DISCLAIMER: These people aren't mine. Whatever. Everybody knows I'm just saying that to make Joss feel better. Honestly.

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I didn’t hate him. Honestly, I didn’t think he was worth the effort. I just… didn’t like him. He made my stomach flip in a way I wasn’t used to, and I didn’t like that. He made stupid jokes and never took anything seriously, and I really didn’t like that. He never lost an opportunity to touch me, and I really, really didn’t like that. But most of all, every once in a while, he’d look at me, and I wouldn’t be able to look away. I didn’t like that most of all. From the beginning, when Mal first showed his new pilot to me, I was unimpressed. Hawaiian shirt, baggy trousers, a pink, sunburned face and a mop of blond hair. And that ridiculous mustache. He’d been working beneath the pilot’s console, fiddling with something and humming loudly. When Mal cleared his throat, he’d spun around, banging his head on the bottom of the console before straightening to grin at me. Well, at both of us, but his eyes never left my face. Mal had been so proud, showing Wash off, looking from me to the pilot and back to me. He’d been so excited. Made me feel good, just for him. But me? Well, as I told Mal later, I just didn’t like Blondie. But Mal had, and everybody else had, too. Hell, even Jayne, in his own way. Wash was… well, he was like that. Only I resisted. And, natural-enough, I was the one Wash fixated on. He watched me. Smiled at me. Caught my arm in the halls just to tell me some joke and try to make me smile. That was annoying. He’d… brush by me, ghost a hand down my hair, things like that. Never anything obvious. Never anything that woulda given me the right to take him down. Just little things. But they built up, they did. I remember the first time he got a little braver. Was back ‘fore ‘Nara joined us, after a job. I’d gotten shot. Just a skim, on the arm, like, but Wash’d scuttled off to the infirmary just as soon as he caught sight of the blood. I’d tried to shove him off, but he wouldn’t stop wrappin’ up the cut. When he was finished, he just looked at me. Most serious look I’d seen on his face up ‘til then. “Zoe,” he’d said in that boyish tone o’ his, “Zoe, don’t you come back bloody anymore.” I wanted to break away from his grip, to stand up and stalk out like I usually did. I wanted to sneer, or to shake my head, or to be the warrior I’d been to him all this time. Instead, I just leaned my head forward and laid my forehead on his shoulder. It was just for an instant, that relaxation, that loosening. Just a moment. His shoulder was warm and surprisingly strong. I had a direct line of vision down his bare arm, and my eyebrows rose just a tad at the muscle there. Hmm. But mostly, it was just a bit of comfort. That warm voice o’ his, those sweet blue eyes, they made me feel like it was okay not to be a fighter. Just for a little bit. And he didn’t take advantage. Even if he coulda, he didn’t. Just sat there, lettin’ me rest. When I straightened, he let me stand. I opened my mouth, and Wash shook his head. “Dinner’s in an hour,” he said. “Might wanna eat ‘fore then. Jayne’s up for cookin’.” After that, things got a little warmer ‘twixt us. He didn’t change, not at all, and kept up with the touches and the jokes. Me, though, I sometimes let my hand go where it wanted when I walked past his pilot’s chair, and rested it for a second on his shoulder. I smiled at his better jokes. I even told a few, though my brand of humor tends to be more of the ironical kind. And I found that, despite myself, the dislike was gone. I did like Wash. I liked him, apparently, a wee bit more than was smart. Not to say, o’course, that I let him know this. I just acted like I’d accepted him into the crew. Still, somethin’ in those pale eyes always seemed to grin at me as if he knew full well what kind o’ lies I was tellin’. We went on like that for a while. Not too long, though. What was simmering betwixt us was fast reachin’ a boil. It did reach a boil one fine day, oh, about a month after ‘Nara came aboard. I was filled up with my own snickers over Mal and that woman, so I didn’t even notice the way Wash’s eyes had started to glow whenever I came in. I thought evr’thing was fine. Little did I know that Wash, womanish though he might appear, was getting fed up with waitin’ for me. He, the master of games and play, did not like the game we were playing. So boy, was I surprised when Wash caught me on the way outta my room and stole a kiss, right there. I remember that kiss like it was yesterday. His hands were on my upper arms, almost desperate. His lips were warm and supple and surprisingly talented. Or maybe not surprisingly, he bein’ such a flirt. With me, anyway. I just stood there for the duration of the kiss (short that it was), unable to move. Ordinarily, I woulda shoved him off me, or kissed him back. Anger or lust, either one. But Wash was different from the other men I’d taken to my bed. He was softer, and yet there was a strength in him that I didn’t recognize. He was fun. Light. Smart. He cared. Maybe that was the thing. This man genuinely cared for me, and I didn’t know what to do with that. But then he’d broken the kiss, and stood there watchin’ me. Face completely open, as if wondering what I was gonna do. “Why’d you do that,” I asked. I know. I’m not proud of it either. But nothing else seemed to come. Friends, companions-in-arms, enemies? I could deal with them. Men in bars picked up for a brief fuck? I could deal with them, too. Sweet, adorable, honorable boys with crazy shirts and warm hearts? I was at a loss. “You know why, Zo,” he replied. I was stunned that he was making this move. I never woulda expected Wash to be brave enough, but he always did surprise me. “It ain’t gonna be one time, is it,” I murmured, more of a statement than a question. He shook his head solemnly. “I’m not built for one time,” Wash said to me in front of my slanting door. So, I went with it. I didn’t know why then, and I don’t know why now. It was so completely different from what my normal reaction should have been. Then again, Wash had a way of changing things around. So I kissed him. And when he asked me to marry him, once we were steady with each other, months after that kiss, I said yes. ‘Cause I loved him. My man. Mal, being Mal, forbid the marriage. For the first time in our acquaintance, I told Malcolm Reynolds, with all due respect, to fuck off. And it felt good. Time passed. We were together. It was right and fine and good that we were together. What had seemed so strange was natural now. I could barely remember not loving him. There was the whole baby issue. And Wash’s manly pride-ache about my deferring to the captain. But we got through those. I figured we’d get through all the fights, the arguments, the disagreements. The fear, the insecurity, the anger. I figured we’d have forever to decide about a babe. I expected to see Mal’s face when we declared him godfather to our son or daughter. At the very least, I expected to be able to watch over my man from Heaven when the time came. I never, never, never expected to be standing here, in front of a grave with my husband’s name on it. The others are back inside the ship, now. Consoling each other. Loving each other. Mal squeezed my hand before he left. I’m crying. I haven’t cried in… fe hua, I don’t know how long. Tears feel cold against my cheeks. I wish I could feel his lips kiss them away. I’m wearing a slinky dress. Does he see me? I smile through the tears. Of course he does. He’s probably wondering where the gorram hell I got this dress, and why didn’t I wear it when he was alive to do something about it? That thought brings the pain in a heavy punch to my stomach, and I want to fall to my knees and weep like I’m dying. And suddenly, I feel it. Warm, soft, sweet. All around me, brushing against my skin. I look up at the clear sky, my tears drying against the wind. Love. “Don’t you leave me, Husband,” I say. I don’t look at the gravestone. That’s done for me. That’s not where Wash is. I feel him, now, surrounding me. Bringing me in. I shouldn’t believe it. But River? That girl can do things I never thought possible. So why should the thought of my Baby being with me be so unreal? “I love you,” I tell the wind and the warmth. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Sick with grief. Maybe this is all a dream, and I’ll wake up and be alone again. But I swear to you, I feel his lips on my brow.