"No… No…"

How'd the crazy little man do it? That sadistic monster had gotten Zoë too!

"Run… Run…" He had to save her. He had to warn her. It was his duty, as her husband! He couldn't bear the thought of her torture…

Niska's voice was clear in his ear, as well as his darling Zoë's… But he didn't understand a word they were saying. His vision of Zoë was blocked by a man…

Was he pulling out a knife?

"Zoë!" He tried to cry in warning, but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. His stomach lurched and his world ended when the man slashed down, cutting Zoë's throat. The man moved aside, allowing him a view of his dead wife, laying in a pool of her own blood, eyes open wide, staring at him.

Blaming him.

Pain shot through his body, as Niska resumed his torment, like Zoë had never died. Had never come to save them.

Zoë's voice filled his ears. "Wash..."

He turned his head to the side, shaking with the electricity. He couldn't bear to look at her. He shut his eyes tight.

"Gorram it, Wash! Wake up!"

That was her second-in-command voice. He had to follow that voice. His body lurched against the restraints, opening his eyes….

Only to find himself sitting up in bed, body drenched in cold sweat, shaking just like he had under Niska.

He was safe. He was in their room. Nothing was wrong.

Zoë's face swam into his view, concern, worry, and a bit of anger written all over her beautiful features. Normally he was the worried one. Zoë never worried about anything. A part of him, most likely the manly-macho part, told him to pull himself together…

…But he had just seen her die, and nothing his manly-macho pride told him was going to change the mixture of emotions flooding through him.

"Zoë?"

Hoban Washburne meant for the voice to be strong, his everyday voice, only to reassure himself that yes, Zoë was there and alive, not dead on Niska's torture room floor. Despite his good intentions, his voice came out in a horrified whisper, a horror, Wash knew, that was written all over his face.

In a second, Zoë had wrapped her arms around him, cradling his head against her breast. He didn't protest in pain when her arm brushed the still fresh weal's on his skin, left from that gorram electrode-like thing. Wash didn't even know what Niska tortured him with.

Mal probably knew….

It felt like hours Zoë held him, gently rocking him back and forth, whispering comforts into his ear. When he finally gathered his strength, he pulled away, but not far enough that she wasn't still holding him, muttering, "I'm fine."

When he sniffled, Wash realized he had been moments from sobbing without knowing it. That would have been terrible. She pulled him out because she thought he was a coward, he knew. What would Zoë think of her husband if he broke down crying? Mal never cried…

Christ… Would he always measure himself against that man?

Zoë nodded, a movement Wash felt, rather than saw. "We should get back to bed." Zoë whispered.

Wash let her lean him downwards, let him be cradled in her arms. He knew he would have to ask her why. Just to reassure himself that yes, Hoban Washburne was a coward who couldn't put up with torture.

But that could wait 'till the morning. Wash decided, shutting his eyes.

For now, he was safe in her arms.

He loved the stars.

Back where he had grown up, he thought they weren't real. But they were, and out in the black, they were magnificent.

It was odd to him that he never thought of his "home" planet as "home" any more. The ship was a part of him now. He kept her in the air.

He was a leaf on the wind, and the crew loved to watch him soar.

Leaf on the wind? That was damn poetic. Never knew I had it in me… Mental note, use that before I'm old and dead. Wash thought, a small smile coming to his face.

Yes, the black was where he belonged.

Leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind him, his stomach growled, a reminder the rest of the crew was dining.

This was the first sit-down dinner that the crew was having, since Niska. That was four days ago. With Simon trying to patch up Mal and Wash, though both men protested that they were fine, and River and Kaylee not talking, the ship felt a little odd.

Mal had ordered that all the crew sit down and have dinner, an attempt to bring things back to normal.

Wash knew for certain that he'd never be normal again.

A part of him wondered if he only insisted that he was fine because the Captain did. The Captain then told Simon that Wash wasn't fine, and that the Doc should examine his pilot.

A cool, logical portion of his mind said that Mal was just being over-protective of his crew. The other manly-macho part said that Mal was further trying to impress Zoë and steal her from him.

No. Wash firmly told himself, trying to block the memories with little to no results. Mal was just trying to keep him going through the torture. He didn't mean what he said. The Captain proved that in his little stunt in the mess.

"Baby? You okay?" Wash turned in his chair, hands falling to his lap. There stood his darling Zoë, combat boots and a nice plate of multi-colored protein. "I brought you some dinner."

"Thanks, honey." He said turning back in his chair, as she set the food on the consol, right next to his stegosaurus. "But I'm not too hungry." I am such a liar… I can't even imagine eating now, but I want to… Protein never looked so good, baby…

His stomach betrayed him on that part. Zoë raised an eyebrow, and Wash grimaced guiltily.

"Eat." She ordered, heading for the hall. "Captain's nearly to the blowing point since you didn't come down."

"Zoë."

Wash was staring into the black, but he could see his wife freeze and turn around through the reflection on the only thing keeping him from taking a stroll outside.

"I need to talk to you." He said, feeling like he occupied some other pilots body. "Please… Shut the door."

He shut his eyes, visualizing his wife doing so, then sitting in the other chair, the co-pilot's seat.

"Yes, Wash?"

She sounded concerned now. Great. Why'd he keep doing that to her? Maybe Wash should just drop it….

"Why's you pick me?" His traitorous mouth blurted, before logical reasoning could catch up. As usual. But he wasn't cracking some joke that would get him beaten up in a bar. He was being completely serious. "Back with Niska?"

When Zoë was silent for a long time, Wash considered opening his eyes, and telling her to forget it. But Hoban held his ground.

"Why do you think?" Came her voice, in an unreadable whisper. Was she closer? He dared not open his eyes and find out.

Blindly reaching, his hand grasped a dinosaur. A three-horn. He turned the lifeless plastic thing over in his hands, feeling comforted, the three-horn giving him courage to say what was on his mind to the woman he loved.

"'Cause I'm a coward."

His chair turned in such a quick and unexpected fashion that he almost received whiplash. Wash forced his eyes open, and found his wife, kneeling in front of him, eyes on him.

"No…" She whispered, seeming to find the right words to say to him, just by looking in his eyes. "I chose you 'cause I couldn't bear to leave you."

"Mal was the smarter choice." Now that he started, Wash was sure he had to finish it. Finish it, or be resigned to being a coward. "He can actually fight. He can actually shoot without trying two or three times. He knows which guns do what, have how many bullets and how to withstand gorram torture." Wash was thankful she was letting him rant in a calm and civilized tone. If she interrupted him, he might just yell. Wash didn't want the entire crew hearing what he had to say. 'Specially not the captain. "He didn't break. I would have, left alone. You knew. You took me out, 'cause of that. Jayne would've grabbed Mal. Book would've. Inara, Simon, River, Kaylee, and the whole gorram universe would've, speaking logically."

Logically? Wash knew he wasn't making any sense.

"But you did. 'Cause I couldn't handle it. 'Cause I'm weak. 'Cause I'm a coward."

He finished, going over in his mind what he just said. Zoë watched him with an expression so odd-looking on her face that Wash didn't recognize it. Saddness and horror at what her husband thought.

"Baby," She started, plucking the dinosaur form his hand and sitting on his leg, like she did nearly everyday. Habit found him hugging her, one arm around her waist, the other on her legs. Zoë turned the three-horn over, like he had been doing. "Your right. Mal may have been the logical choice."

Wash gaped at her. He was right?

"But, I chose you, not 'cause you're a coward. Not 'cause your weak. But because I love you." Zoë wasn't even looking at him anymore. She was staring into the black. Wash decided to follow her gaze, feeling comforted by the second.

"And because I love you, I could never have left you there."

Wash looked up at his wife, feeling guilty now for the sadness in her voice. He put it there. Good job…

"I say," Wash said, forcing his tone back to his normal cheeriness, taking the dinosaur from his wife, putting it back in it's place. "I wolf down this lovely stack of protein, then, we go to our bunk, and…" He let the sentence hand in the air, with an eloquent wave of his hand.

Zoë smiled at him. "I prove how much I love you?"

Wash was amazed how an Amazon woman who could kill him with her pink could understand him so clearly.

"Stole the words from my mouth." Wash said, grabbing a lump of something he didn't want to know the origins of, stuffing it into his mouth, as she wrapped her arms around him.

Ha. I've got something Mal ain't. Wash thought, shaking an imaginary fist at an imaginary image of the man. Zoë.

I'm safe in her arms.

Sadly, I do not own Wash, Zoe, Serenity or Firefly. Not mine.