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Jul. 3rd, 2006 09:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
capnzoe.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
firefly_fanfic
Title: Blue Shirt
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
capnzoe
Email: capnzoe@yahoo.com
Summary: Zoë, Mal and a blue shirt.
Rating: PG-13, to be safe
Characters: Mal, Zoë, other crew mentioned.
Pairing: M/Z, Z/W
Spoilers/Timeline: Pre-series
Disclaimer: Capn’ Tightpants and crew belong to the great and powerful Joss.
Author's Note: This is the product of a ‘blue shirt’ prompt byrazycrandomgirl (She’s the bestest!!) She actually made me finish a fic. Now, I only have 4 more to finish!
Archive:shinywriter
The glass window to the infirmary was beginning to fog with Zoë’s ragged breath.
She had returned almost an hour before with Jayne. He had Mal, barely conscious, slung over his shoulder.
Damn you Patience!! They were passing her moon and responded to a distress call from one of her boys. Said their doctor and half the settlement had fallen ill of some mystery disease and they desperately needed expert assistance. Hearing that, Simon figured it was his time to shine. Being no dummy, well, for the most part, Mal took Zoë and Jayne out to assess the situation before anything was done. The three of them walked right into an ambush. Sure, Mal and Patience had their differences and exchanges of bullets in the past, but Zoë thought they had moved past that.
Clearly, she was wrong.
Somehow Patience’s ragtag posse of ruffians had grown and it was nearly twenty of them hun dans against the captain, first mate and mercenary. It wasn’t a situation the three of them hadn’t been in before, so they proceeded with some precise shooting, creative footwork and even a grenade or two. By the time most of the dust and smoke had cleared, Patience was high-tailing it with the few men she had left. And Mal was left in a broken heap underneath the nearby bushes. Zoë nor Jayne could tell exactly what had happened to him but it was safe to say that the captain was fading, and fading fast.
When they finally got back on the boat and made their way to the infirmary, even Simon’s normally rigid face clouded with concern and doubt upon seeing the condition Mal was in. It seemed as though the entire crew had managed to fit into the sterilized space, much to Simon’s chagrin. He managed to convince everyone that in order to save Mal they would have to give him some space to work. Everyone but River left. Her lucid phases were coming more and more frequently and Simon needed her genius now.
From the moment the infirmary’s door slid shut, Zoë never left the glass. She barely even noticed Book bandaging up the gash on her arm and cleaning the spot where a bullet had grazed her forehead. After breaking atmo, Wash rushed to his wife’s side. Her stare was intensely set on the Tams’ laboring hands. After a few minutes of trying to break her gaze with murmurs of love and support, Wash stepped back silently, and as if in defeat, returned to the seclusion of the bridge. Leaving, he implored Book to let him know if there was a change in Mal’s condition…or Zoë’s.
Zoë’s eyes widened. Simon had removed his gloves and stepped towards the door. The first person he met was Zoë. He tossed a few fragmented phrases at her…the only words she could make out were unfortunate, comatose and time. “Only time will tell…I’ve done all I can and we’re weeks away from a decent core medical facility. I’ll keep a close eye on his condition…I’m sorry, Zoë.”
Simon moved into the common area to relay the news to the rest of the crew. River lingered in the infirmary watching Zoë. She floated beside the first mate, her skirts fluttering by.
After the girl had left the infirmary, Zoë locked herself inside. She sat on a stool next to Mal’s body…it had been a long time since she had seen him in this bad a shape. During the war, of course…but she swore they had stopped fighting and the war was long over. With every breath, Zoë cursed Patience to the special hell Preacher was always going on about. She felt her eyes moisten and let them dart around the room.
She didn’t want Mal to see her break.
She reached out to the tattered remnants of the blue shirt Mal had been wearing. During first moments Jayne had laid Mal on table, Simon had to cut the shirt to remove it from Mal’s torso. It was singed, torn and sported more than a few bullet holes. However, the tag on the collar was still in tact.
Z
The right corner of her mouth slid upward just a little. This was the shirt. He was wearing it…
~
For a few years after the Alliance released them from a POW camp, Mal and Zoë took up residence in a dilapidated boarding house. Fresh outta prison, they really had no other choice. They took odd jobs, did a little petty thieving here and there, pretty much anything to make a little coin. Mal had convinced Zoe to put away some of what little she earned to put toward a ship, a means of freedom. How could she refuse? What, it’s not like she had anything better to spend her money on. She often wondered why she had stayed so close to her former commanding officer. War was long over and she had no one but herself to answer to. She and Mal had been inseparable during the some of the worst times in their lives. Leading, following…fighting and defending. She’d saved his ass more times than she could count and he’d done likewise. Although, Zoë figured she saved him more than he saved her; she took pride in being stealthier than he was and he hated it. She could sneak up on him in a dead calm and scare the brown off his coat! Still did it to that very day…once they had a stint working on a farm and she snuck up on him as he was shoeing a horse and he nearly caught a face full of hoof! Mal chased her clear around the farm, twice, ending the pursuit by tackling her in a haystack in the barn. He pinned her down and tickled her into submission. Soon, their eyes had locked and the tickling had ceased.
“Zo, why we ain’t never…”
“Don’t rightly know, si…Mal.”
“We could if we wanted to, right?”
“I ‘spose so.”
He picked some hay out of her hair and touched her cheek.
Their lips brushed together lightly.
They parted, staring for so long and were both so unsure of the next step that it never even happened. Gun shots were heard in the distance.
“Damn ‘shitcoats’! I try to do somethin’ nice fer you fools and ya muck it up! Get the hell off my land!”
The head rancher had caught up with them and before they even had a chance to get to their feet he fired ‘em. Sullied and sore, they caught a ride back to the house. They were quiet the whole trip, until Zoë offered to do his laundry for a month in apology for getting them fired. Mal nodded his acceptance, avoiding her eyes.
As the month wore on, she became accustomed to handling Mal’s things. She knew how many trousers he had, undershirts and button-ups. He left his underwear to his own attention. Sorting through a heap of clothes, she counted seven blue collared shirts. Seven? She took one, brought it to her face and inhaled slowly. It was faded from one too many washings, a little oversized and soft. Zoë closed her eyes and her mind drifted… She held the shirt out, examining it. He’s got seven; he wouldn’t miss one. She promptly marked the collar with a big black ‘Z’ just to prove her ownership.
Mal did notice and swiftly pitched a fit.
“Why you gotta take my shirt? Don’t you got enough of your own? We been workin’ good lately; you can buy some nice stuff down at the market.”
“I like this one better.”
“Well, ain’t like I ever seen you wear it!”
“I sleep in it.”
“Oh…well…uh…good, then.” He was a little stunned but she knew he liked the idea of something of his being close to her while she slept. From then on, Mal always tried to catch her off guard around night time, trying to catch a glimpse of her in the shirt. He would come by her room with lame excuses like wanting to borrow her gun oil or seeing if she heard the noise from the tenants above them. Once, he actually asked to borrow some sugar! It wasn’t until they were on Serenity that he got his glimpse.
On the three year anniversary of their defeat at Serenity Valley, Mal and Zoë christened their very slightly used class code 03-K64 firefly, Serenity. After that, their days were filled with repairs, job searching and crew interviewing. They emptied everything they had, monetarily, physically and emotionally into their new home. It left no time for…rolling in the hay. It was like war times all over again, without the mud and hardships. They now had a new purpose, a new reason to value life. A free life.
Late one night, while Zoë was rummaging through the cupboards in the mess hall, Mal snuck up on her.
“You’re losing your touch, Zo. I’ve been here a good ten seconds before you realized I was here. And you’re right, that shirt is yours. It never looked so good.”
Zoë felt the flesh on her neck warm. She watched as he backed up a few paces before turning on his heel and returning to his bunk, evidently forgetting why he had gone to the kitchen in the first place. Zoë picked up the bag of crackers she dropped and made her way back to her bunk. As she munched, she scribbled down stray thoughts in her journal. What kinds of jobs were they going to find? Were they really free? What was happening between her and Mal…She fell asleep with her pen in hand.
Things really came together over the next few months. All the major parts on the boat had been replaced and she was flyin’ fine. A high class companion had actually rented one of their shuttles, Bester was fired and they hired his girlfriend who turned out to be a better mechanic than he was and they acquired a pilot. Everyone else sat well with Zoë, ‘cept the pilot. It was a little against her better judgment, but they hired him nonetheless. About her height, strawberry blonde and a sense of humor that didn’t quit (although most of the time she wished it would) Hoban ‘Wash’ Washburne became a permanent part of the crew. He came highly recommended from numerous sources and accepted the job within minutes of scoping out the cockpit. And scoping out the First Mate. Zoë felt his eyes follow her around the ship. But, oddly enough, it didn’t freak her out. She didn’t have the mind to give him a mouth full of sawed-off shot gun like she normally would.
He made her love him.
It was so easy. The silly jokes, the plastic dinosaurs she found with love notes attached to them, the way he made her heart skip a beat… He made her love him and she acquiesced willingly. Wash came into her life like a breath of fresh air, filling her lungs with new life. With Wash she slept naked, free of worry, and all night gowns, and blue shirts, fell to the wayside
The time went by, jobs came and went, and he proposed. After a night of sweaty and intense lovemaking (he was always like then when she came back from a particularly dangerous job), Wash asked Zoë to be his wife. She answered with an immediate yes; it took no contemplation on her part. Now came the hard part…
Mal was sitting in the cockpit. Just sitting, waiting. Waiting for her to come and explain herself. He’d been waiting for weeks now. They never talked about her and Wash. Mal had been trying to ignore them…kissing in the cargo bay, sitting on his lap in the cockpit, the giggling she had been prone to recently. He figured this was some lingering effects of a fling with the flyboy. So he sat, waiting.
He turned as she came in. Standing there, in the starlight, she took his breath away. But Mal knew why she was glowing so. The love of a good man shone on her face like the very sun itself. Hands clasp behind her, she sauntered in the room, making no hurried effort to reach him. Zoë leaned on the door’s frame. Their eyes avoided each other, one looking, catching the other’s gaze, then darting away. Minutes passed, and finally Mal stood, striding towards her. Before he reached his destination, her hands brought an object between them. Mal’s heart sank as she revealed his blue shirt.
“Don’t want that. ‘s yours.”
“Not anymore, Mal. I can’t wear it. Ain’t been wearin’ it since…”
“Since you bedded that hun dan?!” He moved closer to her and continued in a pained whisper. “Zoë, I thought…I mean, what happened between us…”
“That was years ago, Mal! And if you thought I was just gonna hang around you like some love-sick companion, you got it twisted!” She didn’t mean to drag Inara into this but she was just scraping for ammo.
Mal’s eyes widened. He stared at her with a fierceness; however, his face soon relaxed with defeat. He put his hands on the shirt as she was holding it. They stood, four hands on the symbol of his lo… a symbol that was like the shirt itself, faded and past its wear. Zoë finally dropped her hands. Mal dropped the shirt to his side.
“Fine. Just know, ‘s gonna take more than givin’ back some faded ol’ shirt to get rid of me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that promise, soldier.”
He started to walk past her. Mal turned and kissed her on her forehead.
“Nowhere.”
Zoë was slept in her bunk instead of Wash’s. She had wept all night.
~
Just like she was weeping now.
Huddled in the corner of the infirmary, Zoë was locked in there for six hours straight. She had drifted to sleep for three of those hours but as soon as she awoke the tears fell again. Wash had fallen asleep outside the door, watching over his wife.
Mal…you promised…damnit you promised! Her tears flowed freely. She couldn’t begin to consider life without Mal.
“How’s a man to get some sleep with you in here blubbering like a kid who just got her hair pulled?”
Zoë rubbed her eyes.
“Quit that now. Ain’t going nowhere. Done told you that, don’t you listen?
She looked up in fake disgust, resisting the urge to throttle him and kiss him both at the same time. As she gathered herself up, she realized that she had been hanging on the remains of the shirt. Zoë stood over him as he peered at her through bruised, bloody eyes. She rested the shirt on his chest. His hand came up, resting on top of hers.
“If you had died, I woulda killed you.”
Mal managed a weak smile. “There’s my girl. Now, get that pretty of doctor of ours, I think I’m about to pass out…”
Author:
capnzoeEmail: capnzoe@yahoo.com
Summary: Zoë, Mal and a blue shirt.
Rating: PG-13, to be safe
Characters: Mal, Zoë, other crew mentioned.
Pairing: M/Z, Z/W
Spoilers/Timeline: Pre-series
Disclaimer: Capn’ Tightpants and crew belong to the great and powerful Joss.
Author's Note: This is the product of a ‘blue shirt’ prompt by
razycrandomgirl (She’s the bestest!!) She actually made me finish a fic. Now, I only have 4 more to finish! Archive:
shinywriterThe glass window to the infirmary was beginning to fog with Zoë’s ragged breath.
She had returned almost an hour before with Jayne. He had Mal, barely conscious, slung over his shoulder.
Damn you Patience!! They were passing her moon and responded to a distress call from one of her boys. Said their doctor and half the settlement had fallen ill of some mystery disease and they desperately needed expert assistance. Hearing that, Simon figured it was his time to shine. Being no dummy, well, for the most part, Mal took Zoë and Jayne out to assess the situation before anything was done. The three of them walked right into an ambush. Sure, Mal and Patience had their differences and exchanges of bullets in the past, but Zoë thought they had moved past that.
Clearly, she was wrong.
Somehow Patience’s ragtag posse of ruffians had grown and it was nearly twenty of them hun dans against the captain, first mate and mercenary. It wasn’t a situation the three of them hadn’t been in before, so they proceeded with some precise shooting, creative footwork and even a grenade or two. By the time most of the dust and smoke had cleared, Patience was high-tailing it with the few men she had left. And Mal was left in a broken heap underneath the nearby bushes. Zoë nor Jayne could tell exactly what had happened to him but it was safe to say that the captain was fading, and fading fast.
When they finally got back on the boat and made their way to the infirmary, even Simon’s normally rigid face clouded with concern and doubt upon seeing the condition Mal was in. It seemed as though the entire crew had managed to fit into the sterilized space, much to Simon’s chagrin. He managed to convince everyone that in order to save Mal they would have to give him some space to work. Everyone but River left. Her lucid phases were coming more and more frequently and Simon needed her genius now.
From the moment the infirmary’s door slid shut, Zoë never left the glass. She barely even noticed Book bandaging up the gash on her arm and cleaning the spot where a bullet had grazed her forehead. After breaking atmo, Wash rushed to his wife’s side. Her stare was intensely set on the Tams’ laboring hands. After a few minutes of trying to break her gaze with murmurs of love and support, Wash stepped back silently, and as if in defeat, returned to the seclusion of the bridge. Leaving, he implored Book to let him know if there was a change in Mal’s condition…or Zoë’s.
Zoë’s eyes widened. Simon had removed his gloves and stepped towards the door. The first person he met was Zoë. He tossed a few fragmented phrases at her…the only words she could make out were unfortunate, comatose and time. “Only time will tell…I’ve done all I can and we’re weeks away from a decent core medical facility. I’ll keep a close eye on his condition…I’m sorry, Zoë.”
Simon moved into the common area to relay the news to the rest of the crew. River lingered in the infirmary watching Zoë. She floated beside the first mate, her skirts fluttering by.
After the girl had left the infirmary, Zoë locked herself inside. She sat on a stool next to Mal’s body…it had been a long time since she had seen him in this bad a shape. During the war, of course…but she swore they had stopped fighting and the war was long over. With every breath, Zoë cursed Patience to the special hell Preacher was always going on about. She felt her eyes moisten and let them dart around the room.
She didn’t want Mal to see her break.
She reached out to the tattered remnants of the blue shirt Mal had been wearing. During first moments Jayne had laid Mal on table, Simon had to cut the shirt to remove it from Mal’s torso. It was singed, torn and sported more than a few bullet holes. However, the tag on the collar was still in tact.
Z
The right corner of her mouth slid upward just a little. This was the shirt. He was wearing it…
~
For a few years after the Alliance released them from a POW camp, Mal and Zoë took up residence in a dilapidated boarding house. Fresh outta prison, they really had no other choice. They took odd jobs, did a little petty thieving here and there, pretty much anything to make a little coin. Mal had convinced Zoe to put away some of what little she earned to put toward a ship, a means of freedom. How could she refuse? What, it’s not like she had anything better to spend her money on. She often wondered why she had stayed so close to her former commanding officer. War was long over and she had no one but herself to answer to. She and Mal had been inseparable during the some of the worst times in their lives. Leading, following…fighting and defending. She’d saved his ass more times than she could count and he’d done likewise. Although, Zoë figured she saved him more than he saved her; she took pride in being stealthier than he was and he hated it. She could sneak up on him in a dead calm and scare the brown off his coat! Still did it to that very day…once they had a stint working on a farm and she snuck up on him as he was shoeing a horse and he nearly caught a face full of hoof! Mal chased her clear around the farm, twice, ending the pursuit by tackling her in a haystack in the barn. He pinned her down and tickled her into submission. Soon, their eyes had locked and the tickling had ceased.
“Zo, why we ain’t never…”
“Don’t rightly know, si…Mal.”
“We could if we wanted to, right?”
“I ‘spose so.”
He picked some hay out of her hair and touched her cheek.
Their lips brushed together lightly.
They parted, staring for so long and were both so unsure of the next step that it never even happened. Gun shots were heard in the distance.
“Damn ‘shitcoats’! I try to do somethin’ nice fer you fools and ya muck it up! Get the hell off my land!”
The head rancher had caught up with them and before they even had a chance to get to their feet he fired ‘em. Sullied and sore, they caught a ride back to the house. They were quiet the whole trip, until Zoë offered to do his laundry for a month in apology for getting them fired. Mal nodded his acceptance, avoiding her eyes.
As the month wore on, she became accustomed to handling Mal’s things. She knew how many trousers he had, undershirts and button-ups. He left his underwear to his own attention. Sorting through a heap of clothes, she counted seven blue collared shirts. Seven? She took one, brought it to her face and inhaled slowly. It was faded from one too many washings, a little oversized and soft. Zoë closed her eyes and her mind drifted… She held the shirt out, examining it. He’s got seven; he wouldn’t miss one. She promptly marked the collar with a big black ‘Z’ just to prove her ownership.
Mal did notice and swiftly pitched a fit.
“Why you gotta take my shirt? Don’t you got enough of your own? We been workin’ good lately; you can buy some nice stuff down at the market.”
“I like this one better.”
“Well, ain’t like I ever seen you wear it!”
“I sleep in it.”
“Oh…well…uh…good, then.” He was a little stunned but she knew he liked the idea of something of his being close to her while she slept. From then on, Mal always tried to catch her off guard around night time, trying to catch a glimpse of her in the shirt. He would come by her room with lame excuses like wanting to borrow her gun oil or seeing if she heard the noise from the tenants above them. Once, he actually asked to borrow some sugar! It wasn’t until they were on Serenity that he got his glimpse.
On the three year anniversary of their defeat at Serenity Valley, Mal and Zoë christened their very slightly used class code 03-K64 firefly, Serenity. After that, their days were filled with repairs, job searching and crew interviewing. They emptied everything they had, monetarily, physically and emotionally into their new home. It left no time for…rolling in the hay. It was like war times all over again, without the mud and hardships. They now had a new purpose, a new reason to value life. A free life.
Late one night, while Zoë was rummaging through the cupboards in the mess hall, Mal snuck up on her.
“You’re losing your touch, Zo. I’ve been here a good ten seconds before you realized I was here. And you’re right, that shirt is yours. It never looked so good.”
Zoë felt the flesh on her neck warm. She watched as he backed up a few paces before turning on his heel and returning to his bunk, evidently forgetting why he had gone to the kitchen in the first place. Zoë picked up the bag of crackers she dropped and made her way back to her bunk. As she munched, she scribbled down stray thoughts in her journal. What kinds of jobs were they going to find? Were they really free? What was happening between her and Mal…She fell asleep with her pen in hand.
Things really came together over the next few months. All the major parts on the boat had been replaced and she was flyin’ fine. A high class companion had actually rented one of their shuttles, Bester was fired and they hired his girlfriend who turned out to be a better mechanic than he was and they acquired a pilot. Everyone else sat well with Zoë, ‘cept the pilot. It was a little against her better judgment, but they hired him nonetheless. About her height, strawberry blonde and a sense of humor that didn’t quit (although most of the time she wished it would) Hoban ‘Wash’ Washburne became a permanent part of the crew. He came highly recommended from numerous sources and accepted the job within minutes of scoping out the cockpit. And scoping out the First Mate. Zoë felt his eyes follow her around the ship. But, oddly enough, it didn’t freak her out. She didn’t have the mind to give him a mouth full of sawed-off shot gun like she normally would.
He made her love him.
It was so easy. The silly jokes, the plastic dinosaurs she found with love notes attached to them, the way he made her heart skip a beat… He made her love him and she acquiesced willingly. Wash came into her life like a breath of fresh air, filling her lungs with new life. With Wash she slept naked, free of worry, and all night gowns, and blue shirts, fell to the wayside
The time went by, jobs came and went, and he proposed. After a night of sweaty and intense lovemaking (he was always like then when she came back from a particularly dangerous job), Wash asked Zoë to be his wife. She answered with an immediate yes; it took no contemplation on her part. Now came the hard part…
Mal was sitting in the cockpit. Just sitting, waiting. Waiting for her to come and explain herself. He’d been waiting for weeks now. They never talked about her and Wash. Mal had been trying to ignore them…kissing in the cargo bay, sitting on his lap in the cockpit, the giggling she had been prone to recently. He figured this was some lingering effects of a fling with the flyboy. So he sat, waiting.
He turned as she came in. Standing there, in the starlight, she took his breath away. But Mal knew why she was glowing so. The love of a good man shone on her face like the very sun itself. Hands clasp behind her, she sauntered in the room, making no hurried effort to reach him. Zoë leaned on the door’s frame. Their eyes avoided each other, one looking, catching the other’s gaze, then darting away. Minutes passed, and finally Mal stood, striding towards her. Before he reached his destination, her hands brought an object between them. Mal’s heart sank as she revealed his blue shirt.
“Don’t want that. ‘s yours.”
“Not anymore, Mal. I can’t wear it. Ain’t been wearin’ it since…”
“Since you bedded that hun dan?!” He moved closer to her and continued in a pained whisper. “Zoë, I thought…I mean, what happened between us…”
“That was years ago, Mal! And if you thought I was just gonna hang around you like some love-sick companion, you got it twisted!” She didn’t mean to drag Inara into this but she was just scraping for ammo.
Mal’s eyes widened. He stared at her with a fierceness; however, his face soon relaxed with defeat. He put his hands on the shirt as she was holding it. They stood, four hands on the symbol of his lo… a symbol that was like the shirt itself, faded and past its wear. Zoë finally dropped her hands. Mal dropped the shirt to his side.
“Fine. Just know, ‘s gonna take more than givin’ back some faded ol’ shirt to get rid of me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that promise, soldier.”
He started to walk past her. Mal turned and kissed her on her forehead.
“Nowhere.”
Zoë was slept in her bunk instead of Wash’s. She had wept all night.
~
Just like she was weeping now.
Huddled in the corner of the infirmary, Zoë was locked in there for six hours straight. She had drifted to sleep for three of those hours but as soon as she awoke the tears fell again. Wash had fallen asleep outside the door, watching over his wife.
Mal…you promised…damnit you promised! Her tears flowed freely. She couldn’t begin to consider life without Mal.
“How’s a man to get some sleep with you in here blubbering like a kid who just got her hair pulled?”
Zoë rubbed her eyes.
“Quit that now. Ain’t going nowhere. Done told you that, don’t you listen?
She looked up in fake disgust, resisting the urge to throttle him and kiss him both at the same time. As she gathered herself up, she realized that she had been hanging on the remains of the shirt. Zoë stood over him as he peered at her through bruised, bloody eyes. She rested the shirt on his chest. His hand came up, resting on top of hers.
“If you had died, I woulda killed you.”
Mal managed a weak smile. “There’s my girl. Now, get that pretty of doctor of ours, I think I’m about to pass out…”
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-04 02:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-05 03:12 am (UTC)