Fic: We Dance On Ground Trod Bare (Firefly: Mal, Zoe/Wash; PG)
Title: We Dance On Ground Trod Bare
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Mal, Zoe/Wash
Words: 1,040
Notes: For misura, who bid for me at the qldfloodauction and asked for how Zoe and Wash got married and Mal expressed his disapproval (with Zoe having Mal's back and being generally awesome). This is more or less an impression of the day; as a bonus I made some fanart to go with it (let me know if I can resize for you). I do hope you like it, and thank you again for bidding! Many thanks to ninamazing for looking this over and encouragement in the wee hours.
1280 x 800
Rain fell on the open gantry, low-misted and steady. Mal stood at the edge, hands deep in his pockets.
He considered the clouds for a long moment, then said, "Now see, if this ain't weather to inspire the nuptials, bring together a pair as odd as any I've known, then you can go right ahead and label me mean ol' captain, 'cause I probably deserve it."
At his side, silent as ever, Zoe stood with arms crossed. He turned to judge her reaction, but she offered him nothing. It seemed his attempt to add a spot of brightness to what was bound to be a mighty strange day would go without reward.
The sky rumbled. Not the response he'd been aiming for, but it was something, at least.
"Just so you remember," added Mal, "I only give it on rare occasions."
"Glad for your blessing, sir."
"Fine day for a wedding, no doubt about it."
She looked back, and said no more.
//
The first day, week, the first month even, the idea never crossed his mind. His thoughts were of the mighty relief that at last Serenity had a pilot who could take them further than the next bad drop. Sure, this Washburne was endlessly cheerful, had him a sun-like outlook that stood miles far and distant from the battle wounds that kept Mal and Zoe forever on that wary edge; but his intelligence was obvious, his morals true.
He told her there'd be no fuss; told her that, one night when they'd sat up late, taking stock of their last job. You're marryin' my pilot, I can't be stoppin' it just as I can't tell you what's what.
Zoe knew, of course. She allowed Mal his time frowning this way and that; she let the opinions lauded upon her soon-to-be husband slide away, because words alone were the barely-scratched surface. He said more in the silences and looks shared when Wash cooked a meal so grand as to have Zoe smile across the table, linger that one moment longer over a fork dropped at their feet. He saw that she was falling ('cept this was Zoe, and Zoe never fell but for a well aimed shot), and decided right then that no amount of disapproval were enough to stop it.
It ain't nothin' but trouble, he told her. This war took us low, and times like these, it's a ridiculous thing.
And the way she looked back, the way she said, Yes sir, it is--well, he let it be.
//
Bester's appearance, in what to Mal looked to be one patchwork button removed from the hill folk on Whitefall, was in stark contrast to the weather. He leapt down two steps at a time, arriving in the cargo hold with a wide grin on his face.
"Hey, wicked day for it. Oh, here, picked these myself." And he handed Zoe a bunch of something dry and prickly.
"Yes, we've already established that," said Mal. "What've you come dressed as, anyway?"
"Fun, Cap'n." Bester winked. "You know me."
Wash laughed, too loudly. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. "It is just me, or is it hot in here?"
Outside, the sky gave a clap and lit up briefly. Mal watched as Bester continued to grin. His eyes turned to Zoe, who with silent consideration, placed the flowers down and turned her attention to the state of Wash's tie.
"Honey, it's just you."
She kissed him, and they stepped from the ship, to the flat soaked ground.
//
Corporal Alleyne was always the practical one.
Mal often said that the times he'd near succumbed to that familiar rush of blood, or frightening, fearful adrenaline surge, he'd see a shadow or echo of her, a figure in his peripheral vision, and he'd stop, pull up and think. Nowhere near him, often when he was alone and in need of a bullet or shell or dark-fuelled push to move, move! and he'd feel her influence, hear her voice. Returning to camp, whichever small corner they'd thrown down for the night, he'd catch sight of her and nod, once. One nod to mean I'm okay. And then it was inventory time, numbers and items as a sort of repetitious comfort. The staples of warfare, so ingrained that even to this day, Mal will find himself in the galley or hold, just for the small assurance that they've not lost a number somewhere along the line.
Always practical. She took care of what he couldn't properly manage. Maybe he never said his thanks, but mostly it weren't needed. That she stayed (that they all stayed) was enough.
Eventually, the rain stopped. The rain stopped and words were exchanged, and folk milled about, danced a step or two on ground trod bare by honesty and a sense that if nothing else, they'd have this day and remember it.
One eye he kept on Zoe, but he knew it weren't hardly needed, for the whole time, the whole quiet time in the before and after, when she looked to her husband and said I do, I will, she was speaking from the heart.
//
"I warn you, I'm no dancin' man."
He took her hand as the sky cleared, took it and spun her as Wash looked on, raised a glass. Zoe smiled with great tolerance, and right then, right there, he couldn't help thinking that maybe things were on the right compass. They were a small family on a small ship, about to fall into that longest and most difficult war there was in these parts: survival. They might just do okay.
"True," she said, eyebrow raised, gaze even, poking fun where no others dared. "You never could turn a step, sir."
"It's why I suspect you're leadin' here, Zoe."
Mal caught Wash's eye across the way, and he figured, quite correctly, that it would be an age and then some until he saw another man look so straight-up blissful.
"Well...there's a truth to that, sir, if I might be so bold."
He smiled. "You might."
She was strong, square-shouldered and beautiful; leading them in steps so uncomplicated that even Mal could follow; leading, and rightly so, as she always would.
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Mal, Zoe/Wash
Words: 1,040
Notes: For misura, who bid for me at the qldfloodauction and asked for how Zoe and Wash got married and Mal expressed his disapproval (with Zoe having Mal's back and being generally awesome). This is more or less an impression of the day; as a bonus I made some fanart to go with it (let me know if I can resize for you). I do hope you like it, and thank you again for bidding! Many thanks to ninamazing for looking this over and encouragement in the wee hours.
1280 x 800
Rain fell on the open gantry, low-misted and steady. Mal stood at the edge, hands deep in his pockets.
He considered the clouds for a long moment, then said, "Now see, if this ain't weather to inspire the nuptials, bring together a pair as odd as any I've known, then you can go right ahead and label me mean ol' captain, 'cause I probably deserve it."
At his side, silent as ever, Zoe stood with arms crossed. He turned to judge her reaction, but she offered him nothing. It seemed his attempt to add a spot of brightness to what was bound to be a mighty strange day would go without reward.
The sky rumbled. Not the response he'd been aiming for, but it was something, at least.
"Just so you remember," added Mal, "I only give it on rare occasions."
"Glad for your blessing, sir."
"Fine day for a wedding, no doubt about it."
She looked back, and said no more.
//
The first day, week, the first month even, the idea never crossed his mind. His thoughts were of the mighty relief that at last Serenity had a pilot who could take them further than the next bad drop. Sure, this Washburne was endlessly cheerful, had him a sun-like outlook that stood miles far and distant from the battle wounds that kept Mal and Zoe forever on that wary edge; but his intelligence was obvious, his morals true.
He told her there'd be no fuss; told her that, one night when they'd sat up late, taking stock of their last job. You're marryin' my pilot, I can't be stoppin' it just as I can't tell you what's what.
Zoe knew, of course. She allowed Mal his time frowning this way and that; she let the opinions lauded upon her soon-to-be husband slide away, because words alone were the barely-scratched surface. He said more in the silences and looks shared when Wash cooked a meal so grand as to have Zoe smile across the table, linger that one moment longer over a fork dropped at their feet. He saw that she was falling ('cept this was Zoe, and Zoe never fell but for a well aimed shot), and decided right then that no amount of disapproval were enough to stop it.
It ain't nothin' but trouble, he told her. This war took us low, and times like these, it's a ridiculous thing.
And the way she looked back, the way she said, Yes sir, it is--well, he let it be.
//
Bester's appearance, in what to Mal looked to be one patchwork button removed from the hill folk on Whitefall, was in stark contrast to the weather. He leapt down two steps at a time, arriving in the cargo hold with a wide grin on his face.
"Hey, wicked day for it. Oh, here, picked these myself." And he handed Zoe a bunch of something dry and prickly.
"Yes, we've already established that," said Mal. "What've you come dressed as, anyway?"
"Fun, Cap'n." Bester winked. "You know me."
Wash laughed, too loudly. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. "It is just me, or is it hot in here?"
Outside, the sky gave a clap and lit up briefly. Mal watched as Bester continued to grin. His eyes turned to Zoe, who with silent consideration, placed the flowers down and turned her attention to the state of Wash's tie.
"Honey, it's just you."
She kissed him, and they stepped from the ship, to the flat soaked ground.
//
Corporal Alleyne was always the practical one.
Mal often said that the times he'd near succumbed to that familiar rush of blood, or frightening, fearful adrenaline surge, he'd see a shadow or echo of her, a figure in his peripheral vision, and he'd stop, pull up and think. Nowhere near him, often when he was alone and in need of a bullet or shell or dark-fuelled push to move, move! and he'd feel her influence, hear her voice. Returning to camp, whichever small corner they'd thrown down for the night, he'd catch sight of her and nod, once. One nod to mean I'm okay. And then it was inventory time, numbers and items as a sort of repetitious comfort. The staples of warfare, so ingrained that even to this day, Mal will find himself in the galley or hold, just for the small assurance that they've not lost a number somewhere along the line.
Always practical. She took care of what he couldn't properly manage. Maybe he never said his thanks, but mostly it weren't needed. That she stayed (that they all stayed) was enough.
Eventually, the rain stopped. The rain stopped and words were exchanged, and folk milled about, danced a step or two on ground trod bare by honesty and a sense that if nothing else, they'd have this day and remember it.
One eye he kept on Zoe, but he knew it weren't hardly needed, for the whole time, the whole quiet time in the before and after, when she looked to her husband and said I do, I will, she was speaking from the heart.
//
"I warn you, I'm no dancin' man."
He took her hand as the sky cleared, took it and spun her as Wash looked on, raised a glass. Zoe smiled with great tolerance, and right then, right there, he couldn't help thinking that maybe things were on the right compass. They were a small family on a small ship, about to fall into that longest and most difficult war there was in these parts: survival. They might just do okay.
"True," she said, eyebrow raised, gaze even, poking fun where no others dared. "You never could turn a step, sir."
"It's why I suspect you're leadin' here, Zoe."
Mal caught Wash's eye across the way, and he figured, quite correctly, that it would be an age and then some until he saw another man look so straight-up blissful.
"Well...there's a truth to that, sir, if I might be so bold."
He smiled. "You might."
She was strong, square-shouldered and beautiful; leading them in steps so uncomplicated that even Mal could follow; leading, and rightly so, as she always would.