eyes quickly darted from Mal and Zoe to him and then back. "What's going on, cap'n?" she questioned nervously.
"Wonderin' th'same thing my own self," Mal stated coldly. "Who are you?" he demanded, his eyes never once leaving Wash's.
Wash raised his hands automatically because the last thing he wanted was to be shot. "It's me," he answered, hoping he sounded sincere enough. He knew he still looked sickly and thin, but for the most part, he thought he'd recovered enough that he looked the same. "And it's been hell trying to get in contact with you guys!"
"Wash is dead," Zoe plainly said, her gun still trained on him.
"No, see, I'm not!" Wash countered eagerly. "You guys thought I was, but I wasn't. The Alliance picked me up after you left, or something. I just escaped!"
Zoe arched an eyebrow. "You escaped from the Alliance?"
Wash's bravado started collapsing—he wanted to be hugging Zoe and melting into her arms, not trying to explain all of this. "It was awful, baby," he said brokenly. "They had Book, too, and he didn't make it," he added. His hands slowly dropped to his sides. "They just kept me in this little room, never let me out to do anything, and we hardly got any food or water—"
"Can it," Mal growled, cutting him off. "You can't be our Wash. I seen him die with my own eyes. Ain't no man could survive that."
"I don't . . . I don't exactly remember anything about that," Wash quickly explained. With great difficulty, he tore his eyes off Zoe and fixed them on Mal. "I woke up one day in this Alliance facility where they were keeping me and these other prisoners. The last thing I remember before that is leaving here on that run we did for Fanty and Mingo."
"And we just believe that?" Jayne asked speaking up for the first time. "Sure, and Mal rolled over this mornin' and made me cap'n," he grunted.
Mal reflected. "I'd believe Wash came back from the dead 'fore I'd believe that, Jayne," he stated. Then he added, "Not that I'm sayin' I believe you."
"Who would lie about this sort of thing?" Wash asked, his tone bordering on frightened.
River slipped between Jayne and Mal, and she raised a hand to touch Mal's sleeve. "Life is governed but by a delicate thread," she softly stated.
"What do you make of this?" Mal asked her.
She stepped forward, placing herself between the guns and Wash. As she did, both Zoe and Mal lowered their weapons. She approached Wash slowly, studying him like a cat might study a mouse. When she was close enough, her arm reached out, and she pressed her hand flat against his chest. Her eyes closed lightly. "I can't see him."
Mal's lips pressed together tightly. "You sent these packages?" he asked, and one of his hands picked up one of the empty envelopes.
Wash nodded, but his eyes were focused on River's face now; she still had a hand to his chest and her eyes closed, concentrating.
Mal tilted the writing on the envelope. "You're Tian Tuan Ti?" he asked and then looked up from the envelope back at Wash.
Exasperated, Wash answered, "I had to change my name. All my accounts have locked me out. I had no money and no identity. Ten-twenty was my prison number." He shifted. "Hey, stop that," he called as River started unbuttoning his shirt.
"He's not whole, anymore," she explained and pushed his shirt open to reveal the ugly, purple scar on his chest. It had marbled slightly over the past year. The yellow bruises had long since faded, but it remained dark and discolored.
Simon immediately pressed past Mal to approach Wash. His hand went out to touch the scar, and Wash's eyebrows furrowed. "Y'know, I make most men pay to do that," he stated softly, trying to joke.
"This is remarkable," Simon breathed, ignoring Wash's comment. "This isn't scar tissue," he explained and ran his finger along the edge where the purple flesh met with the healthy pink. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen."
"He's been fixed," River calmly stated and took her hand away completely. Her head shook, rippling her hair. "He's not whole yet, though."
The rest of the crew pressed forward to get a look. Wash paid no one any attention but Zoe. He kept his eyes trained on her, gauging her reactions. "Do you believe me now?" he asked aloud even though he was directing the question to Zoe specifically.
Simon and Mal exchanged glances. "I'd like to get him back to the ship to run a few tests," Simon stated.
Mal's eyes remained on Wash's face. "If you escaped from the Alliance, then why didn't you just call us up? You know Serenity's codes."
Wash knew this was a test that he had to answer correctly to pass. He shrugged a bit, pulling away from the hand still exploring his scar. He began buttoning his shirt up again. "I did, at first. Then I thought about it and knew if you'd gotten a call from me claiming I was still alive, you'd never believe me, and I'd never get you to come for me."
"'Course you realize that also sounds like maybe you're an Alliance plant of some sort and you didn't know where we was, so you sent out a bunch of packages just so we'd come find you," Mal answered tersely.
"Cap'n, we can't just leave him here," Kaylee said in a fearful voice.
Mal stepped back, assessing the situation. His eyes darted to Zoe, who had remained silent and unreadable this whole time. "Zoe?" he questioned.
"Sir?" she answered coolly.
"We take him back, run some tests; see what the doctor says?"
Zoe pursed her lips. "Don't like it, sir."
Mal nodded. "Y'never do."
"Can't just leave him here for the 'Lliance t'pick up again, though," Jayne offered.
"He's right. They'll know we had contact," Mal agreed. He kept his gaze on Wash.
"Why would the Alliance bring Wash back?" Kaylee asked, almost cowering behind Jayne.
"You got an explanation for that?" Mal asked him.
Wash's eyes darted between Mal and Kaylee, then he looked to River. "They wanted information on her," he said. "On River." He shrugged a little. "I didn't tell them anything they didn't already know, I don't think. When my information ran dry, they just left me to rot in my cell. Then their funding ran out or something, and I was transferred to . . . to a really low security place where we mounted an escape."
Mal wagged a finger at him. "We'll take you back to the ship, let the doctor scan you. We don't like what we see, we put a bullet to your head and keep doing so every time you come back after that, dong ma?"
There was a helpless look in Wash's eyes. "Have I really got any choice?"
--
"Artificial heart, partially reconstructed lungs," Simon said, pressing his cavity scanner against Wash's chest and staring at the display it showed of his innards on the nearby monitor, "and titanium retrofitted spinal cord implants. This is remarkable," he breathed, leaning in for a closer look.
Wash shifted uncomfortably on the examination chair, his eyes darting between Mal and Zoe, who were the only other people present. "So what're you sayin'?" Mal flatly asked.
Simon stared at the readout a moment longer and then shook his head. "This reconstruction is consistent to the crash—"
"I was in a crash?" Wash asked, his brows upturning in concern. "I died in a crash?"
"You crashed us," Mal answered, not looking up from where he was staring at Simon.
"I don't believe it," Wash breathed.
Mal ignored him. " 'Consistent'," he repeated, "but what does that mean? Couldn't it be a mock up, made to look like his injuries?"
"That's a possibility," Simon agreed but then shook his head. "But not to this extent. You can replicate a broken arm or even mimic heart surgery scars, but to completely reconstruct to this degree? The work in his spinal cord is exquisite. That alone would have taken weeks, maybe months. I didn't even know the technology to do it existed."
"So it's fake, then?" Mal asked. "Or like what Tracey had?"
"No," Simon answered. "It's donor organs in some parts, skin grafts and clever replicates in others. I have no idea what they did for his central nervous system." He set his scanner down and picked up a small, slim, pen-shaped item and waved it over Wash's back. "Does it hurt to walk?" he asked curiously.
"Sometimes," Wash conceded. "And if I stand for more than twenty minutes or so, my legs just go numb and buckle."
Simon nodded, extremely fascinated but Mal wasn't interested in any of the fine details. "What's your verdict, doctor?"
Snapping out of his scrutinizing of Wash's reconstructed torso, Simon straightened up. "Well," he said, putting on his best professional guesswork voice, "if I had to make an officially ruling," he began.
"You do," Mal cut in.
"Then I'd have to say that what we have here is an absolutely remarkable example of surgery and science. If you'd asked me I would have said it never could be done, but this is proof," he waved a hand at Wash. "This is Wash."
Wash nodded and beamed eagerly up at his wife, but her expression remained stony.
Mal crossed his arms. "He was dead, though. Put a beating heart in a dead man don't make him start breathing again."
"No, it doesn't," Simon agreed. "That's what so remarkable. The . . . the thread of life is delicate, like River said. But we've been restarting dead hearts for centuries. Granted, in those cases it wasn't much longer after the heart had stopped, but it's not so far fetched to believe that it could be done long after death; especially not if the body was kept preserved and the surgeons extremely skilled. The biggest concern I had is the preservation of the brain," he continued, turning his pen over and clicking on a small light to flash it in Wash's eyes. "But however they managed it, there isn't any damaged brain tissue that I can see. Deprived of blood and oxygen, the brain starts to deteriorate, but I can't detect any signs of trauma here." He stared at Wash in open awe. "Did they give you any sort of gamma or radiation treatments?" he inquired thoughtfully.
Wash shook his head negatively, but could tell that despite Mal and Zoe's reluctance to believe him, at least Simon now did. So he took his eyes off his wife and fixed them on the doctor. "It's good to be back home," he admitted with relief in his voice.
Simon nodded. "It's been . . . quiet . . . without you around," he noted.
Wash pulled his shirt back around and started to button it. That hadn't been the welcome home he'd been hoping for. "Am I free to go now, or do I need to pay a toll fee?"
Simon glanced up to Mal. "If he's going to stay on the ship, I'd like to recommend some exercises for him to run through to try to rebuild and strengthen his motor functions," he began. "He developed acute atrophy while he was in prison and who knows what else from this spinal cord implant. Much of it has been remedied, but if he hopes to regain full control of his body, he'll have to work at it."
"Fine," Mal stated after getting a confirmation look from Zoe. "You can stay, for now," he told Wash. "Don't mean I trust you though, least not yet." His eyes darted from Wash to Simon and then turned to go.
Wash finished buttoning his cheap, mail clerk shirt up and got to his feet, making an effort to stand stable on them. His eyes were soft on Zoe. "Baby, it's me," he said in a small, hopeful voice.
Astute in a way he'd never been before, Simon took stock of the situation and slipped away to work on something in the corner of the infirmary, leaving the two of them more or less alone together. Zoe just stared at Wash, her eyes flicking back and forth as she read his face. She shook her head. "Been a long year," she stated in a flat voice. "Been a long, lonely year." She turned and stepped out of the infirmary.
Wash followed, although, despite his efforts, his legs wobbled beneath him, and he had to cling to the infirmary door for support as he looked out after her. "It's been a long, lonely year for me, too, Zoe," he protested softly. "You've no idea."
Zoe reached the stairwell that led up to the galley. She rested one hand on the railing and then looked over at him. Her eyes were sad, but he detected no sympathy. "Can't just open up again. Not that easy."
She started up the stairs, and Wash pushed off from the infirmary door. "But it's me, baby. It's me . . ." Wash's voice trailed off. Zoe continued her ascent quickly, effectually ignoring his protests.
--
Zoe didn't show for dinner that evening, and Wash found he wasn't surprised. Since their brief encounter in the infirmary earlier, he knew she'd be avoiding him, at least for a little while. Depressing as that thought was, he refused to let it keep him from soaking in the familiarity of the kitchen or the homey sounds of the crew eating around him.
He missed Book's presence even more than he had when the Shepherd had first departed, and he even missed Inara a little. He wanted more familiarity, and their absences were just heavy weights on his memories. Things had changed so much since he'd been gone that, despite how much some things hadn't changed, it almost seemed like he had wandered into a dream world.
There weren't glaring differences, but it felt like everyone had tweaked just a little—a year and some had rolled by without him—and he was confused as to who belonged where. The ship seemed darker somehow, too, as thought the lights had been dimmed or the color palette of the very universe itself had darkened.
River seemed better somehow. She wasn't as scattered and frightened as he remembered her always being. Her sentences were lucid, and Mal seemed to pay particular attention to what she said, clearly taking her suggestions as valid. Simon had become darker and carried himself heavier; his crisp, city boy style had worn down, and he had found comfort with the grit. He seemed at ease around Kaylee now, too, but Wash wasn't able to tell if they had become an item or not.
Mal had become much darker, more introspective and quiet. There was an impenetrable aura around him that came from fresher events than what Wash was privy to. There wasn't the jovial laughter at the table that Wash remembered fondly, nor the welcoming family atmosphere. Some part of him wondered if it was because he had been missing but he knew that the others had all been funny and family on their own, too.
Only Jayne and Kaylee seemed entirely unchanged. Jayne had the same bored expression on his face as he ate, and Kaylee still smiled sweetly and let her eyes sparkle. Battle had changed Simon, but it hadn't darkened Kaylee.
"It's just so nice having you back," Kaylee stated after she noticed Wash studying her. "Real unexpected, but nice."
Wash looked away from her and pushed his food around with his fork. "It's really nice to see you again too, Kaylee," he replied carefully. "Did I miss out on any exciting adventures while I was away?"
Kaylee smiled a nervous little smile and her eyes flickered to Mal. "Oh, you know, the usual." She laughed softly. "Crime and petty theft."
Wash nodded, suddenly aware that Mal had probably had a briefing with the rest of the crew while Simon had been running his tests. He figured that during that briefing Mal had probably said that he was potentially a spy, and therefore the crew was not to give any important information out around him. The thought rankled him enough that he almost slammed his fork down and stalked off. All that stopped him was that he had nowhere to go: Zoe'd locked him out of their quarters as well as their shared accounts. "So who's been flying Serenity in my absence?" he asked and turned his gaze to where Mal was eating at the end of the table.
Mal lifted his eyes, but they weren't to meet Wash's. He focused them on River.
At first Wash didn't get it, but then it slowly dawned on him. He leaned forward in surprise. "River?" he questioned. "You're letting River fly the ship now?" He laughed, unsettled. "What's next, Jayne doing Companion training?"
Jayne grunted and looked up, irritated.
Mal spoke before things could get ugly. "River's good at what she does. You know I wouldn't let anyone fly this boat I didn't trust."
Wash rested his arms on the table and sagged into them as he stared down at Mal. "But when did she learn to fly?" He looked to River apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you're very good but—" he turned back to Mal, "does she even have a license?"
"No, she don't," Mal answered and set his chopsticks down. "But breakin' the law ain't hardly ever stopped any of us from doing anythin' before, has it? She's good at what she does, and we needed a pilot we could trust." He kept a hard glare on Wash. "That ain't gonna be a problem now, is it?"
Frustrated, Wash averted his eyes and stared down at his food. "No, sir."
"Good," Mal replied tersely.
Wash remained sullen as he finished his food. When the meal was eaten, the rest of the crew dispersed to do their assigned jobs, but Wash just remained where he was sitting at the table, staring down into his bowl of protein. It really was quite like he had entered some uncomfortable dream world where everything was turned upside down.
He didn't even know where he belonged at the moment. He felt like even sitting there in the middle of the kitchen was placing burden on the rest of the crew. He turned his hands over in his lap and stared at them. He flexed them and then clenched them into a fist, shaking his head. "I'm not the bad guy," he softly whispered.
He hopefully looked up as he heard feet approaching from the crew quarters. Kaylee stood in the doorway with a crate nestled in her arms. She smiled at him sadly as she navigated down the steps and set the box on the table. "Zoe wanted me to give you these things," she explained and pulled one of Wash's old Hawaiian shirts out of the box to show him. "She thought you might need 'em."
Wash studied Kaylee for several seconds and then nodded and got to his feet. "Thanks, Kaylee," he softly answered and crossed over to her and the box. There was nothing personal inside the container outside of assorted clothes, shoes, and undergarments; she hadn't even thrown in one of his dinosaurs. "Wish she could've given it to me herself."
Kaylee fidgeted a little and ran her fingers over the edge of the crate. "It's been a real hard year for all of us, Wash," she whispered. "Just give her a bit of time?"
"What else can I do?" Wash questioned softly as he reached out and took the box.
Kaylee nodded a little and then brushed some strands of hair out of her face before she looked over her shoulder. "Cap'n said you could stay in the spare crew quarters. I set it up for you a little. It ain't much, but it could be home."
All Wash could muster was a wry grin. "It's like being single all over again," he noted mockingly. "Only this time, you guys all trust me even less than before."
Kaylee's hand went out to cover his on the box. Her fingers were light at first and then she squeezed his hand, reassuringly. "Cap'n's got some issues t'work out, yet, Wash. It ain't your fault." She looked up into his face and didn't flinch away when he met her gaze. "Zoe's gonna come around, I know it. The rest of us, though, we believe you. It's just so shockin' and all, y'know?" She gave him a little grin. "C'mon, cheer up. I'll help you settle in, if you'd like. We could talk."
Wash clutched the box to his chest and stepped away from her and her soft hand. "No thanks, Kaylee," he whispered. "I think I just want to be alone right now." He started for the stairs and wondered if he'd be able to navigate his wobbly legs down the ladder to get into his old quarters. "I appreciate it though."
Kaylee turned so her back was to the table and she watched Wash uncertainly. "Sure, no problem. Call me any time you need anything, all right?"
"Okay," Wash replied and turned to press in the door of his bunk. He dropped the box down the shaft and then slowly lowered himself down the ladder. The interior of the room was sparse and barren without a single shred of personalized decoration to be found. It was hard to believe that he had once had this bunk nicely decked out with a great tropical theme, complete with dinosaurs and posters.
He kicked the box aside and closed the door over head. The bed had a standard army green blanket over it, and he planted himself face down on top of it. He wondered darkly if he fell asleep here and never woke up, if anyone would notice or even care.