Fic: So Your Pilot Is a Vampire (Firefly, Gen, PG-13)
Title: So Your Pilot Is a Vampire
Rating: PG-13
Words: 750
Characters: Wash, Mal, River
Summary: Mal's always thought Wash looked pale enough to be allergic to sunlight, but this is ridiculous.
Notes: Quite possibly the oddest thing I've ever written for comment_fic, and pretty much total crack!fic. The prompt was Wash, he's not dead, just eternal, on the theme of, unsurprisingly, Vampires.
So Your Pilot Is a Vampire
“Ohdeargodwhatthefuck-” Yeah, he's pretty sure that all came out as one word, but to be perfectly honest, when confronted with a pilot he's damned sure is supposed to be dead, seeing as how the man had a giant gorram spike through his chest last time Mal saw him, he thinks that's an acceptable response.
“There a problem, Mal?” Wash asks, walking across the bridge and plopping himself down in his old chair like it's the most normal thing in the 'verse, which it would be, excepting the whole dead thing.
“Yeah, you - what - how - why are you here?” Yeah, he's really got to get it together, fast.
“Uh, cause it's kinda hard to fly the ship from anywhere else? Case you hadn't noticed, this is what you pay me for.” Wash checks the screen, reaches up to flick a few switches, and turns a pair of eyes on Mal that didn't used to look quite so bright and piercing. Mal's pretty certain about that last point. “Oh, by the way, I'd say getting killed qualifies me for some hazard pay, dontcha think?”
“So...you did get killed then. Just so's we're clear on that bit.”
“Yeah,” Wash, or this thing sitting there that resembles Wash in every particular, at least, says, leaning back and rocking in his chair a bit. “See you got the chair fixed up real good. Anyhow, the whole stake-through-the-heart thing tends to work better with my kind if it's made of wood. Oh, and you gotta cut my head off afterward. Very important, that bit. Otherwise, we get what you see here, which is a really annoyed vampire who's had to chase you halfway across the damn 'verse after crawling out of that grave you stuck me in. I did appreciate the headstone, though.”
“Um, yeah,” Mal says, backing towards the door in what he hopes is a casual manner. “Zoe picked that out.”
“Thought so. Good woman, Zoe. Did she read a little something, maybe? Some poetry?” Wash asks, seeming oddly hopeful.
“No, sorry. Did send up a rocket though. River thought you'd like that.”
“Aw, she's a sweet kid. You going somewhere, Mal?”
“Just to...you know, get the rest of the crew, maybe, make sure I ain't gone completely wooly in the head here.” Just then, there's a pressure at Mal's back, making him jump and let out what would qualify, in a less dignified sort of man, as a yelp.
“Being wooly in the head is my job,” says River, walking calmly past him to sit in the co-pilot's seat. “What's the matter with him?” she asks, turning to Wash.
“Don't think he's ever seen a vampire before. Well, he had, obviously, he just didn't so much know it at the time.”
“It can be a shock to assimilate.” From across the room, Mal sees her eyes narrow as she studies the thing formerly, and possibly currently, known as Wash. “You haven't told her yet,” she says, accusingly.
Now it's Wash's turn to sit there with his mouth opening and closing, no words seeming able to make an escape. “Well, you know how she can get, and since I was married to her for years without telling - I thought maybe if somebody else broke the news to her, you know, gently and all...”
“Wash.” River's voice can be like steel when she wants, and Mal's glad that tone ain't turned on him. “Go tell your wife you're alive.”
“Technically, I'm undead,” Wash corrects. “Though possibly about to be dead-dead. Again.” He must agree with Mal's assessment that River's about equal with Zoe on the scale of scary ladies though, cause he gets up and moves off, and he might be some kind of damn immortal creature, but, Mal notices, that don't mean his hands ain't shaking nonetheless.
Mal waits out in the hallway just in case, but he might've known - Zoe don't make a sound, leastways not one meant for his ears. And hell, when he really thinks about it, if it makes his crew a little more complete again, what's having to put up with a little bloodsucking immortal being on board, anyhow?
But, he thinks, walking away, if it just so happens that Jayne's a werewolf, he's putting him out the airlock, no arguments. A Captain's gotta draw a line somewhere, after all.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 750
Characters: Wash, Mal, River
Summary: Mal's always thought Wash looked pale enough to be allergic to sunlight, but this is ridiculous.
Notes: Quite possibly the oddest thing I've ever written for comment_fic, and pretty much total crack!fic. The prompt was Wash, he's not dead, just eternal, on the theme of, unsurprisingly, Vampires.
So Your Pilot Is a Vampire
“Ohdeargodwhatthefuck-” Yeah, he's pretty sure that all came out as one word, but to be perfectly honest, when confronted with a pilot he's damned sure is supposed to be dead, seeing as how the man had a giant gorram spike through his chest last time Mal saw him, he thinks that's an acceptable response.
“There a problem, Mal?” Wash asks, walking across the bridge and plopping himself down in his old chair like it's the most normal thing in the 'verse, which it would be, excepting the whole dead thing.
“Yeah, you - what - how - why are you here?” Yeah, he's really got to get it together, fast.
“Uh, cause it's kinda hard to fly the ship from anywhere else? Case you hadn't noticed, this is what you pay me for.” Wash checks the screen, reaches up to flick a few switches, and turns a pair of eyes on Mal that didn't used to look quite so bright and piercing. Mal's pretty certain about that last point. “Oh, by the way, I'd say getting killed qualifies me for some hazard pay, dontcha think?”
“So...you did get killed then. Just so's we're clear on that bit.”
“Yeah,” Wash, or this thing sitting there that resembles Wash in every particular, at least, says, leaning back and rocking in his chair a bit. “See you got the chair fixed up real good. Anyhow, the whole stake-through-the-heart thing tends to work better with my kind if it's made of wood. Oh, and you gotta cut my head off afterward. Very important, that bit. Otherwise, we get what you see here, which is a really annoyed vampire who's had to chase you halfway across the damn 'verse after crawling out of that grave you stuck me in. I did appreciate the headstone, though.”
“Um, yeah,” Mal says, backing towards the door in what he hopes is a casual manner. “Zoe picked that out.”
“Thought so. Good woman, Zoe. Did she read a little something, maybe? Some poetry?” Wash asks, seeming oddly hopeful.
“No, sorry. Did send up a rocket though. River thought you'd like that.”
“Aw, she's a sweet kid. You going somewhere, Mal?”
“Just to...you know, get the rest of the crew, maybe, make sure I ain't gone completely wooly in the head here.” Just then, there's a pressure at Mal's back, making him jump and let out what would qualify, in a less dignified sort of man, as a yelp.
“Being wooly in the head is my job,” says River, walking calmly past him to sit in the co-pilot's seat. “What's the matter with him?” she asks, turning to Wash.
“Don't think he's ever seen a vampire before. Well, he had, obviously, he just didn't so much know it at the time.”
“It can be a shock to assimilate.” From across the room, Mal sees her eyes narrow as she studies the thing formerly, and possibly currently, known as Wash. “You haven't told her yet,” she says, accusingly.
Now it's Wash's turn to sit there with his mouth opening and closing, no words seeming able to make an escape. “Well, you know how she can get, and since I was married to her for years without telling - I thought maybe if somebody else broke the news to her, you know, gently and all...”
“Wash.” River's voice can be like steel when she wants, and Mal's glad that tone ain't turned on him. “Go tell your wife you're alive.”
“Technically, I'm undead,” Wash corrects. “Though possibly about to be dead-dead. Again.” He must agree with Mal's assessment that River's about equal with Zoe on the scale of scary ladies though, cause he gets up and moves off, and he might be some kind of damn immortal creature, but, Mal notices, that don't mean his hands ain't shaking nonetheless.
Mal waits out in the hallway just in case, but he might've known - Zoe don't make a sound, leastways not one meant for his ears. And hell, when he really thinks about it, if it makes his crew a little more complete again, what's having to put up with a little bloodsucking immortal being on board, anyhow?
But, he thinks, walking away, if it just so happens that Jayne's a werewolf, he's putting him out the airlock, no arguments. A Captain's gotta draw a line somewhere, after all.