Wash, in his steady progress through the wave backlog, has made it up to June 2511. Turns out his folks were lot like him during the war: no strong sympathies toward Alliance or Independent either way, just tired of the fighting and desperate for it to be over.
(His mom and dad, at least. Anneliese was a sideline Browncoat to the last, albeit one as exhausted of the daily casualty newswaves as any other.)
It's become too unsettling to listen to their comments on Serenity Valley while in the same room as Zoe, even with personal earbuds in so he doesn't disturb her. He kisses her good-night and pockets the data sticks, setting out for a quick walk before heading back to his own room.
Persephone's not the healthiest planet in the system, but this far away from the docks, it has a fine view.
Mal takes off the ring from his finger to look at the inscription for the millionth time. The only noise that breaks into his thoughts is the now-unfortunately-familiar creaking of Wash's crutches.
Craning his neck behind him to say hello, "What're you up and about doin'?"
There is a vague gesture to the empty space beside him on the bench, though Mal looks back to the book for a long beat as he does so.
"Just needed some fresh air," he says, quietly, as he drops onto the proffered spot. He slouches down and tilts his head back without thought to take in the sky.
"This...has been a very weird and ultimately very long kind of day."
"Want me to start with the part where I found out my folks are alive or the part where I knew Crowley as a kid?" he asks, and scrubs a hand over his face and up through his hair.
"My folks," Wash says, a little slower, "are alive. So's Anneliese. I just never got any of their waves."
His Adam's apple bobs, but he never takes his eyes off the stars.
"And it turns out, among several other highly wacky things, that Mr. Andronicus Crowley's kind of an uncle of mine, but thinking about that still makes my brain feel like it's about to rebel and come pouring out my ears."
Wash nods, a tiny, awed smile forming. "Yeah. Better than. I've been going through all the waves I missed -- " He straightens up, finally looking over at Mal. "You mind if I take a detour if we pull any jobs on Muir soon?"
"If one comes up." The smile grows. "Yeah. I-I have to wave 'em so the awkward of 'Hi, it's your prodigal son! Miss me?' goes down from appalling to mildly alarming, first. But if...."
Wash fades as he spots Mal's book. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, to peer at the cover.
"...you're not...reading...the....What are you reading?"
Wash can tell, the more he pages through it: the paper and cover of the Bible are both well-worn, tiny creases marking the edges.
"Yeah, again, foreknowledge of any impending apocalypses'd be helpful, and why am I using the plural?" he mutters to himself. To Mal, "I wouldn't've pegged you for being...you know."
A readjustment of Mal's jaw as he takes the book back, with, "I haven't been...you know...since Serenity Valley. Think I burned the copy I had on me then to keep warm."
Mal looks almost sad when he studies the filigree on the cover. "Just...bein' here, and all. Brings a lot o' things up."
(His mom and dad, at least. Anneliese was a sideline Browncoat to the last, albeit one as exhausted of the daily casualty newswaves as any other.)
It's become too unsettling to listen to their comments on Serenity Valley while in the same room as Zoe, even with personal earbuds in so he doesn't disturb her. He kisses her good-night and pockets the data sticks, setting out for a quick walk before heading back to his own room.
Persephone's not the healthiest planet in the system, but this far away from the docks, it has a fine view.
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Craning his neck behind him to say hello, "What're you up and about doin'?"
There is a vague gesture to the empty space beside him on the bench, though Mal looks back to the book for a long beat as he does so.
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"This...has been a very weird and ultimately very long kind of day."
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"Want me to start with the part where I found out my folks are alive or the part where I knew Crowley as a kid?" he asks, and scrubs a hand over his face and up through his hair.
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Obviously confused as hell, "What now?"
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His Adam's apple bobs, but he never takes his eyes off the stars.
"And it turns out, among several other highly wacky things, that Mr. Andronicus Crowley's kind of an uncle of mine, but thinking about that still makes my brain feel like it's about to rebel and come pouring out my ears."
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It's sincere, if accidentally terse.
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Wash fades as he spots Mal's book. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, to peer at the cover.
"...you're not...reading...the....What are you reading?"
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"My ma gave it to me after the ceremony. Said she thought I might want it back after all this time."
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"Captain," he says, very seriously. "You'd tell me if the 'verse was about to end again, right? Just for a little bit of warning?"
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More fidgeting with his latest fashion accessory.
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Wash can tell, the more he pages through it: the paper and cover of the Bible are both well-worn, tiny creases marking the edges.
"Yeah, again, foreknowledge of any impending apocalypses'd be helpful, and why am I using the plural?" he mutters to himself. To Mal, "I wouldn't've pegged you for being...you know."
He shuts the book and hands it back.
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Mal looks almost sad when he studies the filigree on the cover. "Just...bein' here, and all. Brings a lot o' things up."
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