I love border towns. I love their distinctive smell, fresh hay mingled with equally fresh manure, the smoke from countless woodstoves mixed with the tantalizing aroma of local delicacies. And after so many weeks aboard ship, I even enjoy the all too common occurrence of being caught in a traffic jam blockaded by slow moving cattle. I'm ranch stock, tried and true, no matter how hard I try to forget it. This means I'd often find myself lending a hand to local farmers during the harvest, planting or calving.

"It's what I remember." I remember telling an old rancher, as I avoided a potentially castrating kick from an ornery cow I was trying to vaccinate. "Sure, flying's what I do, but ranching is what I remember."

After the loss of the family ranch on Hera, I began to dream of having my own place someday. I mean, I know I'll have to retire eventually. Young pilots are entering flight school every day, and eventually, some of them are going to catch up to me. I gotta have a backup plan.

So, I started saving up. Whenever the payoff from a job was big enough, it'd go towards that dream. Eventually, I earned enough to buy a small plot, just two hundred acres. Over the years, I've sent thousands of dollars off to Paquin for the upkeep of the ranch. Spent a little time there between jobs, getting to know the neighbors.

Whenever I had a spare moment, I'd send a wave to Jennings, my nearest neighbor. For a few dollars, he'd keep an eye on the place for me. He had his reservations at first, but after a difficult calving season I managed to help out with, he soon began to treat me like a son.

Everything changed when I met Zoë. I was so terrified she wouldn't share my dream. She'd been born on a ship, would she understand the need for someone like me to have a little piece of earth to call my own? I'm not proud of it, but I hid the ranch from her. Locked up all the files, hid the deeds, and sealed the bank account with a passcode. I kept telling myself I'd surprise her someday. It got harder to keep in contact with Jennings, but we managed to make things work.

I wrote her a letter, explaining it all. Put it in with my will, gave it to Mal for safekeeping. I figured if something happened to me, Zoë deserved to know about this little dream of mine.

Three weeks after Wash's death, Mal found Zoë on the bridge, sitting in Wash's old chair, idly turning a dinosaur around in her hands. She'd never be the same, Mal knew. You never really recovered from a loss like that.

He supposed that this wasn't the best time, but, when you thought about it, when was a good time to give your most loyal friend her dead husband's will?

"Zoë?" He called gently, not wanting to startle her.

Zoë set the dinosaur down guiltily and turned around. "Yes, Cap'n?"

Mal shifted from foot to foot. He wasn't really that good with stuff like this. Gorram, he wished Inara were here. "Um. This were Wash's." He handed over a large envelope with the name ZOË printed on it in Wash's distinctive block letters. "Wrote it after that nasty business with Niska."

Wordlessly, Zoë took the envelope and opened it. A single sheet of paper fell out, as well as a bundle that looked suspiciously like a title deed. Zoë unfolded the paper and began to read. Mal resisted the urge to read over her shoulder and slipped out.

The letter began with a childish drawing of a triceratops. Wash's favorite, Zoë remembered with a ghost of a smile.

My dearest Zoë,

I realized something rather worrisome after my little visit with Niska. Seems I'm pretty gorram mortal after all. I might not be around forever. As such, there are some things I should confess. Hopefully by the time you read this (if you ever read this) I'll have already told you, but just in case I don't get around to it…

I don't think I ever told you where I was born. I was born on the Hoban family ranch on Hera, about ten miles from Serenity Valley, a place you know too well. My earliest memories were of that ranch life, and that's something that you never forget. Trust me, I've tried, but ranching sticks to you like manure in haying season…

Anyway. That ranch were all but leveled when the Alliance blasted through. Not that it mattered much, most of the family was gone by then.

Well, that was rather unnecessary, sorry, but the point is that I always felt a powerful need to replace what I'd lost. I knew I couldn't replace the people, Aunt Ruth, Uncle Owen, but I could maybe reconstruct the memories. I know what you're saying right now sweetheart, that we can't live with our heads stuck in the past, the present is waiting, usually with guns, but I promise this was different.

I started saving up after the war, when the reconstruction paid pilots a fancy penny, and about two years before I joined up with Serenity, I bought myself a little parcel of land on Paquin. Nothing fancy, just a few hundred acres for cattle and a bit of farming. Sent off a piece of every paycheck to an account especially for it. It was Leaf on the Wind Ranch. (You'll find that account number and passcode written below).

I was going to retire there. Someday, I know that the Alliance will render me obsolete. So I saved up for that eventuality and shored up the ranch.

Then, dear heart, I met you. And everything changed. I had something else to live for. I didn't have to recreate the past, because suddenly I had a future. Like my father's moustache that you hated (you were right, it really didn't look good on me) this ranch was a way to hold on to my past. But unlike the moustache, I couldn't let this go.

I didn't mean to keep it a secret from you, I honestly swear. But, I couldn't stand the thought of you not loving the ranch as much as I did. I wanted you to love it as much as I did. So I hid it from you. But my dream changed. Now the ranch was for my family. The ranch would be my legacy, the inheritance for you and the children (I dearly hope there are children…).

There's a file on my server called "Leaf on the Wind" if River hasn't already hacked it for you, the passcode is the same as for the bank account. There are captures of the acreage, the house, the town, plus instructions on how to get a wave to Jennings, our neighbor. If you decide to sell the ranch now that I'm gone, Jennings will be your best contact. He'll help you get a fair price. He's an honest man, and I hope you get to meet him someday.

I love you, baby. And with any luck, this letter will never get read. Or someday, we'll read it together and laugh at my quirks, as we sit together in our rocking chairs and watch the sun set over Paquin.

Yours forever,

Wash.