Translations:
Xīng liú diàn jī - meteor shower and violent thunderclaps (idiom meaning portentous signs, ill-omened)
Jīn bu zhù – can't help it, can't bear it
Dǒng ma? – Understand?
Mò qì – secret agreement, to understand without being stated
五 Wǔ: Xīng liú diàn jī
There were no words. Written words, yes. Private thoughts, private fears and prayers, written and affixed to the firework, to be sent up and burned away, released, given up to the 'verse.
The explosion had been quite the show. It ought to have been if the packaging were any indication. Not to mention the price they were fetching on the black market. "Xīng Liú Diàn Jī" it said. Zoe wondered offhand if the manufacturers knew the idiomatic meaning or had just been capitalizing on the literal. True to it's name, the initial blast then led to a display like so many shooting stars, timed to go off in a staggered series, each a color more brilliant than the last, each with its' own thunderous boom. Plenty loud enough to ward off any evil spirits, if you gave any credence to that kind of thing. Or if not, plenty loud enough to drown out whatever was going on in your mind, even for just a minute.
There were no words. They stood, lingering in silence, clustered together in a kind of constellation, drawn and held together by their own collective force of gravity, and by the gravity of their situation. The words would come. Zoe knew. But for now they were just a constellation of seven against a hazy purple sky.
Slowly they drifted off. Jayne first. Kaylee and Simon. Inara, then Mal, then River. Back to the shuttle to give her a moment alone.
The wind buffeted against and around her - her dress, flicking at her calves; her hair, swirling, lashing at her face – around the stones. She narrowed her eyes against the onslaught of fine grains of sand picked up by the increasing gusts, registering each tiny sting. Her mind wandered, considering each individual grain of sand, over years, over eons, that would contribute to the weathering the stones. Zoe stood, as still and silent as one of them, imagining herself one of them. Perhaps eventually the sand would wear them down into sand themselves, to be scattered across the moon or reformed into something else in the unfathomable future.
Suddenly the vastness of time and of space made her queasy. A particularly strong blast of wind caused her to sway and she felt she was spinning into infinity. Three days. Had it only been three days without Wash? Her sense of time was distorted. She tried to recall a time, before all of this, before the chain of events was set in motion, when she had felt truly at ease. A month ago? Six weeks ago? When she had looked at Wash and felt they had all the time in the 'verse.
She adjusted her stance, pulling herself back from the event horizon, away from that point of no return after which you know you will be sick. She fought against other things too – the lump in her throat, the tightness in her chest. She gave in to the sway.
Breathe. Just breathe.
She thought of trees, resilient in the wind. She thought of kelp, yielding to the push and pull of waves. And after a few breaths she thought of the crew, waiting for her in the shuttle.
Back at Serenity, the docking clamps clacked into place and the little vessel settled itself into its' niche. Normally this set of sounds and sensations would have been a balm of comfort. Normally the bustle of folks arriving home would have been a familiar pleasure. But something had started to take root in Zoe's mind and now that the seed was planted she could think of nothing else. She got out of there as quickly as she could.
"Chow in ten?" Mal said loudly enough for everyone to hear as they were disembarking.
"Five," Kaylee replied, "Just gotta heat it up."
Zoe was already most of the way across the catwalk when she turned at the sound of Kaylee's boots on metal stairs.
Kaylee opened her mouth to start but Zoe cut her off, "Five minutes. I heard. Don't wait for me. I'm not hungry." She continued on her way.
"We'll save some for ya. For later," Kaylee called, "It'll be there if ya want…"
Zoe spared a bit of mental space in which she appreciated the mechanic's kindness and concern. She should eat, she knew she should eat. But to sit with all of them in the galley right now would be too much to bear.
She didn't much want to be in her bunk alone either, but that's where she went. She sat on the bed. Stood back up. Sat down again.
Gorammit, Wash.
It had been, what? Six weeks ago now since they'd been to Persephone to resupply? Of the passage of time she couldn't be sure. Since then they'd all become rather busy, pulling off quick jobs here and there as lily pads on the way to Lilac for the next big one - the vault heist for Fanty and Mingo. The vault already seemed like ages ago. And an age before that they'd set down on Persephone to prepare for the long burns ahead.
The golden hour cast its warm glow over the docked ships - ramps down, cargo bays open, members of their crews partaking in a modern spaceport version of the age-old pastime of porch-sittin'. Wash pulls out a pair of folding chairs and they sit at the bottom of Serenity's ramp, soaking in all the goings-on. The smell of real meat grilling wafts from a couple of ships over. They hear the sounds of Mal and Jayne playing horseshoes against a couple of gents from the ship across the way. And at the ship next door, a domestic scene peacefully unfolds amid the hustle and bustle of port traffic.
By simply observing them it is easy for Zoe to deduce something about the lives and relationships of the small passel of folks – two youngsters of about the same age kick around a soccer ball, taking advantage of actual dirt to play on, their adults looking on from the cargo bay. Engaged in lively conversation, those two women must be their mothers, one of them bouncing a younger baby sibling on her lap. More chairs are added in a semi-circle, the rest of the crew joins them, the food is brought out. The baby is passed from uncle to uncle, auntie to auntie, ending up with its father. A man descends the ramp to gather up the children who then entice him to play. Just a few minutes more? The ball, in an errant pass, rolls towards Serenity…
Wash rises to stop it and kick it back over.
"Thanks," the man calls and he waves.
"This is just downright wholesome," Wash says, sinking down into his chair with a polite wave back at the man.
They sit in companionable silence but Zoe can tell something is on the tip of Wash's mind and on the tip of his tongue. She waits. He stalls, scuffing his shoe in the dust.
"I don't know if one day you wake up and say 'I'm ready'. But if it were to happen, then you'd just have to 'be' ready…"
"Talk plainly, husband," she eyed him sidelong, "Are you sayin' what I think you're sayin'?"
"Well," he turned to her, "What if we didn't 'try to' so much as what if we stopped trying 'not to'?"
She waited until the ship was quiet; the galley dark and everyone asleep in their bunks. Kaylee had left her a bowl, kept in the cooler and covered with a cloth. She went through the motions of eating because she knew she must. But she hardly tasted it. It would be a long night with short stints of fitful sleep. A long night of waiting for morning to come. Of waiting for Simon to wake so he could confirm what she already knew deep in her bones.
As soon as Serenity came to life again she made her way down towards the infirmary, encountering Kaylee and River at the bottom of the stairs.
"Mornin' Zoe," Kaylee said brightly.
"Mornin'," Zoe's reply was automatic. She made no eye contact as she brusquely passed. She had seen Simon and she was on a mission.
She swerved to avoid River who was standing stock-still in the middle of the passage and staring at Zoe with her head tilted to the side, a curious expression on her face.
"Doctor, you got a minute?" Zoe called, eyeing River with suspicion.
"Of course," Simon nodded toward the infirmary.
"You…" River started.
Zoe turned on her sharply, suspicion shifting to fierce certainty – the girl had read her mind. River immediately clamped her mouth shut, swallowing whatever it was she was about to say.
"River, sweetie," Zoe said, her placid tone barely concealing something more ominous beneath, "Sometimes people don't want their thoughts bein' said aloud by someone else. Actually, most times."
"Jīn bu zhù," River countered.
"River…" Simon said her name in that brotherly way of giving a warning.
"I know it's not your fault you hear 'em, but if you put your mind to it to keep 'em to yourself…" Zoe answered River, "Just do me a favor, dǒng ma?"
River acquiesced, "Mò qì."
Zoe held her gaze another moment just to be sure. River would keep her word; Zoe could see it in her eyes. So would Simon. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. It would remain Zoe's secret to do with what she would. But it wasn't real. Not quite yet. She needed to hear it out loud.
With a hesitant smile Kaylee touched River's arm, breaking the trance, "C'mon, let's go get ready."
Zoe wasted no time entering the infirmary, scanning the windows for any other approaching crew. Strange design, she thought, very exposed. Simon seemed to pick up on her unease. The door was rarely ever shut but he shut it now, affording them more privacy.
May as well cut right to the chase.
She rolled up her sleeve and offered him her upturned arm.
"Need you to draw some blood," she said.
Simon didn't skip a beat. If he was taken aback he didn't let on. He gathered what he needed and was at her side in moments. Moving with fluid efficiency he tied an elastic band around her upper arm, found a vein and cleansed the site with alcohol. She tried to absorb some of his calm; to focus on his practiced hands as he gently inserted the needle. She watched the tiny vial fill with brilliant red, felt the elastic release and Simon press a piece of gauze into the crook of her arm.
She looked at him then.
"What am I testing for?" he quietly asked.
"Pregnancy," she answered.
Translations:
Xīng liú diàn jī - meteor shower and violent thunderclaps (idiom meaning portentous signs, ill-omened)
Jīn bu zhù – can't help it, can't bear it
Dǒng ma? – Understand?
Mò qì – secret agreement, to understand without being stated