Disclaimer: Firefly is Joss Whedon's... d'you think he'd let me borrow Wash for a bit?

A/N: This chapter is from Wash's POV, during flight school. Please review.

2. Teacher

"Hoban, what are you doing wrong?" I wasn't rightly sure what she meant, but I figured I should give an answer.

"Uh, nothing?"

"Hoban."

Only two people in the 'verse ever called me Hoban, my mother and my teacher. My teacher was the one standing over me telling me I was doing something wrong. I racked my brain, trying to come up with an answer, swerving to avoid some debris in the process. I could feel the bile rising in my throat and my heart pounding against my chest, my palms started to sweat and my brain was converting to panic mode.

"Don't tell me unless you can't fix it."

"Oh, God," I mumbled, listening to my pounding heart. We were in a not good situation, not good meaning ships and debris everywhere and only narrow gaps between, and I was doing something wrong. "I... I don't know."

"End simulation." Everything was gone. Lesson over, you failed. "We'll try again tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow."

"Rest now, Hoban, and think."

Rest. I went to my bunk, laid down, grabbed the photo of my family, and tried to think. I could hear the other students coming and going, but I focused on my family. My brother, my sister, and my mother holding on to squirming little old me. My father took the picture, or so my mother says. There were never any pictures of my father, so I guess he took them all. Up until he left.

I set the picture down and closed my eyes, what was I doing wrong? If I didn't fix it, I'd let my mother down. Oh, sure, I'd seen the stars, and they were... are gorgeous. Better than the stories. But I was going to be her leaf, soaring on the wind. I had to fly.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Hoban, are you ready?" Morning came quickly, and I was back in the pilot's chair. "Do you know what you did wrong?" I knew, something in my dreams had flipped a switch and shone the light on my answer.

"I panicked."

"Very good, Hoban." Did her voice ever change? It was always so eerily calm. "We have to work on keeping that from happening."

"Uh, I hope you've got some ideas, 'cause my survival instinct is just too strong." If she found it funny, she didn't laugh. My own chuckle died in my throat when she didn't respond.

"Why are you here."

"To be a pilot." Wasn't it obvious?

"Why?" Oh, no, not this game.

"To see the stars." That one phrase triggered so many memories. Memories of my father's face, all I can remember now are his eyes. Ma used to tell me I have my father's eyes. Memories of my Mother's stories about the stars. How Pop went off to fly, how he came back with stories, and she passed the stories onto us. I think I reminded her of Pop, and she needed that. 'Cause even though he left her, something in her still loved him. "My mother told me stories about them, and I've wanted to really see them since."

"Use that. Use you mother's memory, her stories."

"Huh?"

"Begin simulation."

Ships were coming at us, firing. At each other or at us, it didn't matter. I tried to focus my thoughts on my mother. Tried to find the words that would keep me calm. I could feel the panic beginning to rise, but then it hit me. My mother's words were etched my brain and I felt myself begin to calm down. I am a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar.

"Well done, Hoban." I leaned back and smiled. "End simulation."

"Thanks," I mumbled. I was good at mumbling.

"You're one of my best students, Hoban." She put an arm around my shoulder as we left the flight simulator. "In fact, you are my best student." I had nothing to say to that. Nothing to mumble. She laughed a little and gave me a small hug.

"Th... thanks." I said, she smiled and looked straight into my eyes.

"You've see much more than you let on, haven't you." I didn't answer, it wasn't a question. "You've kept flying, though. Kept you're wits. I don't know how you do it, but I hope you never stop being a joker."

"I won't." After all, I did promise Ma. "Even after I die."

"That won't come for a long time." Her smile was true, but her eyes were sad. She patted my cheek and walked away. I think I reminded her of something, or someone, long gone.

She got me into the war, flying supplies to whoever needed them. Allied or Independent, it didn't matter, as long as they paid. We both got shot down and taken to the same Alliance camp. She died soon after arriving, a casualty of war. I kept my head, for her. And I kept out of trouble by entertaining the prisoners and guards with shadow puppets.

That was early on, before the war got too brutal.