Fic: Sticking Point (4/9)
Rating: PG13
Characters: Mal, Wash, Zoe, Bester, Kaylee.
Word count: ~1070
Summary: Set early pre-series. Serenity is stuck on the ground with major engine trouble. No one's exactly tickled about that fact, some lots less than others. In fact, some find it outright crazy-making.
~Day 4~
Next day, around mid-morning, Mal swung by the engine room before he hiked into town, and found both Bester and Wash there working. He didn't interrupt them, simply pausing long enough to hear Wash saying, “...sinking like a stone until the governor cut in, diverting power to the screen system, which gave just enough time to flip the pods...”
In town, he had a bit of a palaver in the bar, arranged through Sheriff Huan, with Song Dou, the soybean farmer who was currently hosting Serenity. After a leisurely conversation over a few ales, they came to an amicable agreement, and after enjoying a couple more pints and the lunch special of maodou succotash, they parted ways.
Then Mal wandered down to the sundries and supplies store, looking to restock their protein and coffee stocks. He found the pickings slim, many of the wooden shelves bare of any goods. The coffee, even mixed half with baked chicory root, was prohibitively expensive, so he had to take a regretful pass. He made a mental note to find a job touching down on Greenleaf soon, 'cuz raw bulk beans came dirt cheap there, and roasting their own always smelled good. Protein, however, turned out to be a great deal. Not surprising, as Wyoming's major crop was soybeans. He ordered a rainbow's spectrum of paste, both delighting and flustering the store's proprietor, Mrs. MacGregor, a tiny, dried up wisp of a woman. Unlike suppliers attached to a spaceport, she didn't have the amount Mal wanted on hand. But as that particular supply business had folded years ago, her little shop was his only option. So he said 'fine,' to having half the order delivered to Serenity the next morning. She'd try to get the other half put together as quickly as she could, but thought she'd need a couple days to do so.
“Can't guarantee we'll still be lit down a couple days from now, ma'am. In fact,” he informed her forthrightly, “it's my fervent hope we'll be aloft soon after we take on what you deliver tomorrow.”
“Fair enough, Captain Reynolds. But no harm in seeing how quick I can get the rest of your order in. The stuff keeps forever, so all it means is my stock room will be crowded for a while, 'til I can get it sold off in dribs and drabs.”
“Well, you get it together an' I'm still dirtside, I'll buy it.”
She agreed, happily taking his coin for the first half of the order, as well as that for a kilo of fresh tofu. 'Cuz Zoe always managed to do something amazing with that, and she had dinner duty that evening.
He returned to Serenity, bound and determined that he'd be getting the good word of her imminent departure. But Zoe's expression when he came upon her, sorting their canned goods in the kitchen pantry, quickly disabused him of that notion.
“No?” he queried, hoping against hope that maybe she was simply put out by some recent silliness committed by Bester and/or Wash.
“No,” she returned, her response terse even by her standards.
He sighed, put the tofu in the 'fridge, and wound his way aft to the engine room, hovering outside the hatch long enough to hear Wash, sounding a little hoarse, saying, “...turbine blades chewing each other up in a cascading failure...”
Dinner, at least, was rewarding, Zoe putting together something that had the rest of them smiling even as tears sprang into their eyes with the wasabi-burn of it all. Mal had himself on the roster for clean-up, which was always easy after Zoe. He didn't know if it was her ship-side upbringing or her army training, but she tended to tidy as she cooked, never leaving much of a chore behind her.
Bester, having by now heard about the bar in town, and that its hours ran past midnight, let Mal know he'd be out at least that late, and took off. Mal speculated that it was possible the guy might find some sort of satisfaction there besides a good beer. It had seemed to him more of the sort of place patronized by folks who knew each other too well for casual encounters to occur. But it could have a whole different atmosphere in the evenings, and besides, Bester was a stranger. That could serve to his advantage, as an added enticement. Or maybe not.
He and Zoe played a triplet of star checkers, and he managed to win the second game, which spurred her on to thrash him in the third, and then they both called it a night. She headed aft for the shower, as it was her turn in the rotation.
Wash had gone forward after dinner, and Mal had assumed he'd hit his bunk. But on his way to his bed, he noticed the dim light shining through the open hatch to the bridge. Curious, he climbed the steps.
Only a scattering of LED running lights were up. Most of the light spilling onto the bridge came from the razor thin slice of Wyoming's neon blue primary reflecting through the front windows. Deep, deep Black stretched beyond that, pierced by the bright points of the stars ranging outside the 'verse.
“Hey, Captain,” Wash murmured as Mal stepped onto the bridge. The whites of his eyes reflected eerie blue as he rolled them in Mal's direction. He seemed quite comfortable, lounging in the pilot's seat, its back tilted at a forty-five degree angle.
“Wash,” Mal replied. And from there, he really didn't know where to go.
His pilot shifted his gaze back out the front window. “Gone over our best steps toward Paquin again, Captain. They shift, y' know, with every twirl of this moon, with every swing of its primary.” Wash's hands swept down over his chest, then came to rest lightly on his thighs. “But that's okay. It's lovely. Like a dance.”
“Suppose that's so,” Mal said agreeably.
“Just wanna be in there, Mal. Dancing. Not watching from the outside.”
And that Mal understood completely. “Won't be too long, Wash,” he said. “Before we're all up there again, dancin'.”
“Ah,” Wash sighed. Then after a few moments, he hinted, “Goodnight, Captain.”
“'Night, Wash,” Mal replied, turning away to head back down the steps, leaving his pilot alone with the stars.
~*~
maodou - young soybean
On to Day Five...
Characters: Mal, Wash, Zoe, Bester, Kaylee.
Word count: ~1070
Summary: Set early pre-series. Serenity is stuck on the ground with major engine trouble. No one's exactly tickled about that fact, some lots less than others. In fact, some find it outright crazy-making.
~Day 4~
Next day, around mid-morning, Mal swung by the engine room before he hiked into town, and found both Bester and Wash there working. He didn't interrupt them, simply pausing long enough to hear Wash saying, “...sinking like a stone until the governor cut in, diverting power to the screen system, which gave just enough time to flip the pods...”
In town, he had a bit of a palaver in the bar, arranged through Sheriff Huan, with Song Dou, the soybean farmer who was currently hosting Serenity. After a leisurely conversation over a few ales, they came to an amicable agreement, and after enjoying a couple more pints and the lunch special of maodou succotash, they parted ways.
Then Mal wandered down to the sundries and supplies store, looking to restock their protein and coffee stocks. He found the pickings slim, many of the wooden shelves bare of any goods. The coffee, even mixed half with baked chicory root, was prohibitively expensive, so he had to take a regretful pass. He made a mental note to find a job touching down on Greenleaf soon, 'cuz raw bulk beans came dirt cheap there, and roasting their own always smelled good. Protein, however, turned out to be a great deal. Not surprising, as Wyoming's major crop was soybeans. He ordered a rainbow's spectrum of paste, both delighting and flustering the store's proprietor, Mrs. MacGregor, a tiny, dried up wisp of a woman. Unlike suppliers attached to a spaceport, she didn't have the amount Mal wanted on hand. But as that particular supply business had folded years ago, her little shop was his only option. So he said 'fine,' to having half the order delivered to Serenity the next morning. She'd try to get the other half put together as quickly as she could, but thought she'd need a couple days to do so.
“Can't guarantee we'll still be lit down a couple days from now, ma'am. In fact,” he informed her forthrightly, “it's my fervent hope we'll be aloft soon after we take on what you deliver tomorrow.”
“Fair enough, Captain Reynolds. But no harm in seeing how quick I can get the rest of your order in. The stuff keeps forever, so all it means is my stock room will be crowded for a while, 'til I can get it sold off in dribs and drabs.”
“Well, you get it together an' I'm still dirtside, I'll buy it.”
She agreed, happily taking his coin for the first half of the order, as well as that for a kilo of fresh tofu. 'Cuz Zoe always managed to do something amazing with that, and she had dinner duty that evening.
He returned to Serenity, bound and determined that he'd be getting the good word of her imminent departure. But Zoe's expression when he came upon her, sorting their canned goods in the kitchen pantry, quickly disabused him of that notion.
“No?” he queried, hoping against hope that maybe she was simply put out by some recent silliness committed by Bester and/or Wash.
“No,” she returned, her response terse even by her standards.
He sighed, put the tofu in the 'fridge, and wound his way aft to the engine room, hovering outside the hatch long enough to hear Wash, sounding a little hoarse, saying, “...turbine blades chewing each other up in a cascading failure...”
Dinner, at least, was rewarding, Zoe putting together something that had the rest of them smiling even as tears sprang into their eyes with the wasabi-burn of it all. Mal had himself on the roster for clean-up, which was always easy after Zoe. He didn't know if it was her ship-side upbringing or her army training, but she tended to tidy as she cooked, never leaving much of a chore behind her.
Bester, having by now heard about the bar in town, and that its hours ran past midnight, let Mal know he'd be out at least that late, and took off. Mal speculated that it was possible the guy might find some sort of satisfaction there besides a good beer. It had seemed to him more of the sort of place patronized by folks who knew each other too well for casual encounters to occur. But it could have a whole different atmosphere in the evenings, and besides, Bester was a stranger. That could serve to his advantage, as an added enticement. Or maybe not.
He and Zoe played a triplet of star checkers, and he managed to win the second game, which spurred her on to thrash him in the third, and then they both called it a night. She headed aft for the shower, as it was her turn in the rotation.
Wash had gone forward after dinner, and Mal had assumed he'd hit his bunk. But on his way to his bed, he noticed the dim light shining through the open hatch to the bridge. Curious, he climbed the steps.
Only a scattering of LED running lights were up. Most of the light spilling onto the bridge came from the razor thin slice of Wyoming's neon blue primary reflecting through the front windows. Deep, deep Black stretched beyond that, pierced by the bright points of the stars ranging outside the 'verse.
“Hey, Captain,” Wash murmured as Mal stepped onto the bridge. The whites of his eyes reflected eerie blue as he rolled them in Mal's direction. He seemed quite comfortable, lounging in the pilot's seat, its back tilted at a forty-five degree angle.
“Wash,” Mal replied. And from there, he really didn't know where to go.
His pilot shifted his gaze back out the front window. “Gone over our best steps toward Paquin again, Captain. They shift, y' know, with every twirl of this moon, with every swing of its primary.” Wash's hands swept down over his chest, then came to rest lightly on his thighs. “But that's okay. It's lovely. Like a dance.”
“Suppose that's so,” Mal said agreeably.
“Just wanna be in there, Mal. Dancing. Not watching from the outside.”
And that Mal understood completely. “Won't be too long, Wash,” he said. “Before we're all up there again, dancin'.”
“Ah,” Wash sighed. Then after a few moments, he hinted, “Goodnight, Captain.”
“'Night, Wash,” Mal replied, turning away to head back down the steps, leaving his pilot alone with the stars.
~*~
maodou - young soybean
On to Day Five...