At long last, fic and also art.
Title: Whole and Functional
Recipient: sugar_fey
Author: czgoldedition
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Wash/Zoe
Disclaimer: Joss is boss.
Summary: Zoe has a nightmare and comes up to visit Wash on the bridge at night.
Notes: sugar_fey wanted a fic with acknowledgment of Wash's awesome piloting skills and Wash comforting Zoe after a nightmare.
I wanted to write an epic befitting of the excellence that is Washathon but suffered massive writer's block this year. I attempted to write, failed, missed the first deadline, decided "Oh, I'll try again after Anthrocon, I should be able to then" and asked for an extension; tried to write again, missed my extension and uh, then my second extension as well. So then I gave up and drew sugar_fey a picture instead, and wound up writing a drabble (803 words for the win, eep) to go with the picture. I feel kind of lame, especially with the wonderful things the rest of you all wrote this year, but regardless, I hope you enjoy your Wash/Zoe in visual form!
---
“Wash.”
Wash swiveled around in his chair to face the entrance of Serenity's bridge, the dim hallway light mostly blocked by a very familiar silhouette, thin but solid and with a glorious curve about the hips - in his personal opinion, the most glorious known to man. And though Wash was glad to see the aforementioned glorious form and the woman it belonged to at any hour, he felt a tinge of concern at her showing up in the dead of ship's night.
“Hey lambie-toes,” he responded, instinctively stretching out his hand for her. She stepped forward and took it silently. Wash kneaded the palm of her hand with his thumb and forefinger soothingly, watching her with bright eyes and waiting for her to speak her peace. He'd learned long ago that his wife was a woman of few and selective words and usually proceeded to talk enough for the both of them, but Wash generally also knew when she did in fact have something to share and gave her the verbal space to do so.
“Had another nightmare,” she volunteered after a brief pause, “Serenity crashin' and getting' overrun but all manner of unpleasantness. Like my parent's cargo hauler, back durin' the early days of the war.”
“It was just a dream,” he offered, gesturing out the forward viewports with his free hand, “No ground to crash on here, nothin' but us and the black.”
“I know. It's silly. It was just so vivid, I didn't feel right sleepin' down by my lonesome in our bunk,” she edged closer to him, leaning against his knees and running her fingers through his permanently tousled blond hair, “Just wanted to come up and prove to myself that you were'in one piece, is all.”
Wash slid his hand around her waist, raising his eyebrows in curiosity, “Was I not? In one piece, I mean?”
Zoe's eyes met his and she shook her head, “Not so much, no.”
While Wash did have a vivid imagination and didn't so much savor the thought of himself in itty bitty pieces, or any number of pieces other than one for that matter, he found Zoe's recent string of dreams about just that oddly stirring - in the way that it's both gratifying and concerning to know that someone will miss you when you're gone. Gratifying because it's lovely to know that if you got inside their skull, you would find that they really do care about you, and concerning because, well, what if you aren't always there? Job like their's, tomorrow was never a guaranteed deal. He had to admit that times were rough and with as often as he worried about Zoe out on drops, it was reasonable for her to worry about him and Serenity. 'Specially with all the parts the ship sorely needed replaced and the scrapes Wash needled her through. But none of that needed said. Not right then.
“Well, your subconscious was clearly misguided, because here I sit, whole and functional,” he reassured her. “And really,” he added, gently tugging on her hand and guiding her into his lap, “it's the here and now we should be living for, right?”
Zoe slid on top of him easily, like slipping into a comfortable pair of breaches, well-worn and molded to every curve of your body, straddling him so that they faced each other. She relaxed visibly at the increased contact, as if being pressed up against Wash was all the reassurance she really had needed and sought.
“'Suppose your right, husband,” she agreed with a smile ghosting over the corners of her lips.
“Besides, Serenity ain't gonna crash,” he protested with an air of mock-offense, “Not with me in the pilot chair. See, that just goes to prove how misguided it is!”
“'Suppose that's true, too,” she acknowledged with a glint in her eye, “Although maybe you could help dissuade it by demonstratin' these piloty skills of yours?”
“Well, I would, but alas - I don't think Mal would much like me putting Serenity through barrel rolls at two in the morning,” he intoned, keeping a straight face, “Something about it not giving him terribly pleasant dreams. Or a terribly pleasant wake up fling out of bed. Plus I don't think I would actually retain the being-in-one piece thing after he did--”
“Weren't talkin' 'bout piloting Serenity just now,” Zoe interrupted his babbling. She leaned in closer, until they were nearly nose to nose, “What was that you said before, 'bout bein' functional?”
The conversation continued throughout the night, but words were no longer necessary.
(Neither, apparently, were clothes.)
Recipient: sugar_fey
Author: czgoldedition
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Wash/Zoe
Disclaimer: Joss is boss.
Summary: Zoe has a nightmare and comes up to visit Wash on the bridge at night.
Notes: sugar_fey wanted a fic with acknowledgment of Wash's awesome piloting skills and Wash comforting Zoe after a nightmare.
I wanted to write an epic befitting of the excellence that is Washathon but suffered massive writer's block this year. I attempted to write, failed, missed the first deadline, decided "Oh, I'll try again after Anthrocon, I should be able to then" and asked for an extension; tried to write again, missed my extension and uh, then my second extension as well. So then I gave up and drew sugar_fey a picture instead, and wound up writing a drabble (803 words for the win, eep) to go with the picture. I feel kind of lame, especially with the wonderful things the rest of you all wrote this year, but regardless, I hope you enjoy your Wash/Zoe in visual form!
---
“Wash.”
Wash swiveled around in his chair to face the entrance of Serenity's bridge, the dim hallway light mostly blocked by a very familiar silhouette, thin but solid and with a glorious curve about the hips - in his personal opinion, the most glorious known to man. And though Wash was glad to see the aforementioned glorious form and the woman it belonged to at any hour, he felt a tinge of concern at her showing up in the dead of ship's night.
“Hey lambie-toes,” he responded, instinctively stretching out his hand for her. She stepped forward and took it silently. Wash kneaded the palm of her hand with his thumb and forefinger soothingly, watching her with bright eyes and waiting for her to speak her peace. He'd learned long ago that his wife was a woman of few and selective words and usually proceeded to talk enough for the both of them, but Wash generally also knew when she did in fact have something to share and gave her the verbal space to do so.
“Had another nightmare,” she volunteered after a brief pause, “Serenity crashin' and getting' overrun but all manner of unpleasantness. Like my parent's cargo hauler, back durin' the early days of the war.”
“It was just a dream,” he offered, gesturing out the forward viewports with his free hand, “No ground to crash on here, nothin' but us and the black.”
“I know. It's silly. It was just so vivid, I didn't feel right sleepin' down by my lonesome in our bunk,” she edged closer to him, leaning against his knees and running her fingers through his permanently tousled blond hair, “Just wanted to come up and prove to myself that you were'in one piece, is all.”
Wash slid his hand around her waist, raising his eyebrows in curiosity, “Was I not? In one piece, I mean?”
Zoe's eyes met his and she shook her head, “Not so much, no.”
While Wash did have a vivid imagination and didn't so much savor the thought of himself in itty bitty pieces, or any number of pieces other than one for that matter, he found Zoe's recent string of dreams about just that oddly stirring - in the way that it's both gratifying and concerning to know that someone will miss you when you're gone. Gratifying because it's lovely to know that if you got inside their skull, you would find that they really do care about you, and concerning because, well, what if you aren't always there? Job like their's, tomorrow was never a guaranteed deal. He had to admit that times were rough and with as often as he worried about Zoe out on drops, it was reasonable for her to worry about him and Serenity. 'Specially with all the parts the ship sorely needed replaced and the scrapes Wash needled her through. But none of that needed said. Not right then.
“Well, your subconscious was clearly misguided, because here I sit, whole and functional,” he reassured her. “And really,” he added, gently tugging on her hand and guiding her into his lap, “it's the here and now we should be living for, right?”
Zoe slid on top of him easily, like slipping into a comfortable pair of breaches, well-worn and molded to every curve of your body, straddling him so that they faced each other. She relaxed visibly at the increased contact, as if being pressed up against Wash was all the reassurance she really had needed and sought.
“'Suppose your right, husband,” she agreed with a smile ghosting over the corners of her lips.
“Besides, Serenity ain't gonna crash,” he protested with an air of mock-offense, “Not with me in the pilot chair. See, that just goes to prove how misguided it is!”
“'Suppose that's true, too,” she acknowledged with a glint in her eye, “Although maybe you could help dissuade it by demonstratin' these piloty skills of yours?”
“Well, I would, but alas - I don't think Mal would much like me putting Serenity through barrel rolls at two in the morning,” he intoned, keeping a straight face, “Something about it not giving him terribly pleasant dreams. Or a terribly pleasant wake up fling out of bed. Plus I don't think I would actually retain the being-in-one piece thing after he did--”
“Weren't talkin' 'bout piloting Serenity just now,” Zoe interrupted his babbling. She leaned in closer, until they were nearly nose to nose, “What was that you said before, 'bout bein' functional?”
The conversation continued throughout the night, but words were no longer necessary.
(Neither, apparently, were clothes.)