Mal-Wash, Southdown Abbey.

[badinlatin]

Sometimes the days move too fast even for Mal.

This may be why he absconded with a cup of tea into the gardens behind one of the main buildings of the abbey, propping his feet up on a stone lining one side of a walkway and occupying a bench for no particular reason at all.

His attention seems divided between the leather-bound book on his lap and the gold hoop he keeps fidgeting with.

Comments

[flybywash]

Wash, in his steady progress through the wave backlog, has made it up to June 2511. Turns out his folks were lot like him during the war: no strong sympathies toward Alliance or Independent either way, just tired of the fighting and desperate for it to be over.

(His mom and dad, at least. Anneliese was a sideline Browncoat to the last, albeit one as exhausted of the daily casualty newswaves as any other.)

It's become too unsettling to listen to their comments on Serenity Valley while in the same room as Zoe, even with personal earbuds in so he doesn't disturb her. He kisses her good-night and pockets the data sticks, setting out for a quick walk before heading back to his own room.

Persephone's not the healthiest planet in the system, but this far away from the docks, it has a fine view.

[badinlatin]

Mal takes off the ring from his finger to look at the inscription for the millionth time. The only noise that breaks into his thoughts is the now-unfortunately-familiar creaking of Wash's crutches.

Craning his neck behind him to say hello, "What're you up and about doin'?"

There is a vague gesture to the empty space beside him on the bench, though Mal looks back to the book for a long beat as he does so.

[flybywash]

"Just needed some fresh air," he says, quietly, as he drops onto the proffered spot. He slouches down and tilts his head back without thought to take in the sky.

"This...has been a very weird and ultimately very long kind of day."

[badinlatin]

"Had my share o' the 'long day' bit too. What happened with you?"

[flybywash]

He laughs. It's breathy, and rather shaky.

"Want me to start with the part where I found out my folks are alive or the part where I knew Crowley as a kid?" he asks, and scrubs a hand over his face and up through his hair.

[badinlatin]

Mal slowly points his gaze in Wash's direction.

Obviously confused as hell, "What now?"

[flybywash]

"My folks," Wash says, a little slower, "are alive. So's Anneliese. I just never got any of their waves."

His Adam's apple bobs, but he never takes his eyes off the stars.

"And it turns out, among several other highly wacky things, that Mr. Andronicus Crowley's kind of an uncle of mine, but thinking about that still makes my brain feel like it's about to rebel and come pouring out my ears."

[badinlatin]

"Feels like I'm about to do the same just hearin' of it," Mal admits. "But your family's alive. That's outstandin'."

It's sincere, if accidentally terse.

[flybywash]

Wash nods, a tiny, awed smile forming. "Yeah. Better than. I've been going through all the waves I missed -- " He straightens up, finally looking over at Mal. "You mind if I take a detour if we pull any jobs on Muir soon?"

[badinlatin]

"Want me to take a job on Muir? I can do that."

[flybywash]

"If one comes up." The smile grows. "Yeah. I-I have to wave 'em so the awkward of 'Hi, it's your prodigal son! Miss me?' goes down from appalling to mildly alarming, first. But if...."

Wash fades as he spots Mal's book. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, to peer at the cover.

"...you're not...reading...the....What are you reading?"

[badinlatin]

Mal glances at the cover of the Bible on his lap, then hands it to Wash, thumb momentarily covering the small initials 'M.B.R.' in the corner.

"My ma gave it to me after the ceremony. Said she thought I might want it back after all this time."

[flybywash]

Wash takes it, eyebrows raised, and thumbs through, more for something to do with his hands than anything else.

"Captain," he says, very seriously. "You'd tell me if the 'verse was about to end again, right? Just for a little bit of warning?"

[badinlatin]

Mal winces, audibly. Continuing weakly, "Used to be rather a big reader o' things like this, Wash."

More fidgeting with his latest fashion accessory.

[flybywash]

"Really?"

Wash can tell, the more he pages through it: the paper and cover of the Bible are both well-worn, tiny creases marking the edges.

"Yeah, again, foreknowledge of any impending apocalypses'd be helpful, and why am I using the plural?" he mutters to himself. To Mal, "I wouldn't've pegged you for being...you know."

He shuts the book and hands it back.

[badinlatin]

A readjustment of Mal's jaw as he takes the book back, with, "I haven't been...you know...since Serenity Valley. Think I burned the copy I had on me then to keep warm."

Mal looks almost sad when he studies the filigree on the cover. "Just...bein' here, and all. Brings a lot o' things up."

[flybywash]

"Yeah."

He turns his hands palm-up, spreads his fingers as he examines them.

Silence.

Then, very softly, "If I had the nerve to go back to Jethro, I think I would. I want to."

[badinlatin]

Mal is very, very surprised at this, and blanches wordlessly.

[flybywash]

"You guys got to pay your last respects."

He rubs a thumb over his life line.

"I didn't."

And there had been no other time to mourn, between Haven and Miranda and Jethro. He realizes, acutely, that he hasn't mourned, not properly; so much tumbled and kept tumbling and is still tumbling on top of him that he's never stopped, and breathed, and fully understood.

It's harder to leave that stage of denial when the dead can walk in Milliways, or he can touch his wife again after hearing the noise of wings.

[badinlatin]

"I don't feel like I did. Not really. Sayin' good-bye to folk, for me -- 's far more personal than what we had on Jethro."

pictures and stones and paper flowers

Then, bizarrely enough, Mal chuckles.

"Think about it. Persephone. Where we picked up Simon 'n River, 'n Book. Everythin' started here, you could say."

Mal holds up his ring in one hand. The engraving might be visible if Wash squints.

"Look at how much changed."

[flybywash]

Wash exhales a faint laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

Airily, "And through all this struggling and fighting and captaining and other things ending in -ing, you came out of it as the same old hundan you always are. I'm proud of you." He puts a hand over his heart. "Someday, some year, I'll aspire to that same greatness and -- "

[badinlatin]

Mal handwaves Wash into silence.

Torn between being slightly defeated at this reaction to Mal being so serious, and blushing with the indirect compliment at Wash's words.

"Ahh, Wash," Mal settles, let out in one extended breath, and replaces his ring on his finger. "What are we gonna do, huh?"

It's Mal's turn to look to the sky, in as loving a manner as he ever looks to anyone on the ground.

[flybywash]

Wash's smile dims, becomes warmer to compensate. He laces his fingers together, loosely, and glances up at the stars without moving.

"What we've been doing," he says. "Keep flying."

It's the one thing that truly hasn't changed.

[badinlatin]

Faintly, "'S a good plan. You have good plans."

Still staring upwards, "Suppose I should wear Companion robes to the weddin', now that I'm official and all?"

Beaming.

[flybywash]

He grins. "Nah. I just don't know how to do anything except fly. Firefight? Fly. Deadly viral outbreak in the cargo bay? Fly. Baby daughter going on a glittery rampage through the ship? Fly!" Beat. "Unless there's too much glitter clogging up the nav."

And then he regards Mal thoughtfully.

"You know, it depends. Am I gonna get my camera confiscated first?"

Ridiculously hopeful.