[Firefly] Makeshift
Characters: Mal, Kaylee
Rating: G
Contains: Nothing of note.
Notes: Written for a fic meme approximately a million years ago and I forgot to post it.
Wordcount: 261
Summary: Kaylee makes do with what she's got.
Beta: None
She's on her back, coated in engine grease and swearing a blue streak at the ragged edge that just left a gouge in her hand, when she hears the distinctive tread of the captain's boots on her deck plating.
"How's it going there, little Kaylee?" he asks, and she seriously considers denting the side of his stubborn head with the wrench in her hand.
"You had Wash push her too hard, and everything's a mess in here. It'd take me days to fix it with proper parts, and as it is I'm jury-rigging everything!" She doesn't bother sliding out from under the engine. She sets the wrench to a bolt and yanks, but the blood on her hand makes it slippery and she loses her grip.
"Well, we ain't got days. We got maybe a few hours. Wash picked up some Alliance nearby."
"When we get to port," Kaylee says carefully, through gritted teeth, "we have a list of parts we gotta have, Captain. More important than fuel cells. The life support system's running on prayers."
"Then you best pray hard." He pats her knee affectionately. "I know you'll see us through it." His boots tread away.
Kaylee tries the bolt again and finally it turns, loosening the broken converter. She catches the twisted chunk of metal as it falls and sets it aside; she'll whack it back into shape later.
She's smiling as she fits the makeshift part into place. Serenity will keep running for her. She always does. It's just a matter of fitting the pieces in just right.
Rating: G
Contains: Nothing of note.
Notes: Written for a fic meme approximately a million years ago and I forgot to post it.
Wordcount: 261
Summary: Kaylee makes do with what she's got.
Beta: None
She's on her back, coated in engine grease and swearing a blue streak at the ragged edge that just left a gouge in her hand, when she hears the distinctive tread of the captain's boots on her deck plating.
"How's it going there, little Kaylee?" he asks, and she seriously considers denting the side of his stubborn head with the wrench in her hand.
"You had Wash push her too hard, and everything's a mess in here. It'd take me days to fix it with proper parts, and as it is I'm jury-rigging everything!" She doesn't bother sliding out from under the engine. She sets the wrench to a bolt and yanks, but the blood on her hand makes it slippery and she loses her grip.
"Well, we ain't got days. We got maybe a few hours. Wash picked up some Alliance nearby."
"When we get to port," Kaylee says carefully, through gritted teeth, "we have a list of parts we gotta have, Captain. More important than fuel cells. The life support system's running on prayers."
"Then you best pray hard." He pats her knee affectionately. "I know you'll see us through it." His boots tread away.
Kaylee tries the bolt again and finally it turns, loosening the broken converter. She catches the twisted chunk of metal as it falls and sets it aside; she'll whack it back into shape later.
She's smiling as she fits the makeshift part into place. Serenity will keep running for her. She always does. It's just a matter of fitting the pieces in just right.