Tracey watched the figure who probably hadn't said more than four words since he arrived depress the needle from his arm and repeat the action on his behind. Then he went and stood against the wall.
"Um, right." Tracey nodded. "How long until it starts working? I was thinking of doing one last thing before I take my little nap here."
The man stared evenly back at him.
"Er, right." He cautiously picked up his arm, which still seemed to be working. He reached behind him and picked up the voice recorder and hesitantly pressed one of the buttons.
"Uh, okay, recording," Up until now, he hadn't actually thought of what he'd say. The only thing he had a good idea on was the Sarge and Zoe would do once they got the package.
"This is for Zoe," It still felt strange thinking of calling Sarge by his given name. "and for Malcolm Reynolds." Oh god, there was just so much that could happen with this.
"And I really hope you all are the ones listening to it." How the gorram hell was he going to explain this all? Well, with luck, he wouldn't have to. "I'll spare you the boring details. I've fallen in with untrustworthy folk. Makin' a bunch of bad calls. All that matters is..."
He took a deep breath and tried not to think about how his family would feel when they saw the coffin. "I expect to be shuffled off. And you two are the only people I trust to get me where I'm going, which is home." A surge of vomit began to power itself up his throat. Probably a side effect of whatever that stuff was. He clenched his stomach and went on.
"I'd like my body to be with my folks on St. Albans. We got the family plot there, and my Mom and Dad, well, they deserve to know I died." He almost stopped there, but went on, almost too quickly. Best to elicit more sympathy for the poor, dead boy.
"You know, it's funny. We went to the war never lookin' to come back, but it's…" he almost laughed at what he was about to say. It was so sickening he almost couldn't stand it himself. "It's the real world I couldn't survive. You two carried me through that war. Now I need you to carry me just a little bit further… if you can."
He hoped to be awake by the time he got home. He didn't fancy the idea of lying there in a coffin, especially when he was awake, but he fancied the idea of his parents finding him dead, and maybe even burying him, even less. Best make this sound right. "Tell my folks I wanted to do right by them, and that I'm at peace, and all."
As much as he tried to ignore the thoughts of what could go wrong, they still were stealing around in his head. The people might start looking for their goods and the Sarge and his crew, from what he heard, didn't exactly lay low at the best of times. He'd better make one last attempt to get at their heartstrings. "Uh… When you can't run anymore, you crawl, and when you can't do that, well…"
Even he couldn't go on anymore. They deserved better than this. If it weren't the only way..."Yeah, you know the rest. Thanks, b-both of you." He felt very cold and very, very heavy. Darkness crept in around his vision and he thought of all the dead bodies he had seen during the war and the images almost made him bolt upright again. "Oh, yeah, and, uh… make sure my eyes is closed, will ya?"
He felt himself fall back against the table and before he went under completely he pressed the voice recorder. He vaguely remembered being slid into something soft and cold. The last thing he was aware of was the scraping of the lid against the coffin.
A/N: First Firefly fic I've ever written. I wrote it a while back for some friends, and was feeling a bit adventurous today, so decided to risk the criticisms of the FF fandom at large.
