She’d never thought much about expectations.

If her parents had them for her, they either didn’t share them or she’d forgotten them.

All she could remember was the good.

The happiness.

She’d had a good childhood.

It hadn’t been perfect.

There’d been pain, and she’d seen more than a child should see.

But she’d been happy.

They’d died when she was young, leaving her alone.

But she’d done alright.

The happiness she’d known giving her the strength to move on.

To keep going in the war, when all around them were dying.

When the independents surrendered and left them in the valley.

She knew that Mal thought her strong.

Was amazed by her ability to keep going when everything around her was falling apart

He expected it.

She knew about expectations, and how they could shape a life.

The last (only?) expectation her parents had had of her was that she live.

Not merely survive.

But live.

Wash expected the same of her.

So simple a thing to expect.

And such a hard thing to live up to.

It was hard to open your heart when so often all that resulted was more hurt.

Kaylee was a constant source of amazement.

She respected her strength.

Wished she could be more like her.

In comparison to that, Mal’s expectation of her strength was easy.

So easy.

All she had to do was stand beside him come what may.

It was much easier to lock her heart away, then to open it up and risk being hurt.

The closer she came to the birth the more expectations she had.

Though Kaylee insisted they were hopes.

She smiled, she could just see Wash, with that goofy grin shrugging and saying “Semantics”.

She expected/hoped the girls would grow up strong.

She expected/hoped the girls would be happy.

She expected/hoped she was as good a momma as hers had been.

And she expected that everything would change.

For the better.