Rosemary Alleyne Washburne was born at three twenty seven in the morning, on February seventh.

February seventh had held a certain significance for Mal and Zoe in the past, but it had been a day for getting drunk in Alliance-friendly bars and beating the go se out of a handful of local yokels. Now, it was a day for celebration of life, and remembrance of friends lost.

She came into the world in the usual way - that is, head first, kicking and screaming, greeted by a doctor and a proud papa or two. Maybe that last part wasn't quite so usual, but Rosemary Washburne wasn't quite so usual herself. She was an extraordinarily beautiful little thing, with skin the color of tea with just the right amount of cream, a headful of auburn curls and eyes as blue as the oceans.

Mal had all he could do not to cry when Simon handed him that tiny bundle, so much like her mama and her daddy at the same time it was overwhelming. Jayne brushed Zoe's hair back from her face and told her what a good job she'd done, what a sweet little girl she'd brought into the 'verse. Zoe smiled, eyes full of happy tears, apologizing for the half-moon-shaped dents her fingernails had left in Jayne's hand during the worst of it.

Mal handed Rosemary to her mama, and he and Jayne averted their eyes politely when Simon mentioned that being born was hungry work, and Zoe put the tiny infant to her breast.

"Lucky little thing," Jayne commented, and Mal considered backhanding him. Leave it to Jayne to sully something so pure. "Havin' three Pas," he clarified at Zoe's patented 'I can hurt you' stare. "Mal an' me... an' Wash."

Zoe quirked an eyebrow, and reckoned she ought to give Jayne more credit than she was used to. "Wash woulda 'preciated knowin' the both of ya would be here with me," she said softly. "You ain't wrong, Jayne, she is one lucky little girl."

~*~

"Jayne Cobb, what the gorram hell is that?" Zoe looked almost offended.

"S'just a ring," he mumbled into Rosemary's hair as he patted her back, trying to get her to sleep. "Don't have to mean nothin' to ya that ya don't want it to. You an' me an' everyone on this ship knows who this li'l girl's daddy is, but the 'verse ain't always so forgivin' to single mothers like yourself. I reckon we both know you don't need nobody's help, but would you at least do me the honor of pretendin' I'm good for somethin'?"

Zoe's face softened. "All right, then."

~*~

"Tell me again about Daddy, Papa," Rosie said, climbing into Jayne's lap, her auburn curls bouncing. "An' do the voices."

"Aw, Rosie," Jayne pretended to whine. "Papa just ain't as good at doin' voices as your Daddy was." He took the plastic brontosaurus from her hand anyhow and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "All my voices come out growly."

"Okay," the little girl said cheerfully. "Then tell me about the day you an' Mama got married."