All the World's a Stage

by Hawki

If all the 'Verse was a stage, and all its people bit players, where did that leave the crew of 'Serenity' after the Miranda Broadwave? Hounded by the Alliance, haunted by her husband's death, and facing an ever changing universe, Zoë couldn't say. But she had to keep moving forward. For her crew. For Wash. For her daughter.

3. Denial, pt 2

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Firefly: All the World's a Stage

Chapter 1: Denial

Part II

At three years of age, Zoë Alleyne had never been on a planet before.

She hadn't even been on a moon before. Which was weird, because she understood the difference between moons and planets, but her parents kept insisting that as far as letting their only child onto one of those things, there was no difference. Yes, moons went around planets rather than suns, yes, moons had weaker gravity than planets, yes, moons tended to have fewer people on them, but as far as her mum and dad were concerned, none of those differences amounted to anything. So staring out one of the windows of the Torres, looking down at the planet below, Zoë Alleyne dared to imagine walking on it.

The planet was a mixture of blues, greens, yellows, and whites. White, for the clouds in its sky, and the land at its north pole. Yellows, for the oddly shaped landmass she could see – a continent, if she remembered Ms. Trayvon's lessons correctly. Greens, for the land that extended north of that continent. And blue. So much blue. More than all the white, green, and yellow put together. Blue that came from the water that formed the planet's oceans. The planet was called Zephyr, and it was the first planet of the Kalidasa system, though shared its Lagrangian point with the planet called Angel. Anomalies in the 'Verse, and indeed, all of space. But to Zoë, right now, that mattered little. All that mattered was that she was in orbit of a planet, and like every other planet she'd seen, she couldn't go on it.

"Zoë?"

Also her mother had found her. Which she supposed was important as well.

"Zoë, you're meant to be learning hydroponics."

"Don't wanna." She pressed her face against the glass of the window, imagining squeezing through it. Of flying through space, and landing on the world below, sans the inconveniences of vacuum and re-entry.

"Zoë, don't make me drag you there again."

Giving up on solving the issue of imaginary asphyxiation, she shot her mother a look. "If plants are so important, why can't I go down there?"

"You will, one day."

"When?!"

Her mother closed her eyes and sighed. "When we can afford some immuno-boosters for you."

Zoë rolled her eyes.

"I saw that young lady."

"How the heck did you see me roll my eyes when you closed your eyes?"

"It's a mother's secret. You'll develop it too one day. Provided you learn how to grow fruits and vegies."

"And provided I get immuno-boosters."

Gina Alleyne didn't say anything. She just sat there, her big cheeks pursed, her belly out, and her tired eyes half covered by greying hair.

Immuno-boosters. Two words that were the bane of her life (or was it one word?) Zoë had been born in space, like a lot of the kids on the Torres, and while artificial gravity meant that the ship operated at 1g (well, most of the time at least), the price of living in a sterile environment meant that the immune system didn't develop as it would on a planet or moon. Planets or moons that had been seeded with pathogens taken from Earth-That-Was as part of the terraforming process, in order for people to get good at fighting off germs by themselves. To Zoë, it sounded ridiculous, and even more ridiculous that her parents had to pay for the I-boosters. There were medicines on the Core planets that could make people live forever (well, so Ross had said at least), but she had to pay for something as simple as a doo-hickey that could let her walk on a planet? A doo-hickey that her fellow shipmate had claimed became more expensive each year, as Core companies sought to increase their margins? When she'd asked her father about it, he'd responded that life wasn't fair – a fact that Zoë had become well aware of over her three years. Adults made the rules, adults had the power, and because of adults, she couldn't get I-boosters to tell other adults that they were a bunch of chòu liǎn gōng'ān shǒuzhǎng.

"Come on," her mother said, extending a hand. "Class. Now."

Zoë crossed her hands and gave her mother a pouty face.

"Zoë, this is your last warning."

"What, you gonna chuck me out?" She nodded her head to the glass. "Dad gets to go down, why don't I?"

"Zoë…"

"And I hate hydroponics. Everyone does. Why do I-"

"Zoë, come with me now, or you'll be on duct duty for a week!"

Zoë quickly stuck out her hand and let her mother lead her down B deck.

Her mother remained silent. Maybe she was preparing to tell her dad about how disobedient their daughter had been, and they wanted to deliver a double lecture, Zoë wondered. Which was so unfair, none of the other kids got lectures from their parents. Heck, some of the other kids even got to have siblings. So when they did get lectures, the amount of lecturing could be divvied up. And some kids, lucky bastards, got to be born on planets and moons. Kids who weren't vesselsiders, but were…were…

Normal?

Zoë couldn't be sure. She'd never met a groundsider on their own turf. Heck, due to the risk of infection, she'd only ever seen groundsiders from a distance.

Still, she figured she was normal, or at least as normal for one in her position. Three years, and every day she'd been taught stuff about gravity, and vacuum, and hydroponics, and navigation, and stuff that she didn't fully understand, but still understood that she'd need to learn the intricacies of one day. Gina and Joseph Alleyne had been born into a life in space, and like it or not, she had to live that same life until she got some I-boosters.

"When do you think dad will be back?" Zoë asked, as they rounded the corner.

Her mother sighed. "Late."

"How late?"

"Zoë, for goodness sake, stop asking about…" Her mother took a breath. "Just late, okay?"

Zoë gave her mother a look. "Mum, is something wrong?"

Her mother tightened her grip and picked up her pace.

"Mum?"

"Zoë, just…" She glanced back at her. "It's border control."

"What, like the games we play in the cargo bay, where we control territory and-"

"Zoë, this isn't a game! It's…look, it's the Alliance, alright? They've got a stake in Zephyr, and they're charging us more, and Captain Zakiyuddin finally managed to secure entry at Port Mariano, but if this keeps up, we…well we…"

"We'll what?" Zoë whispered.

Her mother brushed something out of her eye and gave a small smile. "We'll be late for your class, if we don't hurry up."

Zoë frowned, and not just because she thought they were already late. Her mum was bothered, and strangely enough, it wasn't because of something that Fernandez had done in his regular screw-ups. If anything, it sounded like the Alliance was making things hard.

Which didn't make any sense, because the Alliance only controlled the Core, while Zephyr was part of the region of space nebulously defined as "the Border," and beyond that, "the Rim." She didn't really get it, but from what she understood, the Anglo-Sino Alliance, in addition to also being called the Union of Allied Planets, or Planetary Alliance, or some other fancy name, was the government that had formed from the Global Exodus Alliance that had led mankind from Earth-That-Was centuries ago. Long as she could remember, she'd heard rumblings about tensions existing between the Core worlds and the planets beyond. Of the Alliance maintaining that they had sovereignty over all the planets of the 'Verse, while most of those planets disagreed. Sometimes violently. Which was so weird, because people ought to have been able to get along, and violence never solved anything. So if the Alliance wanted a port on Zephyr, why not let them? And likewise, why make things so difficult for her family and crew members? After all, sharing was the best way to get ahead in the world, and no-one ever got anywhere by being nasty. Only way the Torres kept sailing was for everyone to work together. Surely that was the way of the world.

Of all worlds?

She didn't know.

But she did know that hydroponics was incredibly boring, so there was at least that piece of certainty in her life.

---

"So much for guns eh?"

Zoë, caught up in memories of happier times, wasn't listening. She and Jayne were sitting by the Mule, keeping a lookout, Jayne cleaning an automatic pistol, his rifle slung over his shoulders and looking a tad dejected. Mal, for his part, was keeping an eye on Troy's hovel. Zoë knew that if Troy wanted to, he could send a signal to anyone ranging from the Alliance to mercenaries, and all hell would rain down on this planet if the bounty was high enough. At the least, all they could do was keep a lookout on the hovel, keep in touch via radio, and hope that Troy would come through. And that they had enough money to pay for it.

"Zoë?"

She still wasn't listening. She just lay against the Mule, as throngs of humanity drifted by, carried along in the breeze, the setting sun casting long shadows on the barren ground. In the three hours they'd been standing here, Zoë's assessment of the town hadn't changed – Spearow was dying. Maybe from the lack of rain that Troy had alluded to, maybe by neglect from Ithaca's governor, maybe indifference from the Alliance, maybe due to something else entirely or a combination of the above. She rubbed her belly, trying to ignore the hunger pangs, and the pain coming from an organ located higher up in her body. Once, long ago, she'd fought for places like this. Had fought in places like this, when she and purple bellies shot at each other from bombed out buildings, before the Alliance said "screw it" and just levelled the whole area with atmospheric bombers. She'd seen men and women burn, screaming for their mothers. On both sides. She'd killed, she'd survived, and done all of that in the belief that it would be worth it. Only for it to mean nothing. Only for, six years later, towns like Spearow to exist. Dying.

"Hey, Zoë."

She sighed, not meeting Jayne's gaze. "Jayne, I don't care how big your gun is, or how many grenades you have."

"Then what do you care about?"

This time, she did meet his gaze. Turned around and stood up straight to do so. "Excuse me?"

"What do you care about?" he repeated.

She fought back a laugh. "Who the hell are you to ask what I care about?"

"I'm just thinking," he said, "that it's been a month, and all we've done is hide."

"And?"

"And I would have thought that by now we'd be doing something other than that."

This time, she did laugh. "Oh Jayne, that's good."

"What is?"

"You. Complaining about hiding when you didn't even fight the first time."

"Yeah, but I don't run from fights that I start."

"Debatable."

"And Mal's started a fight whether he knows it or not. So here's me wondering whether the captain has a plan."

Zoë bit her lip and looked away. What was Mal's plan, she wondered? She knew it went about as far as "run from Siren, get to Ithaca, talk to Troy so we have an idea on Alliance fleet movements." What happened after that? Maybe speaking for the people of Miranda had been the be all and end all of Mal's plan. If that was the case, then mission accomplished.

But what then? There'd been over 30 million people on Miranda. But the Unification War had cost over 100 million lives, and the 'Verse had managed to move on from that within a scant few years. Maybe, like the war, Miranda would mean nothing. The Reavers had had the bulk of their fleet destroyed, while the ships deployed at Siren were but a fraction of the Alliance's full military might. If Mal had wanted to start a fight, then it was a fight they were on the losing side of. Even more than the old days.

"Well?" Jayne asked. "Plans? Schemes? Plots?"

She ignored him. Instead, she activated her earpiece. "Zoë to Serenity, copy?"

A crackle filled the line. She closed her eyes. Daring to hope. Daring to imagine…

"This is the albatross," came the voice from the other end.

And hope was dashed. "Hi, River," she said, trying to sound pleasant. "Everything fine?"

"Lubrication."

"I'm sorry?"

"Lubrication. Engines lubricated. Lubrication by engines. We-"

"Thank you Serenity." She terminated the feed and looked at Jayne. Had he heard? Probably. But he was Jayne Cobb – why was he looking at her like that? Like…like someone who wasn't Jayne at all?

"What?" Zoë asked.

Jayne remained silent.

"Yes, I get it, River's a crazy girl, and Simon and Kaylee like being in the engine room. What of it?"

"Zoë, how many times have you called Serenity since we got put on lookout?"

She didn't answer.

"Twelve times," Jayne said.

"You keeping count?"

"No, but I'm wondering what's so damn important about calling home?"

"The Alliance could come down on us any second. It's important to keep in touch."

"Not like this." Zoë looked away, but he kept talking. "Zoë…Wash is gone. You know that right?"

She kept her eyes focused on the ground. Eyes that were burning, and unlike the dirt, not that dry.

"He's gone," Jayne said. "And no matter how many times you call Serenity, you ain't gonna hear Wash's voice on the other end."

"Go to hell," she spat.

"Zoë…"

"Shut up Jayne," she said. "Just shut…the hell…up."

"Fine," he said, raising his hands in defence before holstering is pistol. "Fine. But you staying on the boat, soon or late, you're gonna have to get used to a crazy girl flying the ship and not a crazy man."

She clenched her fists, being mighty tempted to use them. Wash was…okay, maybe he had been crazy. With his smile, his Hawaiian shirts, his dinosaurs, that ridiculous moustache that she'd finallyconvinced him to shave…but he was gone. For a month, she'd been trying to deny that. Had told herself that when she walked into the cockpit, he'd be there, flying the old bird. That when she'd entered her bunk, and sat in the dark, that she only had to wait, and he'd been there to join her. That here, on Ithaca, that all she had to do to hear his voice was give Serenity a call, and be reminded that there was at least one truly decent person in this universe. Far more kind, and decent, and gentle, then she ever could be.

Maybe Jayne was right, she reflected. Maybe Mal should have had a plan beyond giving the Alliance a wakeup slap. The Reavers had killed her husband, but the Alliance had put the guns in those monsters' hands, and done so by killing 30 million people in the process. What was one man to all that?

The radio crackled.

Everything.

It crackled again, and Jayne picked it up. "This is the bull dog."

Absolutely everything.

"Bull dog?" came Mal's voice. "Where'd that come from?"

"I think you know. And I'm wondering if-"

"Troy's ready to see us."

It was only now that Zoë began to consciously listen in on the radio feed.

"He's ready?" Jayne asked. "He come up to you?"

"Well, that, and pointed out the drone hovering above me, so, um, yeah, he's ready."

Jayne scowled. "Seems like you're being mighty short on actual plans these days."

"Just get over here."

"What about the Mule?" Zoë asked.

"He wants to see us all," Mal said. "And look at this way – if he rats us out, all three of us get to shoot him."

In another life, in another time, Zoë would have smiled at that. But as she glanced at the setting sun, she reflected that time these days was short.

And life was no longer for the living.

---

They met with Troy outside his house. This time he had his trousers belted, and boots on, but apart from that, he looked the same. However he'd spent the last few hours, hygiene or clothes washing hadn't been among them.

"Here you go," he said, handing Mal a data chip. "Alliance fleet movements throughout the 'Verse and projected patrol routes. Keep clear of them, and you should have a wide berth."

Mal fingered the data chip, looking at it thoughtfully. A moment later, he turned his gaze to Troy. "You might forgive me for wondering if this is legit."

"I might."

"And I might wonder if this is part of some underhanded plan to send my boat into the arms of an Alliance cruiser."

"You might do that as well," Troy said. "But here's the thing Mal – if I wanted to sell you out to the Alliance, I could have an Alliance warship here within the hour."

The three outlaws stared at Troy, who cracked a smile and kept talking. "Oh yes. They're that close. Not that the entire Navy is looking for you per se, but…"

"But what?" Zoë asked.

"Well, the Miranda Broadwave has made people a tad twitchy over the last month. And when people get twitchy, the boys and girls on Londinium get twitchy. That's why the Navy is sending more and more ships out to police the Rim. If they manage to find the renegades that set off the Broadwave, the better, but in the meantime, it's about law and order. Or keeping the peace. Or some other phrase that I think you two might have heard before."

Zoë knew. She'd heard plenty of them in the Unification War.

"So, my advice is to get out of Georgia," Troy said. "Stay outside the shipping lanes, head into the Black, lay low for awhile."

"And how long's 'awhile?'" Jayne asked.

"I dunno, ask your captain."

Jayne looked at Mal. Zoë could tell that there was something he did want to ask Mal rather mightily. Still, Jayne, being a guard dog, kept his jaws shut. For now. Long enough for Mal to keep fingering the data chip, holding it in his left time, while his right hovered by his pistol.

Come on Mal, don't shoot the bastard.

"How'd you get this?" Mal asked.

"Oh, y'know, contacts. Ears. Ears within ears. May have left the Navy, but I've still got friends."

"And all these…friends, of yours, scrounged this up in a few hours."

Troy folded his arms and leant against the wall of his hovel. He turned his gaze upwards towards Priam and Zoë followed it. The moon hung over Ithaca like the hammer of God. Ready to fall down on them all. It wouldn't happen of course, unless the universe decided to change the laws of gravity, but still, it covered most of the sky. Even larger than the sun.

"Funny thing about military folk," Troy said. "Quite a few of them join up to make the universe a better place. True believers, patriots, that sort of thing." He nodded at Mal. "You know the type."

Mal didn't say anything.

"Well, thing is, when you get a piece of info that king and country might have done something a bit untoward, like, I dunno, creating an army of space psychopaths, you tend to ask questions. And when you consider that those psychopaths spent most of their time terrorizing the people your king brought into the country by force of arms, under the pretence of making their lives better, well, you might find yourself a bit inclined to whisper a thing or two. To, ah, leak." He tapped the data chip in Mal's hand. "So, yeah, you stabbed the Alliance in the paw. It's bleeding. Want my advice? Make the most of it before the blood clots."

Mal remained silent, left hand still on the chip, right hand still near his revolver. Zoë, for her part, kept her hand on her Winchester rifle – her draw wouldn't be as quick as Mal's, but if someone bent on harm came round the corner, wanting the heads of the "renegades" Troy was discussing, they'd get a mighty fine shower of shrapnel.

"Fine," said Mal. "We'll take it."

Jayne shot him a look. "We will?"

"Yeah. Which leaves it up to old Troy to decide how much he's going to charge us for it. Provided he ain't decided already."

Could just shoot him and run, Zoë reflected. It wasn't like they'd be coming back to Ithaca anytime soon, if ever. And one more dead body in Spearow would just mean one less mouth to feed.

"Oh, I've decided," Troy said. "And you're getting it for free."

"What?" All three outlaws asked.

"That's right. Freebie. Pro bono. Miǎnfèi de wǔcān. Te estoy dando un-"

"Um, yeah, I only got half of that," Mal said. He pocketed the data chip, and removed his hand from his revolver. He paused, frowning for a moment before asking, "but why?"

Troy shrugged. "Like I said, some folks like seeing the Alliance stabbed in the paw. Consider this a favour for you doing a favour, and compensation for all the other jobs that went bad." He nodded his head, gesturing to the town street. "Now beat it before I remember that money speaks louder than words."

"Fine with me," Jayne said, and began walking off. "I'll get the Mule."

Zoë remained in place, her eyes locked on Mal. Her old sergeant didn't say anything, but she could see the gears whirring behind his eyes. They'd come to Ithaca to get their bearings, in the anticipation that it would cost them. Now, they had the money for all kinds of necessities – fuel, food, ammo…Considering that Inara had withdrawn her account after Siren, coupled with what credits they'd taken from Mr. Universe's hideout, then chances were they'd have smooth sailing for the next few months.

"Alright," said Mal. "I won't look a gift horse in the mouth." Zoë watched him un-holster his revolver, and slowly draw it up to Troy's face. Zoë raised an eyebrow, and even Troy looked taken aback. Surely he wasn't going to shoot him, right?

Mal?

Apparently not, as Mal used the revolver's barrel to lift up Troy's dog tags into the light. The name, rank, and service number had been scratched out, leaving only the blood type (AB, because of course it was) and religion (no preference). It didn't tell her much about Troy in of himself, but the symbol on the other side of the tags made it clear that he'd served in the Alliance Navy. She'd know – she'd picked up a number of those dog tags when she'd been in the Dust Devils. "Trophies," she and her fellow terrorists had called them.

"Y'know, someday you're gonna tell us the story behind this," Mal said.

"I may," Troy said. "And if that happens…well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Hmm." Mal paused, before lowering his weapon and holstered it. "Okay Troy. I'll bite. I'll buy you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart, and that there's a reason why you hate the Alliance while also wearing their uniform and dog. And if not-"

"I know, I know, fire and brimstone, the works." Troy yawned. "Now piss off."

"Sure." Mal gave him "the look." The type of look Zoë knew meant danger. "But you know nothing about fire and brimstone Troy."

Mal walked off. After a moment, Zoë followed. Only a moment. But enough to hear Troy mutter, "more than you'd think, Sergeant."

She kept walking, thinking little of it. Right now, all she wanted was to get back to Serenity, and collapse into her bunk.

Even if she'd be in it alone.

---

"So he gave it to you for free?"

"Hmm." Zoë took a sip of the tea. "Pro bono he called it. Also something else - dead Earth language."

"Don't suppose you remember it?"

Zoë shook her head and took another sip.

"Shame."

"Does it matter?"

"No. Just curious."

Zoë grunted and took a third sip – her third and largest one.

"Zoë, slow down, you'll burn your tongue."

"Sorry, but…" She laid back in her chair. "Just tastes great." She smiled at Inara. "Did you put something in it?"

"No." Given the look on Inara's face, Zoë could tell that she wasn't lying. "Just regular tea. Nearly the last of the tea actually."

"Well, tastes good." Zoë took another sip, which became a slurp, which became an empty cup lying on the table of Serenity's galley. "You really didn't put anything in there?"

"No." Inara, now with a look of concern on her face, reached out for Zoë's arm and held it. "You sure you're alright?"

Zoë tore her arm away. "Fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Really."

Zoë had believed Inara about the tea, but given the look on Inara's face, she could tell that the former companion didn't believe her. Which was her prerogative of course. Just as it had been her prerogative to stay with Serenity after the Miranda Broadwave, as it had been when she'd withdrawn her account and used her funds to get the ship from Blue Sun to Georgia, just as it had been when she'd offered to make Zoë a cup of tea after she, Mal, and Jayne returned to the ship. Ostensibly there was no reason to mourn – after all, they'd got data from Troy for free, and looking back on what the bastard had said, Zoë had to admit that it was actually likely he was on the level. But, Zoë knew why the tea was here. Wash was dead. When you lost someone you cared for, apparently tea was meant to make that all go away.

She watched Inara sip her own tea, every inch the perfect lady that the Companion's Guild had trained her to be. If Inara lost that special someone, would she make tea for herself, or would someone else make it for her? Did she have that special someone?

Probably. An image of Mal entered her mind. Or rather, definitely.

Course, if that special someone did die, then Zoë knew that tea wouldn't be the only liquid that the crew of Serenity would be going after. Though…She sighed, getting to her feet before heading to the sink. Wash had died, and they hadn't shed any blood over that. Reaver blood, certainly, but how accountable were they? Men and women driven mad by a chemical unleashed by the Alliance. Had they gone after their blood? She began washing the dregs out, watching the water flow over her hands. No blood was there. Not nearly enough. Her husband was dead, Book was dead, Mr. Universe was dead, almost all of their contacts were dead, killed by a man who Mal had decided to leave alive rather than putting him down. Maybe Jayne was right, she reflected. Maybe they should have done something other than run like beaten dogs.

"So," Inara said, making her way to the sink also. "How long do you think we'll stay here?"

"A day, at most." Zoë moved to the table cloth. "Original plan was that Troy would take us for all we're worth, but now that we've got the credits, we can get some more bounty. Fuel, mostly. And food." She rubbed her stomach, thinking that food was something she really needed right now. Far more than usual.

"And then?"

"Head into the Black." Inara opened her mouth but Zoë beat her to it. "I know that ain't a long term plan, but we lay low long enough, the Alliance is sure to eventually back off."

"I guess," she said.

Zoë took the cup back to the cupboard, and-

"I know you called Serenity a lot while you were at Spearow."

Zoë opened the cupboard. "River's a good pilot," she said. "Good lookout too."

The cup was placed back inside.

"Zoë, I know why you kept calling. And I know it's hard, but-

Zoë slammed the cupboard. Hard. Inara didn't say anything, which gave her time to turn her head ever so slowly to face Inara.

"You know it's hard?" she whispered.

"Zoë, I didn't mean…" Inara stammered, collecting her poise, which was something she rarely lost. "Look, I meant to say…what I wasn't saying is…what I mean is…"

"I know…" Zoë sighed, taking a moment to compose herself. "I know what you mean. But…"

"Wash is gone, Zoë." Inara put a hand on her shoulder. "No matter how many times you call Serenity, you're not going to hear his voice on the opposite end."

Zoë frowned – what had become of the universe when Inara and Jayne were both saying the same thing? Inara, for her part, went to say something else, but she stopped short, her her head turning to the galley's aft-side entrance.

"Simon."

Zoë turned her head as well, seeing Simon Tam standing in the doorway, wearing the same expression that he always did – calm, cool, composed, collected, something else beginning with "c." It was hard to tell with Simon whether "the look" was his natural one or a mask.

"Hi," he said, his "look" cracking and turning mighty awkward. "You girls okay?"

"Inara's been making tea," Zoë said. "Very good tea."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were out of tea."

"Almost," Inara said. "It's only green tea."

"Oh. Well, that's fine."

Inara smiled in a manner just as awkward as Simon. Simon, for his part, focused his gaze on Zoë.

"Zoë, you got a minute?"

"Sure." She headed over, glancing at Inara. "Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome." Inara's tone of voice indicated that she wanted to say a lot more, but thankfully, didn't.

She followed Simon down the stairs to the commons area. A much different experience from when she'd walked up those stairs earlier in the day, in that Serenity wasn't bucking around like a horse in heat.

"Job go okay I take it?" Simon asked.

"So far." Zoë sighed. Through no fault of his own, Simon didn't know much about Troy, and she didn't feel like sharing the man's life story with him. She felt too tired for that, even if she couldn't explain why.

"And the plan?"

"Ask Mal." She smirked at Simon. "How about you? Trouble in the engine room?"

He shot Zoë a look, his face covered by a mask. "What?"

"Something to do with lubrication?"

"Um…" The mask was already cracking "The engine needed, um…work, and-"

"Relax Simon, you ain't the first guy that Kaylee's had in there." Seeing the look on his face, she added, "but hey, you could be the last."

"Great. Good to know." Trying to hide his scowl, he kept walking, entering the infirmary. Zoë followed him in – she regretted he words, but if Simon and Kaylee were in it for the long haul, they'd have to be honest with each other. And accept that they weren't fooling anyone.

"So, anyway," Simon said. "While you were gone, I finished your blood test."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Um, yeah. And…" He rubbed his hands together. "And…look, there's no easy way to say this, but-"

"Spit it out Simon, I've can deal with it." Zoë leant against the infirmary wall. She picked up some scissors lying on the bench and began twirling them around in her fingers like a pistol. She looked at Simon, who was looking at her with concern.

"Well, go on. How bad is it?"

The doctor began to speak. "Well, it's not bad per se…I mean, it might even be good news, all things considered, but…"

"But what?"

Simon sighed. "Zoë, you're pregnant."

The scissors dropped. Her heart stopped. Silence as empty as the void of space closed in around her. Her neck. Her chest. Her stomach.

"No," she whispered. "No…no no no no no-"

"The blood test was conclusive," Simon continued. "You're pregnant. You've been pregnant for about a month now."

"No," Zoë said. She walked forward, only to stumble, clutching her stomach. "I…I'm not…I can't be…"

She trailed off, her words of denial faltering – Simon helped her into the chair. The light above her flickered, as if laughing. Mocking her. She turned her gaze to Simon, and found that the mask wasn't there. Only concern.

"Simon," she said slowly. "You're going to run the test again."

"Zoë-"

"I'm not pregnant," she whispered. "You hear me? I'm. Not. Pregnant."

"Zoë, the blood test was conclusive. And the symptoms you described? He reached for his clipboard, the same one that she'd seen earlier in the day, and began to read. "Nausea, vomiting, fatigue, frequent urination?" These are all tell-tale pregnancy symptoms. Heck, your description alone should have tipped me off, but maternity was never my field."

"But I can't-"

"And the tea?" he asked. "Did it have more taste than usual?" Zoë didn't say anything, but Simon appeared to take that as a yes. "An increase in one's sense of taste is another pregnancy sign."

"But…" She sighed, putting a hand over her eyes. The light. It was so bright. She wanted it off. She wanted to just fall asleep and never wake up. Hell, even die. Least then she might have a slight chance of seeing her husband again.

"Is Wash the father?"

Her eyes opened, blazing. Locked in on Simon's.

"Is Wash the father?" he repeated.

"Simon, don't-"

"I know it's technically none of my business but-"

"You're gorram right." Zoë lay down in the seat again, before closing her eyes. Sleep was what she desired, but her mind was racing faster than a starship, and her heart was beating like a jackrabbit. She lay there for half a lifetime, before finally saying "yes."

"Zoë?"

"Wash is the father," she said. Her denial gone. Her lie ended. "A month…it fits. We...I mean, before the Operative and all that, we did..." She opened her eyes and looked at Simon. "But for it to take long before the symptoms became this apparent?"

"It's unusual, but not unheard of. And considering that none of us have been eating that well…well, a growing baby needs plenty of food."

Zoë snorted. Food. Of course a baby needed food. You know what else a baby needs? She reflected. A father.

She didn't say that. Simon was nothing if not intelligent. He might deny it, but she could tell he was thinking along the same lines as she was. But nevertheless, she asked, "so what happens now?"

He sighed, putting his clipboard on the bench. "Well, that's up to you." He looked back at her. "Potentially, if you wanted, we could end this now…" He trailed off, seeing the look in Zoë's eyes. "Or, assuming that you're keeping it…well, you'll want to tell the crew sooner rather than later, because your belly's going to get quite big soon. You'll need to increase your calorie intake, and if you're going to give birth on Serenity-"

"Simon, I don't know where I'll even be in eight months."

He paused – the mask had returned. If this was his bedside manner, it was no wonder he was a surgeon and not a maternity doctor, she reflected.

"Alright," he said. "We can plan for that later. But the complications of a baby developing in space and growing up on a vessel-"

"I know the complications," Zoë said. "I was born in space myself."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"No. You didn't. But…" She trailed off. "Just…give me some time, alright?"

"Of course." He stepped forward and gingerly put a hand on Zoë's shoulder. "Listen…I don't know if I should say 'I'm sorry' or 'congratulations,' but-"

"Then don't say anything," she snapped.

"Fine," he whispered. "I'll be in the engine room if you need me."

Zoë watched him go, not asking him not to tell Kaylee. She felt she could trust him that far. Simon had been on the ship for nearly a year, and in that time, he'd earnt her trust. Maybe even her respect.

So she lay there in the seat. The light still flickering. The ship as silent as the grave. Moving her hand across her belly. Thinking of the life growing within her. Of the life that was taken from her. Of how those two lives would never intersect. Of that moment, a month ago, when that life had been conceived. Of the month since then. The rage. The sorrow. The emptiness. Of the turning of worlds, the Alliance, the Reavers, and everything the Black had spawned. All that, as she lay there, alone…and yet not. Unable to deny what was within her.

She began to cry.

---

Great floods have flown, from simple sources, and great seas have dried.

When miracles have by the greatest been denied.