Disclaimer: Don't own them, never did. Beta testers: Thank you to Noandwhere, Sharelle, and Sarahetc for beta-testing.

Taking Care

***

Inara takes her shuttle and drops off Wash and Zoe. When they set foot on the planet, they both cough loudly --- Zoe more than Wash as his lungs remember the dusty, swarming air.

They are both exhausted and have been working to the bone for weeks, Wash with his right arm in a sling until it heals. In order to finish the last job -- a very labor-intensive one -- neither of them has been doing much sleeping or eating.

Or bathing.

Both want to be presentable for the visit with Wash’s mother, and so Zoe purchases a block of time for them at a bathing station. After she takes her quick shower, she bathes her husband, being careful to keep his cast dry. The warm water and slippery soap energize both of them. Wash’s face is fuzzy and she shaves off the pale beard and mustache whiskers. His hair desperately needs a trim and she efficiently takes care of that too.

Once finished with the grooming and toweling off, they stand smiling and glad to at last be squeaky clean and fresh-smelling. If they weren’t exhausted, overdue for their visit, and about to run out of time in the bathing station, they would have made love then and there.

The couple purchases transportation to the complex where Wash’s mother lives. It’s a forty-minute trip along a sludge-filled and stinking river, under a cloudy and humid sky. Wash snoozes lightly during the voyage and Zoe envies him for not having to consciously breathe in the sewage.

Zoe looks at her sleeping husband and isn’t nervous about the visit, even though she is the one who married Eleanor’s only son and only surviving child. She knows her mother-in-law likes her; Eleanor even told her that Zoe reminds her of one of her (now-deceased) daughters.

Wash’s mother is in her early sixties but looks about eighty – life on this filthy, polluted planet does that to anyone who manages to last this long. Eleanor hasn’t had an easy life. She’s worked hard from the time she was old enough to stand, putting in decades of backbreaking work at the machinery plant. She lost her husband and eldest daughter to the lung illness that sooner or later strikes most people here. Her other daughter died in the war, and Eleanor has no relatives left other than her youngest child, Hoban.

Wash and Zoe send her money as often as they can, and it is those payments that allow her to live in the complex in the low-crime area of the city, with its filtered air and its caring residents who check in on the aging woman.

When Wash and Zoe arrive, Eleanor greets them warmly with kisses and hugs. She looks even frailer than last time, which causes several pangs of worry. The couple then surveys the apartment and performs minor repairs, though it looks like the neighbors have been helping to keep the place in order. As they work, Eleanor prepares dinner – a meal consisting of real, actual food. She chops the vegetables for the stir-fry and Wash and Zoe both protest, saying that she should spend the money on something else and that they know this will be the most extravagant meal she consumes in months. But she insists, for tonight is a celebration. She hasn’t told them yet, but she’s even managed to purchase three pastries – crème-filled confections with real blueberry flavor, and sprinkled with chocolate shavings.

Eleanor smiles as Zoe tucks a napkin into Wash’s shirt and cuts up a few of the larger snap peas and baby corn pieces for him. She thinks that their interactions are very much like those she shared with Wash's father. He was an affable man, content to enjoy life best he could and have Eleanor make the decisions. She likes seeing that Hoban is kept in good hands; she would have worried had he married a weak woman instead.

Only once during the dinner is the relaxed mood broken. Eleanor asks, “So, when will I get a grandchild?”

Zoe and Wash exchange a tired look, and Wash tells his mother that if they had a baby, it would mean that they’d be able to send her far less money than they do now.

“That’s all right,” Eleanor responds. “Hoban, you know I’m not going to live forever.”

Eleanor later asks if they can stay longer than one night, but Wash regretfully tells her that Serenity is set to leave tomorrow, mid-morning. “We have another drop and we can’t be late for it,” he explains. Eleanor doesn’t want to hear more about their work, as she suspects the truth and simply can not allow herself to worry about the dangers her son must face daily.

“Make sure you stay away from Reaver territory.”

The apartment contains just one bedroom, and Eleanor offers to give up her bed for the couple but they refuse to allow any such talk. Zoe will sleep on the saggy, musty sofa and Wash on blankets on the floor.

After the lights are turned off, Zoe joins Wash on the floor, as he knew she would. They haven’t been able to spoon in their normal way due to his broken arm so instead he is on his back and she on her side, facing him.

“So we gonna do this baby thing while your momma’s still around to meet her grandkid?” Zoe asks.

Wash closes his eyes and suddenly feels a painful throbbing in his temples. “Not now, honey. Please let’s not discuss this now. We had a good day, we’re both tired, and let’s not end the day with a fight.”

Zoe silently reviews several responses, including the ultimatum that is sometimes on the tip of her tongue but never verbalized: You keep puttin’ this off, I’ll go find me a husband who is ready. She knows that she would never say those words and has no desire to end their relationship -- but sometimes just thinking of the threat feels good to her.

Several moments pass in silence though neither is sleeping.

“Mom seems like she’s doing okay,” Wash manages.

“Yes.”

“Thanks for coming with. She likes you.” Every time they’ve visited Eleanor, Wash has told Zoe this.

“I know.” Zoe pauses and adds, “She’s crazy ‘bout you. She raised a good son.”

More silence ensues. Wash can’t bear for Zoe to be unhappy.

“Just one more year,” he says, and his voice sounds a bit like pleading. “Let’s go twelve more months; maybe our lives will be less crazy, maybe we’ll strike it rich by then. Let’s just wait that much longer and then try.”

Zoe nods. A lot of people born and raised on this planet are sterile. A few times she and Wash got careless but no pregnancy resulted, so Zoe knows that this eternal debate might turn out to be pointless in the long run. She wonders if Wash suspects the same possibility.

“I love you, lambie-toes,” Wash adds.

“Love you too,” Zoe responds.

THE END

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