Wash had just been fired. Again. As his captain stacked dinosaur after dinosaur into Wash's protesting arms, she tried to explain herself.

"It's not that you aren't good enough, Wash. You're the best pilot we've ever had. But we've been chartered by the Alliance now, and they insist on everyone having proper credentials…a flight school certification."

She shrugged apologetically and shooed him out the hatchway, shutting the door behind her. Wash sighed and turned to head off to his quarters. He knew the routine. He bumped into a young Chinese man wearing a flight school uniform. A greenhorn. He was being replaced by a cadet straight out of flight school. Ouch. "Take good care of her, she's a good ship." Wash told the boy, patting him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me sir, but aren't you Hoban Washbourne?" the boy asked timidly. Wash nodded. The boy's face split into a grin. "You're a hero, a legend! First sucessful barn swallow in the history of the school! Your training videos are the most popular…"

Wash cut him off. "Hero, schmero. Now I'm just a loser." He ignored the boys protests and walked away.

He spent the next two weeks on Shadow, getting drunk out of his mind and learning how to juggle baby geese. Hey, it's what they did for fun there, and Wash wasn't in any state to complain. He could have made a life for himself there, juggling geese, drinking moonshine, but he had to leave rather suddenly one evening after tossing the innkeeper's prized gosling into the rafters and it had refused to come down. Wash swore profusely in Mandarin as he shakily tried to bandage his goosepecked fingers. These folk sure did get touchy about their waterfowl. "It weren't all that pretty!" He exclaimed, then hurriedly ducked as a beer bottle shattered over his head.

The next morning, he was headed to Persephone, intent on finding gainful employment once again. He was convinced that the goose incident was a sign that he should mend his wicked ways…and he was almost out of credit.

But old habits die hard, and by that night, he was holed up in a corner of the town's only saloon, counting on his bandaged fingers how many ships he'd been on in the past two years. Four…no five. And he'd been driven off all of them by the expanding influence of the damned Alliance. He idly wondered what his life would have been like if the Browncoats had triumphed at Serenity Valley.

He was making money for the next round of drinks and possibly a night's lodging by beating challenger after challenger at the run down flight simulator when he felt someone come up behind him. "I'm done with challengers for the night." Wash told whoever it was, as he ducked his ship under his opponent's and bumped it up onto a satellite. Game over. Wash collected the credit from another grumbling loser with a bow and a handshake.

"Can you fly real ships too, or is this just one of those drunken barroom talents?" asked the man who had been behind him, following him over to the bar. "Anything's got an engine, I can fly it." Wash said, "and I'm trying to give up on the drinking, I had a nasty experience with a goose." He gestured with his bandaged fingers and took a sip of his possibly virgin Bloody Mary.

"So you've been to Shadow then?" the other man asked, settling himself on the stool next to Wash, and smoothing the wrinkles out of his long brown coat. "That's where my family's from. Never could get the hang of the juggling though."

Wash shrugged. "So, Mr. Shadow, why are you stalking a washed up old pilot like me?"

"The name's Mal. Malcolm Reynolds. Captain Malcolm Reynolds."

That name sounded somewhat familiar to Wash, but he couldn't quite place it. No matter, it would come in time. "Wash is what they call me." He didn't offer any more information.

Mal let out a whoop. "Gorram! I was right!" He pumped a fist in the air. "Zoë, pay up, it IS him."

A tall woman who would have been more at home with the ancient Amazon warriors of earth that was strode over and stood behind Mal. "Sorry sir, I left my money in my purse." She said with a straight face.

Mal grinned. "Wash, this is Zoë, my second in command. Just so happens that the two of us need a pilot. And rumor has it, Mr. Wash, that you're the best to be had."

"You wouldn't want me, Captain Reynolds…" Wash started.

"Mal. Call me Mal." He interrupted.

"All right, …Mal. As I was saying, you wouldn't want old space trash like me. I don't have that newfangled Alliance certification everyone's suddenly so keen on."

Zoë nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned away, but Mal leaned in closer. "That don't matter none." He said quietly. "We ain't no friends of the Alliance. We're a bit more… Independent…if you get my drift."

Wash liked the sound of that. He grinned, and shook Mal's hand with his two least bitten fingers. "What kinda scrapmetal you got?"

"She's a Firefly." Mal said, pride in his voice.

Which is how Wash found himself on Serenity's bridge, already planning out where to put his dinosaurs. The carnivores would be on the right… "This will do quite nicely. When do we take off?"

"Gotta find a mechanic first, then I'll let you know." Zoë glared at Mal, attempting to communicate something, then stomped off. Mal shrugged. "Female thing. C'mon. I'll show you to your quarters."

He gave Wash the default access code to his bunk, then turned to go. "Hey, Mal?" Wash stopped him.

Mal turned. "Yeah, Wash?"

"You were at Serenity Valley." It was part question, part statement. Seeing the name of the ship had clicked it into place. Malcolm Reynolds,

Mal drew close. "That a problem, Wash?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "Because your contract ain't final yet."

Wash tried to diffuse the situation with a smile. "Was there myself, briefly." He paused then added hastily, "flying rescue missions with my uncle. His freighter, the Lucky River, was the one the Alliance attacked in orbit. It was after I got out of detainment…"

Mal's initial anger had turned to interest, so Wash continued. "My ma's people, the Hobans, they had themselves a homestead northeast of the valley. I didn't live there, but all the family would come back and celebrate New Year together." He looked over at Mal. "Am I boring you?"

Mal's voice was still quiet, but no longer dangerous. "Not at all."

Wash smiled. "It's nice to finally find someone else who remembers the old place."

Mal gave him a sad smile in return. "No Wash, the problem ain't tryin' to remember… it's tryin' to forget."