************************** If All the World Part 1/1 By Philomel

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Disclaimer: These characters and this universe are not mine, I didn't create them, and their owners still own them. I'm just borrowing.

PLEASE do not archive, print, or post anywhere else without permission. Please e-mail me and ask first. Rated PG-13.

Author's Note: This is my first Firefly fic, and it's fairly rough--it's pretty much fluff with Zoe and Wash thrown in there.

Feedback: If you have any comments, positive or negative, I'd be more than grateful to hear them.

Thanks for reading.

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He bothered her.

It wasn't so much about anything in particular, or even anything in general. He was just ...

Too irreverent, too glib, too compassionate, too ...

Maybe it was the insouciant smile, or the incessant quips, or those silly dinosaur toys that littered the bridge.

Maybe it was his ability to make a damned fine cup of coffee, or his need to always be in on every joke, or the slightly insecure quaver in a voice that was always rock-solid in a crisis.

Maybe it was the way he looked at her.

He just bothered her, was all.

Mal thought she was being ridiculous, and ignored her various complaints, until she kept quiet about them. He was the pilot, she was the first mate, and they had to find a way to work together. That was that.

And then it changed.

It changed on Sisyphus, a small planet just off the Core, terra-formed but mostly not too bad off, where they'd had their third major job. Wash had been their pilot for just over six months, Kaylee had been with them for almost five, and Jayne had been crew for not more than a few weeks. That much crew, the job had to be better paying than most--Mal had been worried about keeping Jayne happy--and then this contract just kinda fell into their laps.

It had been billed as a milk run, but it had paid really well, and it had been practically legitimate. One of the small local governments of a town called Haven had offered them a contract to shuttle surplus goods from the Core. Haven had needed someone available immediately, and Serenity just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Naturally, things hadn't gone smoothly.

They hadn't counted on the local consortium that decided to run a little interference right before they landed. Mal had been right happy about that. Then there had been the difference of opinion between some of the townsfolk, and it hadn't ended as well as it could've. There had been a fairly large brawl involving half the locals--most of whom weren't fighters and who would have been wise to have considered avoiding fighting--and it had ended in dust, and debris, and injured civilians all around. Mal was limping, Jayne looked fine if dirty, and Wash ... last she'd seen him, he had been lying on the ground, off to the side, at the edge of a field. Zoe herself took a knife in her arm, and blood oozed against her skin, wet and sticky. She barely noticed. Wash had been lying very still.

She didn't go to him: Captain was calling out orders, knife guy was still at it until she knocked him out, and there were civilians that needed helping. So she just continued with what she'd been doing, what Mal asked her to do. When she looked again, after it was all over, Wash wasn't there.

She saw him later, walking across the crowded street. There was a bandage taped over the side of his head, and his hair shaved off in a small patch around it, and even though Mal had told her everyone had been fine, she couldn't have stopped the rush of relief at the sight of him. He was moving really slowly, and maybe that was why the little girl had walked up to him, slipping her hand in his. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she watched as despite everything, he leant down to that little girl, smiled, patted her on the head in that irritating Wash-way he had, and gave her a little yellow flower, some weed he'd undoubtedly picked up from somewhere.

And in the middle of chaos, in the middle of dust and debris and wreckage, that little girl had smiled up at him as if he were a hero or a saviour and not just someone who drove the boat and bothered Zoe in a vague couldn't-quite-pinpoint-it way.

So Zoe walked over to him, grabbed Wash by the front of the shirt, and kissed him. Hard.

She tasted surprise, and confusion, but he kissed her back. And for a moment, she was dizzy, and saw stars, and was lost in the wonder of it. But she was Zoe, and she was the one who ended it.

She stepped back, the little girl forgotten, and while he was still gathering his thoughts to speak, she spoke first. "I just wanted to," she said in answer to the questions in his eyes, her face as placid as it ever was. Then she walked away.

The little girl, still standing beside Wash, tugged on his sleeve. "Mister? Mister? Maybe you should give *her* this flower."

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Mal wanted to know what the hell that was about.

Mal was told, in not so many words, that it was none of his business. He looked displeased, but over the years, he'd learned when to push, and when to leave her the hell alone. This was one of those latter times because, truthfully, she had no idea herself.

She'd been through the war with Mal, and he thought he knew her. He did, but there were parts of her even Mal couldn't touch.

It didn't mean anything. She'd wanted to kiss Wash, and she had. No harm done to anyone. It was over and done with.

Over the next few days, she let herself believe it.

Until she found him, sitting on her bunk, an expression on his face she'd never yet seen, and it took her aback to realize he was angry. And that anger was directed at her.

She spoke first, and allowed her voice to carry an edge, razor-sharp. "These are my quarters. Get out."

It didn't phase him, and somehow, although she'd used that tone to quell an entire platoon of men in the past, she had known that it would have no effect on him. Not here. His voice was full of rage. "What was that all about?"

She hung on to her calm. Clung to it, and answered him in a voice that was practiced smooth. "I don't know what you could be meaning."

"I think you do."

"It was just a kiss Wash. Just a kiss."

"Nothing more? Because you know, Zoe, I'm tired of dancing around this."

"Ain't nothing to dance around. Captain doesn't like shipboard romance. And I'm not looking for romance."

He looked at her, hard, but she was implacable. She'd trained herself to be.

"It might be that I'm not looking for romance either," he said slowly, but she didn't want to think about what he meant. When she spoke, her voice had a note of finality in it, and it dared him not to argue.

"Wash ... this won't work."

He looked at her, and his eyes were sad and solemn. "I guess it won't. You don't know how sorry I am about that, Zoe."

He left, and didn't turn back. Still, she didn't raise her hand to wipe her cheek until she heard the hatch above her close.

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Since the war began, Zoe had taken only three lovers to her bed.

The first had been Carl, young and sweet and more innocent than she'd ever been. The night before her first battle, when she'd been convinced they would all die, despite anything Mal could say. She didn't have faith in Mal, not like she had now, not then.

It had been sweet and sloppy and fast, and it had made her forget for a few moments that she was about to die in the morning. Although she hadn't died, of course. Carl had.

The second had been halfway through, when she'd been on a three day leave, and had found a passing fancy in an Independence-friendly bar. It had been hot, and fun, and over when her leave was.

The last had been after. After it was over, after the battle, after they'd lost. She'd met Rafe, and he'd seemed kind, and caring. He'd taken her to dinner, to a show, to his bed. Brought her flowers, made her sweet promises. And she'd let him, pretending all the while, wanting to believe that she could go back to being who she'd been before the war and the blood and the horror. It hadn't lasted. She didn't care to remember why.

"Do you remember any of the stories of Earth-that-was?" Kaylee asked, and her voice was as bright as it always was, interrupting Zoe's reverie. They were seated around the kitchen table, late in the day, while Kaylee dished out food and Jayne grunted and the Captain asked Wash if they were on route, and Wash's voice described where they were going and how long it would take in a voice uncharacteristically subdued and terse.

Grateful for the distraction, Zoe began answering the young mechanic. "Some. My mama used to tell me some, late at night." She smiled at Kaylee, and found she could.

To her great annoyance, Wash interrupted her. "I remember one I really liked. A poem. It was really very pretty, about this poor guy, this farmer, he likes this girl, this beautiful girl. He invites her to come away with him. Promises her stuff--dresses and flowers and all manner of shiny things. The usual."

Kaylee was intrigued, and asked him with interest, "So, what happened, did they get together?"

Jayne guffawed, less intrigued, "He just wanted to get in her pants."

Wash continued without missing a beat. "But she thinks she's too smart for him, see, and tells him that his promises are worth *go-se*.

"She was probably right." Zoe's eyes were dark, and suddenly, it was like the two of them were the only ones at the table.

"But I always felt sorry for her. What if he'd been the real thing, what if he'd really loved her? He'd done his best to convince her, but she was afraid. She didn't trust him. She couldn't believe."

"What happened next?" Kaylee wanted to know, and the moment between them passed.

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She was sitting on his bed, in the dark, and he almost shrieked like a girl when he saw her. As it was, he couldn't quite suppress a strangled and embarrassingly high-pitched noise. "What are you doing here?

She smiled at him, but her smile was touched by something he'd never seen in her eyes before, and he had spent hours watching her. Fear.

He turned on a light, and moving slowly, quietly, came to stand before her on the bunk. Lamplight touched her face, stroked her hair. "Zoe? What's wrong?" His voice was as gentle as he could make it.

She looked up at him, and now, he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she was smiling, and the way she was smiling at him ... light filled the room, and it made him smile right back at her.

She reached for him first. "Make me believe", she said. "Make me believe."

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End.

*Author's Note: ref. to W. Raleigh's "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd".*

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