(Untitled)

[flybywash]

Inasmuch as it can be, it is quantified as dark and silent and empty. The edges between things blur. They don't seem to be there most times -- nor is anything else. Imagine the blank forgetfulness of deep sleep, and stretch it endlessly in either direction.

Dreams may interrupt it, but not very frequently

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[righthandwoman]

"Okay, kiddo. You had your dinner, now it's Mom's turn."

The voice is outside the kitchen, but getting nearer. There's no reply to it in actual words, as such, but there is a kind of sleepy, contented burbling noise.

[flybywash]

More noise. It's familiar, but that's all it is, more sound, and he can't --

Wash's next breath hisses out painfully, like he's been burned.

The engine's vibrations feel like a gorram earthquake. Even though there's nothing to see but his knees with the way he's curled up, he tries cracking open an eye. It's blurry, and still too bright.

And then it registers why the noise is familiar.

Zoe.

[righthandwoman]

The hiss of breath isn't really loud enough to reach outside the kitchen, and Zoe may have battle trained senses, but her attention's on Naomi, and she steps into the kitchen still looking down at the baby.

"Okay, let's see what we've--"

Her voice breaks off, abruptly.

[flybywash]

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Ow."

He tries once more: both eyes this time, slitted open for half a second before he has to close them again. His hands stay at his ears.

In. Out. In, a little deeper.

"Zo'...?"

That's barely any louder, more of a hoarse croak than a name, but it shakes with sudden, fathomless hope.