Fic: One of Those Days
This is for sarahetc , who had “one of those days” last Tuesday. I had nothing perk-inducing to say then, but hopefully this will give her a smile now.
Rating: NC17, for explicit Wash/Zoe sex.
Word count: ~4900
Summary: A first-mate's days are always busy, but some are just more harried than others. Especially on a beat-up old Firefly.
~*~
05:55
Zoe hauled herself out of sleep into the awareness of a medium sized headache. She grunted, bringing her hand to her forehead as she dragged her eyes open. Wash, already awake and by the dresser, doing the tie on his flannel pants, glanced over at her at the sound she made.
He studied her a moment, blinking rapidly, before saying, “You, too, huh? Maybe it's just our bunk.” He went for the ladder, shirtless and barefoot, clambering swiftly up. As he hit the hatch lock, he said, “Gonna go check.”
06:07
After a lot of cold water splashed on her face, she finally felt awake. Didn't help her headache any, and she went up the ladder hankering for an aspirin or five. She got up into the corridor to find it occupied by her husband, speaking down through the open hatch to Kaylee's bunk.
“...readings aren't out of the normal range. But I'd like to run a check on the sensors.”
She couldn't make out Kaylee's response, but Wash replied, chuckling, “Yes, a cup of coffee and a couple aspirin, comin' right up. I'll meet you topside.”
He looked up, turning his still smiling face to Zoe. She smiled back, saying, “Coffee and aspirin sounds good. Got the duty. Want me to bring some to the bridge for you two?”
“My angel of mercy,” Wash murmured, as he stepped forward to set a light kiss on her lips. She reached up and pinched a bare nipple.
He said, “Ow,” and went up the stairs to the bridge, rubbing his nipple, now grinning.
06:15
The slow cooker had shorted out. Again. She transferred the gloppy mess of cold protein from it into a pot on the stove, to heat it up quick. Wouldn't do squat for the texture, but at least it would be hot.
06:17
Hadn't realized they were that low on coffee. Had enough for half a pot, full strength, or a full pot, half strength. Compromised and made two-thirds of a pot. She'd have tea. Although what she really wanted was a direct intravenous caffeine drip.
06:32
Kaylee, in pajama bottoms and a tank top, stood behind Wash in his seat, rocking slightly. He was rattling off a bunch of letters and percentages from his screen. Of what, Zoe didn't know. She suspected Kaylee didn't know either, as she didn't notice Zoe standing beside her until she bumped her with an elbow. She peered at Zoe through sleep-tousled hair, then took the offered cup of coffee with a bleary smile. Zoe set Wash's cup and a bottle of aspirin next to the stegosaurus, and Wash threw an absent-minded “Thanks” into his stream of numbers. Zoe headed back to the galley.
06:37
The protein porridge, now heated, smelled like crotch.
06:44
Jayne declared, “This coffee tastes like piss.”
“Wouldn't know, Jayne,” she replied, a bit more content, now, with her tea.
07:10
Inara, smiling serenely, entered the galley, and offered a pleasant, “Good morning” to those seated at the table.
Mal, who had been glaring at his breakfast, turned his baleful eye onto her. Zoe sighed quietly, bracing for incoming snark. Because while he'd snapped, “Fine,” at her when she'd asked how he felt, his face seemed a little flushed, and he too had that tight, headachy look.
“Might be good for those who spent it lollin' about on silken sheets,” he growled. “Maybe not so much for those of us engaged in honest labor.”
Inara stopped in mid-glide, her delicate brows lifted in surprise, as this was a bit quick out of the gate, even for Mal. Not to mention far more ham-handed than usual. Had they been alone, she might have risen to the bait, but Zoe caught her eye, lifting her own brows, and then the Companion's gaze swept over the others sitting at the table: Jayne, lip curled in disgust as he stoically shoveled porridge into his mouth; Book, fingertips pressed to his temples, eyes on the Bible open before him; Simon and River in a silent struggle as she twisted, tight-lipped, from the spoon her brother stubbornly persisted in offering her.
Inara put her smile back on, and continued into the kitchen. Once there, she commented, “I see the coffee's gone, Mal. Shall I make you a pot of tea?”
“Thank you, no,” he bit out. “Wouldn't wanna put you t' any trouble.”
“Goodness. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Least my bed's got a right side. You can't never get up on the right side of your bed, 'cuz it ain't got one!”
“Please,” Book said, eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seven fifteen is a little early for this, don't you think?”
Mal stood. “Preacher, when I want you to give me the time of day, I'll ask you for it. 'Til then-”
River began to keen. Not loudly, but the pitch of it seemed to drill directly behind Zoe's eyeballs into her brain.
“Leave the girl be, Simon,” she snapped, standing herself. “She ain't gonna eat it, and I can't say as I blame her.”
“I think, as her brother and as a doctor,” he declared, his frustration bringing all his Core condescension to the fore, “that I have a far better idea of what my sister needs than you or anyone else on this ship.”
River's pitch and volume rose, and Zoe had a vivid image of grabbing the offending bowl of glop off the table and dumping it over Simon's head, just to puncture his pomposity. River's wail abruptly warbled over into hysterical laughter.
“Whoa,” Wash exclaimed, as he stepped down into the galley. “That's creepifyin'. Who died?”
“Wash!” Kaylee remonstrated, giving him a swat on his bare shoulder as she passed him on her way to put calming hands on her friend.
“Sorry,” he murmured, coming over to stand by Zoe, rubbing his shoulder. He said quietly into her ear, “I think we might have a problem.”
“Ya think?” she snipped, then felt bad as his eyes widened at her tone. Plus, Kaylee stroking River's hair and shoulders had calmed her down to giggles, and pretty normal sounding ones at that. Though God knew what the hell she was giggling about in the first place. Zoe glanced over at Wash, setting an apologetic hand on his wrist.
“What problem?” Mal demanded, suddenly right next to them.
Wash startled, and said, “Uh, well. It's, it's-”
“Could be atmo's carryin' a little extra CO2,” Kaylee interjected, fingers unconsciously working River's hair into a sloppy braid.
“CO2?” Mal repeated.
“Who here has a headache and could drink a pot of coffee all on their own?” Wash asked, raising his hand. Kaylee's popped up as well, and the rest of the crew looked around at one another. Zoe held up a finger, then Book raised his hand, followed by Jayne. Simon blinked quizzically, until River grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand, along with both of hers.
That left Inara. And Mal, who stood with this fists on his hips, peering at his crew. “Huh,” he said.
“He has a headache, too,” Zoe declared, then looked over at Inara. “You don't?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I feel fine.”
“But you run your shuttle's filters at night, doncha, 'Nara?” Kaylee chimed in.
“I do. So the scent of incense won't disturb some people's delicate sensibilities.” She slid a look at Jayne.
“Don't we have sensors as tell us we got mix ups in our air?” Mal demanded. Then he snapped his fingers, nodding once. “Yeah, 'member some being part of that package of parts we got on Beylix a while back.”
“We did, an' I replaced 'bout half of 'em with that refurbished set, but maybe they ain't got the samplers tweaked just right-”
“Well, gorram it, Kaylee,” Mal snarled, “it's your job to get the tweakin' done right!”
“C'mon, Mal,” Wash protested, “yellin' at Kaylee isn't gonna help! And the sensors only tell us if we got a problem, not why, so-”
“Are you my mechanic? No, y' ain't. You're my pilot an' when I have a question about pilotin', I'll ask ya! 'Til then-”
A ululating wail cut across Mal's voice, and everyone turned to look at River. She blinked, and puzzled, set light fingertips on her closed lips. The noise continued, and rolling her eyes upward, she indicated one of the ship's speakers with graceful sweep of her whole arm.
“I would say,” Wash hollered over the alarm, “that the sensors have detected an issue with our air.”
Mal began rattling out orders.
“Inara-”
“Of course. Simon. River. Come have tea in my shuttle.” They rose at her gesture of invitation, following her out.
“Kaylee-”
“Gonna go check the scrubbers.” She darted off for the engine room.
“Wash-”
“I'll kill the alarm, start a diagnostics run to see if the problem's with my board.” He trotted forward.
“Shepherd-”
“I'll go assist Kaylee.” He paced aft with quick dignity.
“Jayne-”
The man looked up at him, one hand sliding River's abandoned porridge toward him.
“Eat your breakfast.”
Jayne grunted, then began following orders.
Mal turned to Zoe, mouth opening. She lifted one brow.
“Never mind,” he said, averting his gaze. “I'm gonna go do captainy things.”
The alarm cut off abruptly and Zoe sighed with relief. The racket hadn't been doing her throbbing head a lick of good.
10:51
Standing next to Mal in the engine room, Zoe listened as Kaylee reeled out a list of possibilities that she had ruled out as the root of their CO2 problem. Which was helpful, as narrowing the field got them closer to fixing the problem. But also frustrating, 'cuz a person naturally wanted to know what a problem was, not what it wasn't.
12:07
Lunch was catch as catch can, as usual. There was leftover breakfast. She ate a bowl of that, because she'd been the one to make it and because they couldn't afford to waste it. Mostly, though, because she didn't want the four aspirin she swallowed down with it to burn a hole in an empty stomach.
14:22
Last stop dirtside they'd had to throw freight on quick as they could, putting her stacking system all out of order. Rather than follow Mal's leadership example of hanging about the engine room pestering Kaylee, she was in the cargo bay, putting boxes to right. As she was lifting one crate down off a pile, her heart suddenly lurched, stumbling for a few beats. She nearly dropped the crate as its weight pulled her forward. The crate hit the deck, then her knees hit the edge of the crate and she was holding her breath to keep from shouting in pain. She turned swiftly to sit on the crate and rub her knees, especially the left, the cap of which she'd dislocated in the war. After a minute, the pain faded to dull throbs, and she stood again. Her heartbeat, if a little rapid, seemed normal, and, stepping stiffly, she got back to work.
15:12
Raised voices drew her to the engine room. The first she could get sense from was her husband's, yelling, “-give her a gorram minute to think! All I got over ship's comm this past half hour is you goin' at her!”
Mal hollered back, “Said it before, Wash, won't say it again! You ain't my mechanic nor my anything else but my gorram pilot and if I want pilotin' input, I'll come an' find you on the gorram bridge where you gorram belong!”
Zoe stepped in at the end of this, Kaylee's stifled sobs and Book's rumbled pleas for calm playing in the background. And found Wash, still dressed in nothing but his flannel pants, cheeks bright red, right up in Mal's face. Mal was flushed too, though maybe now just with fury.
“Your pilot? Your pilot!? Okay, as your pilot, here!” Wash suddenly stood ramrod straight, sucking in his gut, and snapping off a salute so sharp it made both Zoe and Mal flinch. “Sir! Permission to set course for Greenleaf, sir!” he barked.
This bizarre behavior - for Wash - engendered a moment of silence, into which Zoe mildly inquired, “Why Greenleaf?”
Her men turned to look at her, and both of their stiff stances eased up. Wash took a step back from Mal, fingertips going to his forehead, rubbing hard.
“Why?” he repeated. “It's got air and it's closest, that's all.” He dropped his hand, and glancing from Zoe to Mal, said, “Look, the carbon dioxide levels aren't dangerous yet, just kinda cranky-making.” He smiled over at Kaylee, who was wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms. “And I know Kaylee will run our problem down and fix it real soon. But if we have to, we can be on Greenleaf in six hours, and just opening our hatches to local air will purge the CO2. So maybe we should bend our course that way, just to be on the safe side. Plus,” he added with slanting grin, “raw bulk coffee beans are way cheap on Greenleaf, and Serenity always smells nice when we roast our own.”
Mal pondered this a moment, then nodded. “Fine. Go on forward, set us a course. We for sure need fresh coffee. Stuff this mornin' tasted like stale piss.”
Zoe furrowed her brow at him. “Why do you know what that tastes like?”
16:16
Kaylee had the problem's source narrowed down to a couple possibilities. The one she hoped it was, the easier of the two to fix, was something awry with the gel feeds to one of the air recycling system's six algae tanks sandwiched between the inner and outer hulls. This fix attempt had Wash twisted around with his feet on the deck and his upper body inside one the hull access hatches, the third they'd checked so far. He was carefully assessing each feed line, occasionally tinkering, while Kaylee monitored the flow force and energy levels at the access board.
Mal was supervising and Zoe was keeping an eye on Jayne, who was responsible for holding the heavy hinged hull panels off Wash's torso while he was squirming around in the tight space behind them.
“Good, we're good,” Wash was saying, voice muffled behind steel. “Oh, wait. What's that?” His legs shifted as he leaned to the right, going up onto his toes to reach something. “Some corrosion on a connection. I'll- Agh!”
Fluid, viscous greenish black, poured out of the hatch, down Wash's legs. Mal jumped forward, face twisting in disgust at the stench of rot, to grab the edge of the hatch, and, with Jayne, to lift it higher. Zoe reached for Wash to pull him free, but he was already sliding out, hair, face, chest and belly thickly coated with a slick of dark ooze. His fingers were digging at his eyes, trying to clear them, as he blew and sputtered to get it out of his nose and mouth. His bare feet were sliding in the stuff on the deck, and Zoe grabbed his elbow to steady him. He got himself braced, gasping, and managed to get his eyes open, blinking furiously.
Jayne hadn't flinched through all this, merely wrinkling his nose at the horrible stink. But he now took one look at Wash's face, and burst out in raucous laughter. Wash turned blinking eyes on him for a moment, bent at the waist, and vomited on Jayne's boots. The man roared in disgusted outrage, dropping the hatch to reach for Wash. But Zoe knocked his arm up, and Wash ducked down, going for his open tool kit and one of the rags inside it. He backed for the exit hatch, frantically mopping his face before tossing the rag aside and croaking, “Gonna go clean up.”
Zoe watched him pivot and flee, then looked back to the horrible, stinking mess of putrid nutrients and vomit on the deck, with more viscous fluid still oozing from under the access hatch. Mal caught her eye, and underneath Jayne's ranting profanities, said, “We got it. See t' him.”
She spun and sprinted after Wash.
16:21
She stepped up into the corridor to the crew's bunks just as he kicked open the hatch to their bunk. As he put his bare foot onto their ladder's top rung, she shouted, “No!”
His head snapped up. “No?” he repeated sharply, glaring at her.
She came within a pace of him, then stopped. She managed to restrain herself from covering her nose, but the stench coming off him was truly amazing. Her heart rate had shot up, making her head pound. She said, “You can't go down there!” It came out far more harshly than she'd intended.
“I can't go into my own bunk?” And he was close to yelling, his eyes wide and shocking blue in his slime darkened face. And she belatedly recalled that one good way to get a rollicking fight really rolling was to try to deny him access to their bunk when he was already angry. She lifted placating hands.
“Wash,” she said as calmly as she could, “let me get your stuff, okay? Y' want that smell in there?”
He stood frozen a moment longer, one foot and both hands on the ladder, face stiff with anger and disgust. Then he nodded jerkily and stepped back away from the hatch. She nodded in return and slid swiftly down.
16:30
She'd carried his stuff for him, to keep it from getting nasty; toiletry kit, towel, and a clean change of clothing, through the ship, all the way to the shower off the lower passenger lounge. He'd followed her, so the stink, mostly, trailed behind them. A couple times, like when they were on the stairs going down to the cargo bay, she caught sight of his face. His compressed lips and the hard set to his jaw suggested he was still struggling with nausea. She wondered if he'd swallowed any and if it were toxic. Maybe she should have Simon check him over after he'd cleaned himself up. Although he wasn't into being doctored in the best of moods, and if he stayed cranky, she might find herself entangled in a row she just didn't feel up for. She'd keep an eye on him, and insist anyway, if she thought it warranted.
She slid open the hatch to the tiny changing area in front of the shower stall, hung his towel on the peg, and stacked his clothing and kit on the shelf. As she stepped back out, she said, “It's important you get that off you. Know we need to tank up soon, but don't worry if you need more than five minutes flow.”
He nodded silently, clearly not wanting to open his mouth. As he stepped in, she said, “And hand me out your pants. I'll see to them.” She risked a bit of humor. “Maybe Simon has a biohazard container.”
He gave a little snort of amusement, venturing a tight lipped smile. He gingerly stripped out of his pants, trying to avoid touching the walls or floor with them in the cramped space. She took them from him with one finger and a thumb, then slid the hatch shut. As she turned away, seriously thinking of finding a waste bag in the infirmary to put them in until they could decide dirtside if laundering was even a possibility, a sound from the shower made her pause. It was Wash, giggling like a loon. Guessing he'd caught sight of his face in the mirror, she just had to smile.
17:15
On the roster to make dinner, Zoe opened the pantry where they kept their canned goods. The tins gleamed dull silver in the cupboard's dim light. Every single one of them, large and small, had been stripped of their labels.
18:00
Crumbled red protein fried up then simmered with lima beans and stewed tomatoes was yum-yummed over and declared “Scarlet Succotash” by Wash. She shot him a jaundiced look, suspecting him of over-jollification, as she knew he barely tolerated lima beans. But while he cleaned his plate only once - coulda been the beans, coulda been residual stomach issues - Mal, Kaylee, and Book went enthusiastically back for seconds, and Jayne for thirds. They even had a rare dessert, as the first mystery can she'd opened had been sweet bean paste. She hadn't been able to conceive of a way to include it in the main course, so she'd added a little more sugar and cooked it down to a kind of custard. River had pushed the succotash away, but she seemed to enjoy the bean custard, even slyly stealing a few spoonfuls from Simon's bowl.
18:41
Kaylee was finishing up the calibrations of the cleaned and repaired gel feeds. Book and Mal had KP. Inara, Simon, and River, after a peaceful day in the shuttle, were relaxing in the lounge. River had her colored pencils out, and was drawing pictures of small yellow birds inside heavy circles of deepest black. Simon and Inara were watching her, discussing poetry in soft, liquid Chinese. Wash was on the bridge, steering them toward Greenleaf and fresh coffee. She went back down to the cargo bay, to finish shifting crates. She worked to the almost melodic clank of Jayne lifting weights. Of course, because her knees were already sore, she had to bang them a few more times. And she just couldn't shake her headache, but didn't want to take anymore aspirin because she was afraid she'd bleed out if she got so much as a paper cut.
21:03
She sat at the table in the empty galley, eyes closed, palm against her forehead, trying to sooth the pounding in her head by inhaling the steam from her cup of tea. Her other hand rested on her aching left knee. She sighed upon hearing footsteps coming down the forward corridor, the soft tread of deck shoes rather than boots letting her know it was Wash. His steps paused a moment at the hatch to the galley, then he came on in. She braced herself, ready for him to drag out the chair next to her, throw himself into it and start venting about his truly craptactular day. Which he had every right to do, 'cuz if hers had been wearing and unpleasant, at least she hadn't ended up nearly drowning in rotting organic waste.
But instead, he came up behind her, putting a warm hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hm,”she replied, and his right hand joined his left on her shoulders. They slid inwards, under her hair, his thumbs gently stroking the muscles at the base of her skull. She let out a deep sigh as his fingertips slowly trailed upward, moving in tiny circles behind her ears before reaching her temples. Tension melted, and with it, her headache.
She stood, turning to face him, setting her palms on his chest and leaning in to kiss him lightly. He smiled through the kiss, hands going to her hips to pull her closer. She stroked upwards, collarbones, throat, jaw, until her fingers caught in his hair. She stopped, taking a tiny step back.
“Your hair's still kinda...”
“...sticky. I know.”
“Yeah, that, too. Was gonna say smelly.” He started pulling away from her, the corners of his mouth turning down, but she held him still. “Let's go to our bunk, and I'll have a go at it.”
21:32
He'd shucked out of his shoes, suit, and tank, and now stood bent over, with his head in the sink, in his skivvies and socks. She'd gotten down to her trousers, socks, and bra, and fetched out the shower hose attachment she'd bought after they'd added three new crew. Found she couldn't always make it through the longer rotation for the shower before longing for clean hair.
He'd hissed as she soaked his hair with the icy water from the tap, but now was making occasional soft grunts of pleasure as she worked the shampoo over his scalp. She watched the small shifts of the muscles of his shoulders as he braced himself against the pressure of her lathering fingers. Her eyes followed the arch of his back, along the faint shadow in the hollow of his backbone to where the failing elastic of his ancient briefs allowed them to sag off the tops of his buttocks.
She bent, setting her lips on the small knob at the top of his spine. He made a little noise - surprise, maybe - and she moved her mouth down a vertebra. Goose bumps rose up on the pale, smooth skin of his back and he shivered.
“Cold?” she asked softly, lips brushing his flesh.
He swallowed, then replied, “Not so much.”
She smiled and kissed another few centimeters down, her fingers moving in small, languid circles through his sudsy hair. He let out a long humming sigh of pleasure and she took this as encouragement to continue. So she worked her way down, centimeter by centimeter, enjoying the slight twitch that went through his body the couple of times her tongue slipped between her lips to taste him. Her hands were rougher, occasionally tugging, fingertips pressing into the tension at his temples and behind his ears.
She ran out of reach at the small of his back, although the tiny noises he was now making tempted her to let her mouth linger there a bit longer. But the shampoo was drying out, and she had become very interested in doing more than a little kissing and rubbing.
“Gonna rinse,” she announced.
“Yes, please,” he replied eagerly.
The cold water got a couple involuntary squeaks from him, but she got it done as quick as she could, then tossed a towel over his head, drying his hair vigorously. He stood up, coming out of the towel laughing and turning to slip his hands around her waist. His own interest in more than rubbing and kissing was quite evident when he pulled her body against his. Then he was guiding her backwards toward their bed, his fingers and mouth on her insisting that she just yield, to accept the joy he could give her. And some days, that's exactly what she needed, to give in to pleasure. Some days like this one. So she did.
Which was how she found herself quickly stripped naked and on her back, Wash's lips and fingertips cherishing her breasts before he eased his way down her body, kiss by kiss, parting her legs so he could nuzzle his face between them, tonguing her labia apart. His lips and tongue played, warm and wet and teasing, on her clit, while his fingers slipped inside her, finding just the right spots. He worked her up, then let her slide back, then did it again, then again, each time just a little bit closer to her fall. Heat bloomed, the sweet burn of her pussy spreading into her belly, tiny shocks of pleasure jolting up her spine.
He had her teetering, just on the brink, her breath coming in ragged gasps, when she twined her fingers in his hair, pulling his face up, away from her. “Finish me from inside,” she demanded, voice thick with tension.
He gave her a silent grin, coming up onto his knees between her legs, absently wiping his mouth and chin on his shoulder. He pushed her thighs apart with his, leaning over her to brace himself with one fist on the bed. Using the other to guide his erection, he pushed into her slowly, his breath leaving him in a long, near-silent gust, eyelids drooping, mouth curving into a smile of exultation. She groaned as he filled her, and again when his thumb found and circled her slick clit.
He began moving inside her, slowly at first, his eyes on her face, then faster, harder, driving deep within her. She let her self go, to get lost in the growing waves of pleasure washing over her. And all the tension in her abruptly broke, a shattering bliss radiating from her center up her spine, through her limbs. And her hands were in Wash's hair again, pulling his mouth down to hers as he continued thrusting to his own completion, his body shuddering on hers, his moan of release in her ears.
22:27
Head on Wash's shoulder, she rested one hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat of it. He turned his head to set a few last sleepy kisses on her brow, his fingers stroking idly through her hair. She let out a long, sated sigh. It had truly been one of those days.
~*~
AN: Symptoms of mild carbon dioxide poisoning (hypercapnia) can include headache, confusion, and lethargy, as well as flushed skin and heart palpitations.