A.N. Tissue warning: I cried when I wrote the last bit (though maybe only because I know what comes next). If your heart is soft, read with tissues. To catch up, start with Namesake and read following the links till you get back here. ----------

PART 25: HE LISTENED

The ship was quiet, but finally felt whole again with Little Zoë back on board. As Mal made his final walkabout, he passed Jayne in the corridor and knew the man had been watching Zoë sleep. Knew because that’s what he intended to do as soon as his work was done. He came down the stairs to the passenger dorms – now the children’s quarters. At times, he wondered how much sleep they actually got, because they rarely awoke in the same rooms they were set down in. He saw, more than heard, the door to Michael’s room slide open and the boy tip-toe down the hall. With his sandy brown hair and pale blue eyes, Sky had nicknamed him mini-Mal, and both of them hated her for it. Without a sound, Michael slid open the door to Zoë’s room and slipped stealthily inside. Mal was about to call him out, but it was Zoë’s first night back and he knew that Michael missed his big sister. “Jie-jie,” Michael whispered. Where Zoë could be terse, Michael could be downright laconic. Mal rarely had a conversation with the boy that exceeded two sentences, and heaven knew he had tried. Zoë yawned and stretched, lifting the covers to invite Michael into the bed. “I was wondering when you’d come, di di. I missed you.” “So loud. Hard to hear sometimes,” Michael complained tiredly. Mal furrowed his brow, making a note to talk to Simon in the morning. “Dinner was a bit rowdy,” Zoë agreed with a grin. “Dinner and daytime.” “So tell me what all I missed.” A wide smile broke on Michael’s face immediately. “Baba taught me how to clean a gun!” Mal chuckled silently, pleased to hear the boy so excited about a moment they’d shared nearly a month ago. But he nearly collapsed when Michael continued the story in detail, describing the gun parts to Zoë just as they had been described to him, and even repeating some of Mal’s offhand jokes. Michael had seemed so distracted at the time, that Mal hadn’t been sure he was listening. It seemed now the boy was not only listening, but had committed the entire experience to rote memory. Mal was amazed repeatedly over the next hour as words bubbled from his son’s mouth, his voice sweeter than the sweetest honey in all the worlds. His knees became so weak, he had to sit. And he closed his eyes and listened just outside the door, savoring the sound of his son’s voice, thanking any divine being vying for credit that Zoë had found the key to unlocking little Michael’s tongue. His son continued on about Aunt Kaylee showing him how to replace the catalyzer and Aunt River fixing the flywire. “Did you look after Aunt River while I was gone?” Zoë asked him. Mal thought the question odd, but so long as Michael answered, he didn’t care. “She knows too much. We play games, do puzzles. Keeps her focused.” “Does it help?” “Cole calls us names,” Michael answered tersely. Mal made a note to talk to Cole in the morning too, but selfishly wished another long story from Michael. “Out loud or in his head?” What kind of question…? Mal peaked in and saw Michael shrug. “Hard to tell.” Little Zoë propped herself up on her elbows and considered her little brother seriously. Michael shook his head in response to some unasked question. “Did you tell Baba?” “What if he sends me away? Aunt River’s daddy sent her away.” Mal felt tears in his eyes, hearing so much fear in his son’s voice. Tell him what? “He won’t send you away,” Zoë soothed. “But what if –” “Then I will come for you,” she assured firmly. “You should still tell Baba. I’ll be here for you.” “He already hears,” Michael whispered gloomily. Mal pulled his head back behind the wall as Zoë sat up, sharply alert. “Baba?” He fought with himself only a moment before he stood and entered, making his presence known. Zoë moved somewhat protectively between him and Michael as he came by the bed and sat down. Michael huddled fearfully, curling into a ball by the pillow. Mal ignored the strange motion and pulled his son into his lap, rubbing his back. “Tell me what?” Mal encouraged urgently, not even sure what he was asking to know, though he was starting to guess. All the times Little Zoë had said ‘Aunt River and …’ then trailed off, he thought she was just being reflective. It had never occurred to him that the sentence may have a different and real ending. “Tell me why you’re scared,” Mal pleaded gently. Michael clamped his little hands on his ears and huddled silently. Mal turned despairingly at Zoë. “How do you get him to talk so freely?” Little Zoë looked at Michael, touching his head empathetically, smoothing the soft brown hair away from his face. “I get myself quiet first. Then I listen.” Mal couldn’t begin to imagine what she meant, but he was desperate to hear his son. Taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes and emptied his mind of every fear and worry that plagued him until all that was left was the gentle hum of Serenity’s engines. And then, carried like the sent of honey suckle on a summer wind, little Michael’s voice surfaced, and he began to speak.

*~*

PART 26: HE FOUGHT

Mal could tell when he saw her in that brown vest that Little Zoë was ready for a fight. She had started, calm, reasonable, and entreating, but she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She had worked it all out, conspired with her Uncle Simon, and depended on those pleading brown eyes to get her way. Mal wasn’t having it. He convinced himself he wasn’t being unreasonable or obstinate. He had firm grounds for saying no. And it would take hell freezing over to convince him he was wrong. He wasn’t worried about his resolve wavering; he was worried about losing his patience … and possibly breaking the allegedly shatter-proof plastic dishes in the galley. “You ain’t goin’ and that’s final!” “I never get to do anything!” Zoë screeched, uncharacteristically shrill. Perhaps less uncharacteristic since she became a teenager. “You go places all the time, but you ain’t goin’ here. Not on this world.” “Ughhhh! This is so not fair!” Mal’s turned a disbelieving frown on her and spoke threateningly. “Not fair is your Uncle Simon gettin’ nabbed because you had to go to some yu ben de conference.” “I live in a floating box! I just want to hear what people are sayin’!” she shouted throwing her hands in the air. “So listen to it on the cortex.” Little Zoë screamed incoherently, stomped around to the far side of the table, and kicked the storage cabinets. “You have no idea what it’s like being the child of a petty criminal. You never had to worry about people checking your background. You never had to lie about your family. You’re always talking about being honest, but I got nothing honest behind me. All I got are fake papers!” “Don’t pretend you don’t understand the law, ‘cause I know you do,” Mal warned, stepping close until he was nose-to-nose with her. “The papers may say we’re exonerated, but there’s still plenty out there who think different and you can’t go tromping around on Core worlds like it’s nothin’.” “I hate living this way!” Zoë screamed, ducking out from under his stare and hitting the table as she walked away. “How kuang zeh de must my momma have been to bring me into this life!” Mal looked at her incredulously, wanting to smack her for dishonoring her mother. He inhaled sharply, and answered in a strained voice. “Your momma struggled long and hard about bringing you into this ‘verse and she died to let you live in it.” “No,” Zoë retorted, angrily. “She died for five-thousand credits and a trip to some gou shi world with a beach. She died still workin’ for you! She didn’t give a second thought to me. Leavin’ me without my real dad. Leavin’ me with you! She was damn selfish.” “Do not speak of your mother that way,” Mal warned, keeping his distance lest he smite her right there. “She was damn selfish to bring me into this ‘verse, and then she died so she wouldn’t have to watch me live in it!” “Do not speak of your mother that way!” Mal bellowed. Zoë stopped speaking, her face red and puffed. She glared at Mal and he glared back. When she answered, her voice was cool, calm, taunting, and deadly. “Or what? You’ll hit me? I know the law. You have no legal claim over me. Maybe I’ll call the Alliance, go into this system that you hate so much. Maybe then I can have an honest family and a chance at a decent life!” It was all he could do not to draw his gun and shoot her down. “Zoë Washburne, go to your room and stay there until I come for you.” “No! I’m going to the conference.” “Zoë,” he snarled, grabbing her forearm before she could stomp out of the room. If it had been her mother, he would have punched her outright, and she would have punched him back. They’d have tussled and laughed about it later over drinks and cold compresses. If it had been her mother. He refused to hit Little Zoë. Refused to lash out in anger. Inara had made him promise long ago – hit when they’re wrong, not when you’re angry. Zoë met his glare with a look of deep resentment and when she shook her arm, Mal loosened his grip, closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened his eyes again, Zoë was gone, and her mother’s brown leather vest lay discarded on the dining table. Taking the treasured garment, his heart suddenly exploded in loss and rage. Angrily, Mal punched the wall – a move which immediately shot pain and an unexpected crack through his right hand. Gorram hand hadn’t been too strong since Sky broke it that day at the bar. “Mal?” Jayne looked inquisitively at Mal’s bleeding knuckles as he entered the galley. “Find Zoë,” Mal ordered, his voice a low rumble. “Tie her to her bed if you have to, but do not let her leave the ship.” “I thought her and Simon—” “Do. Not.” Mal seethed through clenched teeth, angry at Zoë for slandering her momma, angry at Simon for conspiring with her about the conference. Mal flexed his fingers, pressing his eyes closed as the pain enveloped him. He’d go to Simon for a weave, and then he’d punch Simon. Simon could take a punch, and he deserved it… even if he didn’t.

*~*

PART 27: HE REMEMBERED

Mal sat cross-legged, sheltered under the port extender of Serenity as the rain pelted the hull. He could see the gold and red shield, the color of dried blood and clay like a desperate fist print, pressed under the most pregnant word he’d ever known. Serenity. It held the cause, the battle, the loss, the defiance, the redemption. The memory of his best friend. He still had her browncoat. And as he sat in the rain, looking at her war-torn garment, his own coat soaked through-and-through, he saw her face. By his side. In the war and after. He would go willingly back to that war – to that horrendous valley – just to hear her voice again. A shocking story, the daily report, good news or ill, he would go back. She was military, experienced in battle, always alert. Always ready. Survive first. Be a hero second. Dead men have no point to prove. She was always stronger than he. Called him ‘sir’. Always called him ‘sir’, even after they were friends. Always… he… he was supposed to have had her back. Supposed to protect her. He carried her when…. Mal choked back a sob as the thunder rolled, the weight of his friend so real on his shoulders. Carrying. Running. Her shed blood slickening his hands. “Zoë,” Mal called for the ghost, tears streaming down his face. He turned the old browncoat in his hand, seeing her maiden name sewn into the lining. Maiden. Wedding. Wash. The bullet holes on the browncoat. The bullet through Zoë. The rain streamed tears down the side of Serenity’s shield, and Mal felt anything but peace and comfort. “Zoë, I need you,” he cried, his voice a desperate whisper, his face looking to the sky. He couldn’t see the stars through the endless, dense dark clouds. “Zoë, I can’t … she’s too much … I can’t do this without you.” His breath coming in ragged gasps, Mal leaned against the hull of Serenity, letting the ship support him the way Zoë used to. Then he wrapped her browncoat across the front of his body and let the rain fall.

*~*

* Part 10: Lost Family