*************************** Pieces Part 1/1 By Philomel **********************************

PLEASE do not archive, print, or post anywhere else without permission. Please e-mail me and ask first. (I just like to know).

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

Rating & Spoilers: This is rated, um, I guess R, for somewhat strong language, but otherwise is fairly mild. However, it is post WS, which was plenty violent, and that's the spoiler warning too.

Summary: Post WS, the intrepid crew of the Serenity must face their worst fears as crazed space dinosaurs go rampaging through ... oh, fine! There is no plot. Insist on a real summary. Go ahead, *be* like that.

Summary Take 2: This is really just a quick plotless little post-ep, to add to the growing collection--I realize it's all been done before, but I hadn't written one yet, and was feeling left out. (There's also a very slim possibility I wrote this to avoid working on the fic I'm supposed to be working on--except that I would *never* do that.) And yes, just like everything, it's All. About. Wash.

Muchos gracias, Merci beaucoup, and infinite thanks to Sarahetc., for brilliantly shiny beta quicker than you can blink, kind encouragement, and being generally wonderful :-).

Feedback Supplication: If you have any comments, positive or negative, or just wouldn't mind saying, "I read that, and you made a typo in paragraph 3!" I'd be more than grateful to hear it. Also, if anyone remembers the original script working title for War Stories, I'd love to hear it. I remember reading about it somewhere, and it's driving me nuts. And yes, I realize I'm babbling on way too long in the notes ... going now ...)

Thanks for reading.

*************************************

There is a silence in the black, a thick, rich silence that engulfs everything and surrounds and embraces it. Usually, I welcome it, find peace in it, embrace it right back. Which is good, cuz I spend a lot of time with the black and the silence--I'm a pilot, it's kinda a job requirement--which is not to say I can't hold up my end of the conversation when required. But right now, I'd have to say I liked it not so much. Zoe kept watching me with naked fear in her eyes, everything was slightly hazy with pain, and I discovered I couldn't think of anything to say. Even my dinosaurs weren't speaking to me.

It was odd, really.

Mal was back, and all was as it should be. Or so I'd tried to convince myself, and Zoe also, because it hurt that she kept watching me with those freaky frightened eyes. Dealing with my own emotions--which were complicated and overwhelming at best--was taking a backburner to my need to behave like everything was fine, to reassure her that it would be. And I didn't find it all that difficult to be strong for her, because it was easier than thinking about what had happened, and because she was strong for me whenever it counted, and because she was my wife, and because I loved her.

Except that now we were alone, Zoe wasn't talking, and I couldn't think of three words to string together.

She'd chosen me. She'd chosen me, completely unexpected, and I wasn't sure what I should feel about that, or how she felt about it, and I couldn't ask her. Not yet.

I'd always known that Mal owned pieces of her, pieces I could never have, and had told myself I should just be grateful that there were still pieces of her left whole after the war. That I should be grateful to him, because he was a large part of the reason for that. I'd tried to force myself to not be greedy, not to demand or want more pieces of her or her life than she was willing to share with me—and to give me some credit, I did manage to realize how incredible it was, and be thankful, that she was willing to share anything at all with me.

Bastard that I was, I had never managed to be simply grateful, though, and leave it at that.

Most of the time we fought, we fought over territory, and I thought she had all the power, because all the territory I wanted was hers, and she could decide who got what. Whatever I had was irrelevant, because it was already hers.

I had been so convinced that Mal had all these pieces of her that I hadn't stopped to realize that there were pieces of her that I held too. Pieces she'd offered and given freely, without any threat of war, and in fact despite the war. Pieces of herself that she could never take back now, even if she changed her mind and wanted to.

Or, more honestly, I guess I'd known, but I'd never really stopped to consider what that meant, never really made myself understand what that meant for her. Never understood what that meant for me. Maybe I'd never wanted to. Thinking about it now, I don't know how to feel about any of that, either.

In our bunk I undressed; slowly, carefully, but leaving an undershirt on--I didn't need to look at the mottled mess my skin had become, and Zoe needed to see it even less--before crawling somewhat ungracefully into bed. I remembered, belatedly, that I hadn't had any of the soup she'd made for me; Mal's little trick had us leaving the mess before I could even so much as taste it. I knew why she'd made it, too. There's not much that escapes my wife, although I was immensely grateful that she had said nothing about the fact that I'd used my food at dinner to create an interestingly detailed prehistoric landscape rather than eat any of it. The thought of food, although normally I can eat much anything, turned my stomach. That raised map was shiny, though—had little mountains and everything.

Mal has a nasty sense of humour.

Zoe slipped in after me, reaching for me in an unusual role-reversal, and I flinched unconsciously. Forcing myself to settle, I didn't look at her, hoping she didn't notice my reaction while knowing better, and wished her pleasant dreams, my voice slurred by exhaustion, before sliding easily into sleep.

But while I'd wished her, I'd really been wishing for myself, and as it turned out, it worked. I slept fine, deep and dreamless like a baby, although I fully suspect that Simon and whatever he'd forced me to take in his seemingly passive way had had more to do with that than any peace of mind. Surprisingly, it was Zoe that woke me up out of a heavy sleep, shuddering where she lay against me, tears falling sharply onto my bare skin in the small hours of the night--the ordeal triggering her nightmares, not mine.

I pulled her into a loose embrace—Zoe does not care to be crowded, especially when she's uneasy—and put my lips next to her ear, murmuring meaningless words of comfort and dropping soft kisses on her hair, as she clung to me silently. I couldn't see her face, but my neck had become uncomfortably damp.

She grew still after a couple of minutes, before pulling back to whisper, "Wash, you're hot".

I smiled. Zoe has a rare sense of humour. Just another of the many things I love about her.

"So they say throughout most of the Core." I quipped back, entertained, and willing to go with it, already relaxing back into sleep. I was exhausted.

"No." She pulled back and frowned. "How do you feel?"

I considered that a moment before deciding on honesty. "I feel sleepy. How about you?"

She smiled unwittingly. Bingo. Then she reached up a hand to place on my forehead. Surprised and a little irritated, I pulled back, but she persisted. "You've got a fever."

"It's just hot in here, sweetheart, and I think I've got the extra blanket—I'll fight you for it, if you like." Zoe is not a fusser, and she knows I hate being fussed over almost as much as she does, I reminded myself. She's just shaken. Indulge her, so you can go back to sleep.

"No. Come on, Wash, you need to get up."

"Zoooeeee ..." I drew her name out on a groan, huddling further back into the nest of warmth. "Baby, can't it wait till morning?" If she let me, I'd already be asleep.

"No. I want you to see Simon, now."

"Zo', Simon's asleep, like we should be. If you want, I'll see him in the morning, I promise." I kept my voice reasonable and patient--I'd have promised anything to get back to the comfy dark place I'd been pulled from. Truthfully, a painkiller would have been a gift, but no way was I getting out of this bed to get it.

But Zoe can be stubborn—I think her middle name actually starts with an 'S'--and Zoe had chosen right now to decide to put her foot down. So I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, trying not to curse, and remembering how much I love my wife, even as injuries I never even knew I had make themselves known. It felt like there was a hot poker embedded somewhere on the left side of my abdomen, and even my teeth were sore. I didn't remember being in this much pain when I went to bed, and winced unconsciously as I pulled myself into an upright position, trying not to sway, and wondering why I'd never asked Kaylee to fix the lighting in this place. It sucked.

I think I might have said something about the rutting lights and not just thought it, because Zoe was looking at me like I had two heads and I had to wonder, does she like the flickering? Ai hong bian ye, I muttered, and Zoe smiled, and her smile was more tight than amused or sympathetic, and she was saying something, and I was finding it hard to remember how much I loved her when she wouldn't let me sleep and couldn't even understand that I wanted regular lights in our bunk. "Just a little further, sweetie," I heard Zoe's voice as if from a distance, gently encouraging, and I started, realizing I'd stopped moving even though I hadn't realized I'd been moving. I looked around. We were in the corridor, and Zoe had one hand around my waist--although she was definitely not holding me up, because I was positive I could walk on my own--and I was gasping for breath and completely disoriented, and my brain couldn't settle down enough to figure out how to make my mouth work to answer. I could feel sweat cold over my face and down my back.

"What's goin' on up here?"

Mal's voice. Great. Did he always pop up just when things were at their most uncomfortable?

But I was moving again and a lot more easily, and I realized that somehow Jayne was there and half carrying me. Before I could make sense of that, though, we'd stopped, and then everything got really confused. "Easy, Wash," Mal's voice muttered as the burning poker suddenly decided to jab me through every organ and I struggled briefly against numerous hands trying to push me somewhere my body simply refused to go. In the end I won and they moved away, leaving me sitting on the edge of something high and flat, practically doubled over staring at the floor, with this horrible sense that I was going to fall. Vertigo, they call it. Fuck that. I'm a pilot. I'm supposed to be immune to vertigo, aren't I? Where the hell am I?

I blinked. Strong hands were holding me securely upright on a hard cot. Infirmary. Gorram bright in here. I was in the infirmary, where the lighting was fixed.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus.

Simon suddenly appeared in the doorway, rumpled from sleep, framed against the black. Damn, he looked all serious. He's too young to be so serious, I thought. Where was I when I was his age? In a bar, maybe. Or in a bed, more like. I like that. In a bed, with a beautiful girl who looked a lot like ...

But Simon was looking really concerned, now; worried, actually, very very worried, and I started to wonder why he was so worried and if I should be worried too. Although maybe that was just Simon, he often looked worried. Worrywart. I would have giggled at the idea--if not gasping from the pain didn't take all my energy. Although it wasn't really that funny. Simon, God knew, had plenty to worry about.

"What's wrong?" Simon asked. Well, he didn't ask me, he asked Zoe. It was okay, though, because I'd decided I needed another moment to catch up.

"It's Wash," Zoe replied, and her voice sounded worried too.

Now that I was sitting, my brain was being a little more cooperative, and I wasn't sure I liked all this worrying going on. I decided I better say something. "I'm not sure I like being called wrong," I advised the room at large, but everyone was pretty much ignoring me, although a few moments later Simon came over to try to get me to lie down flat on the cot, a position that I was mostly not in favour of. Simon, frowning, didn't force it, and I was grateful, although a moment later I was back to not enjoying myself, shivering while Simon decided he had to poke and prod at any square inch of me that may in fact hurt and most of my square inches did hurt and when did they decide not to heat the infirmary?

"Were you in pain before?" Was he talking to me?

"I was tortured, doc. Pain was sort of part of the package."

"Wash." A warning note from Zoe, but she got me a blanket and I realized yet again how beautiful she was. She glared at me, although beautifully, and I got the point and answered the question.

"Yes, on the left side, below the ribs. Wasn't this bad before, more of a dull pain. It's just more intense, now."

"I think you've got some internal bleeding. You should have let me check you out before."

"Didn't seem to be any need for it."

"Well, if that's your opinion, I guess it's a good thing you're not a doctor, isn't it?" Simon remarked mildly. Simon can be such a smart-ass. But as he spoke, he'd deftly started an IV line and I could feel the grimace on my face smooth into relief as the pain faded, Zoe's left hand was holding mine and her grip was soft and strong, and I was finding it difficult to care.

"I'm a better pilot, anyway." I blinked, trying to stay awake.

"Stop fighting the medication, and let yourself fall asleep." Simon's voice was stern, floating to me, and I realized time had passed without my knowledge.

"Sure." I blinked a few more times. Zoe was standing nearby, and she was looking at me, and looking upset. Did I do something? I couldn't remember. One thing marriage had taught me though—when in doubt, it's usually my fault. "I'm sorry," I tell her, hoping it's enough, but now she only looks like she wants to cry and I think I'm making it worse.

I close my eyes, and the black rushes up around me, dragging me away.

*************************************

I blink, wondering where I am. I can't move, but I can't really feel anything, either, and everything is hazy. My eyes, searching, focus blearily on a boy, standing in a black vest over a really nice linen shirt. He seems to belong, so I decide to ask him.

"Where am I?"

"On Serenity", says the young man, looking surprised and raising an eyebrow, as if to chide me about the absurdity of the question. He looks older than I first thought. Well, I've been mocked by better men than he, so I persist in my questions.

"Is that a moon?"

"It's a Firefly." The well-dressed man's lips twitch back a smile.

"Shiny! A real Firefly?" I should get up and explore. I've always appreciated the design of the Firefly. I wonder if this guy is the owner.

"I'd say so. Why don't you try and get some sleep?" The man's voice is gentle, and now that he'd mentioned it, I could do with a nap. I close my eyes, just for a second.

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I open my eyes, and there is a goddess sitting next to the bed. She's so beautiful, it almost takes my breath away, which is bad, because I'm having to make an effort to breathe. Everything is fuzzy, there's a lot of pain I can't really feel, and I wonder where I am. More importantly, I wonder who she is.

"Do I know you?"

"Wash?" The word makes no sense, and a concerned and confused expression crosses the features of the angel in front of me. She looks over at a young-looking man, standing in the very corner of my peripheral vision, and the man shrugs and nods at her, but I can't figure out what it means. I turn back to the beauty next to my bed.

"You're beautiful. I hope I know you." I try to leer, but I'm kind of groggy and did I mention the pain? The goddess giggles, although there's a hysterical note to her giggle, but either way, it was not quite the reaction I was hoping to get.

"I think so. You married me." Her voice is warm and amused.

The man in the corner grins wryly. "Remind me, next time, that your husband has a reaction to the sedative, will you?"

I'm married? To her? "You're my wife?"

She nods, laughter dancing in her eyes as she leans forward to kiss me softly on the lips. Damn, but I do good work. "Lucky me." I reply, my eyes closing as I drift off to unconsciousness.

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I wake to hushed voices, words. Simon's.

"The worst is over. He'll be fine now, Zoe. You, however, look exhausted. Why don't you go back to your bunk and get some rest."

"My husband is here, doctor, and here's where I'm staying." Zoe's voice is firm, and it warms me to hear it. I open my eyes.

"Zoe?" I ask, testing. My voice is hoarse, my throat is dry, and I feel like hell. Zoe brings me some water, and helps me drink it, and I try not to think about how I got here.

Did Simon give me Gyeriscol?" I keep watching Zoe. Her eyes are bloodshot, and there are dark circles beneath them. She looks almost worse than I feel.

Simon's voice answers. "Yeah."

I feel myself frown. "I get a reaction from that."

"I gathered that. I'll make a note for next time." Simon's voice is making a good attempt to be reassuring, but I sense the laughter lurking under his words. Tzao gao.

"Did I say anything?" I ask anxiously. This is not funny. At all. No telling what I might have said.

Simon answers me, while Zoe is oddly silent. "Not really. You seemed happy to be on a Firefly, and fairly pleased you were married to Zoe. That's pretty much it."

From the look on my wife's face, I probably said more than that, but I was willing to let it go. Simon's words pretty much summed up my life at this point.

"Zo'", I say, turning my head. "Why don't you go and get some rest? You do look awful."

"I think I liked you better drugged," says Zoe, mock-offended, but she's smiling at me, in a way calculated to make me believe in fairy tales, myth, miracles and magic--and maybe even science fiction, if I cared to. She pulls up a chair, and slips her hand into mine, holding it tightly. Then she lays her head onto my chest, breathes deeply, and falls asleep.

Zoe chose me. I understand that, now.

I close my eyes, letting myself fade once again into the silent black, even if the black no longer feels as comforting as it once did. But it doesn't matter, because Zoe is with me--the pieces of her, and all of her, and everything and all that goes with her. I smile, hanging on to that, holding on to her, holding her as safe as she's holding me.

We're flying. We're together. We're safe. As Mal would say, it's enough.

Fuck that. It's not just enough.

It's everything. ********************************