A lot of people thought of the stars as cold, the black as daunting and unforgiving. The ship could be cold sometimes when Kaylee was having trouble with something in the engine room, making the crew pull on their heavier clothing and throw extra bunks over their beds, but Wash had never considered the stars and black to be cold themselves. They were bright and crowded, specks of distant fire that surrounded him and made him feel not so alone. Simon in particular found the black sickly vast and overwhelming, but Wash felt safe encompassed by it.

Sometimes it reminded him of the rare occasions when he’d get to bed before Zoe and he’d pull the heavy blankets over his head. It’d start off cold, near suffocating and perfectly dark, but quickly warm up and shroud him in comfort.

Other times it made him think of his home planet. Not the smoggy sky, which had been perpetually grey, or the air that had been stale and muggy, not crisp and cool like on Serenity. But the vast ocean that lay past the dockyard he lived near as a child. The waters gave no fish and was inconsumable without some serious filtering, but it’d been black and roiling and the only reference he had to go by when his dad would tell him stories about the worlds above theirs. When Wash was a boy, he’d lie on his belly on the end of the longest wharf and stare into the deep, dark waters, thinking of the stories and wishing he was looking up instead of down.

The rest of the crew often came up to the bridge at night in ones and twos to keep him company, especially in the last month. He’d grin and crack a couple jokes, maybe play cards with Kaylee or Jayne, banter about the best routes and manoeuvres with Mal, explain the constellations to Simon or River, or cuddle and whisper with Zoe, but to be honest Wash had always really liked being up there alone at night. He never found the stars cold or the black cruel.

But now he found them terribly lonely. Not necessarily in a bad way – he still enjoyed his solitude on the bridge after everyone had settled down for the night, before he’d settle Serenity down for the night – but in a way that made him think deeper, feel sharper, and remember clearer.

Rubbing gingerly at the ache in the left side of his chest, just a couple inches below his heart, Wash sighed and leaned back in his pilot’s chair. When the Reaver’s harpoon had pierced his body and pinned him to this very seat, it’d only hurt a little at first. His memory was admittedly a little foggy concerning that landing, but it really hadn’t felt much worse than that time Jayne had accidentally elbowed him hard in the gut while playing hoop-ball. Being harpooned had knocked the wind out of him and he been confused when he instinctively jerked to double up against the pain, thinking maybe he’d just been hit by debris, and found he couldn’t move. Then Zoe had called out to him, called his name, called him ‘baby’, and there’d been such fear in her voice that he’d suddenly been afraid and made himself look down. The pole was thick and dull, protruding from his chest and already slick with blood. His blood. Then the burning, dizzying pain hit.

Things got really foggy after that. He must of passed out, because the next thing he knew he was in the infirmary, lying on the litter, with Simon’s pale and fearful face hovering over him and Zoe’s voice, usually so smooth and steady, shakily murmuring in his ear about how everything was going to be okay and that he was going to be just fine, that she was there and that she loved him. Then it’d all gone dark again. The week following his injury was shaky in his mind. Wash could remember at least a single incident involving each of the crew members that sat in a black pool of nothing – a rolling black nothing just like the ocean he’d dreamed of flying in as a boy – before he came out of the woods and really regained consciousness for good.

He could remember Simon moving around the infirmary gingerly, minding his own wounds, calmly explaining how he’d provided a shot for pain, shock and blood clotting, repaired the severe internal bleeding, rebuilt the four crushed ribs and two broken, and finally set up a blood transfusion and antibiotic drip in only seven hours. Wash’s mouth had felt like it was full of cotton and his head had been pounding almost as painfully as his chest, so he’d just listened, concentrating on the young doctor’s clinical yet gentle words for distraction.

Wash liked Simon, even if they weren’t particularly close, and was glad it was him doing the surgery and not some Alliance or backwater doctor. He trusted him, even if half the rest of the crew maybe didn’t.

Next thing that was clear was Mal sitting beside him in the infirmary, maybe three days after the attack. Mal doing what he did best. Complaining and growling and shooting off snappy one-liners. Mostly about the state of the bridge, how difficult it’d been cleaning up all the blood, past deals gone awry, Kaylee making goo-goo eyes at Simon, Jayne being an ass, River being loco, Zoe riding his ass, some asshole who’d ripped them off again, and about how Mal, under no circumstances, was in the mood to be looking for another half-decent pilot who could handle Serenity. Wash figured Mal had been giving a running commentary to a man he thought was unconscious, because at one point he’d looked at his pilot and jumped slightly.

Then he’d half-grinned and said, “Look at that, our human shish kabob has finally decided to grace us with his presence. Hey, there, kid. How ya feelin’?”

“Spectacular. The world is my oyster,” Wash had managed to croak. He’d never heard Mal call him ‘kid’ or laugh so hard at his sarcasm before. Usually they ignored the fact that they were actually good friends and just butted heads or ganged up on Jayne together. But Wash had been too weak to really mull it over, so he’d passed back out instead.

Jayne was the one who told him how he got from being pinned to his seat on the bridge to the litter in the infirmary, sans pole. Apparently, as soon as they could manage it, Jayne and Mal had torn the seat from it’s bolted down position and hauled Wash, pole and chair and all, down to the doctor. There seemed to be no strain or weight on Jayne’s mind as he described the manoeuvre, or the rest of the struggle with the Reaver’s and River. He just sat on the counter with his boots propped up on the edge of Wash’s litter and cleaned his nails with his knife as he idly chatted away and answered Wash’s occasion question. He’d only rolled his eyes when Wash expressed relief and gratitude at the move to save him, and at hearing that Zoe and Kaylee had repaired his pilot’s seat for him.

But as Jayne stood and stretched, preparing to go find something to eat in the kitchen, he’d suddenly dealt Wash a mean glare and said, “Best not do anythin’ stupid like that agin, little man. I’d be like to stick you myself and get the job done right you ever got the notion to be a total dumb-ass again. Save us all the trouble o’ worryin’. Gorram ruttin’ hell…”

He’d left Wash grinning feebly after him. He gave Jayne a lot of hassle and not too much respect – messing with the mercenary’s head was endless fun – but he’d always honestly liked Jayne. The guy could turn coat at any second according to Mal and Zoe, but Wash had always considered him to be a better big brother than his own really was. Jayne played hoop-ball and cards with him, teased him lightly about his dinosaurs, bantered and traded barbs without ever moving to hit Wash, and called him ‘little man’ with more affection than anything he’d ever heard from his actual brother. Other than Kaylee and the Shepard, he didn’t think Jayne was as protective or friendly with anyone else. He was a brute, but a good brute in Wash’s mind.

One day Wash had woken up to find River’s huge eyes staring at him, only two inches from his face. He’d have jumped and maybe popped some stitches if he hadn’t been so groggy, but he did manage to squeak and gasp, which was enough to make the pain in his chest flare up, making the squeak turn to a deep groan.

She’d just smiled and tilted her head at him, an odd little angel of a waif clearly pleased he’d joined her. And, apparently, Lyle, Wash’s plushy Stegosaurus. River held Lyle close to Wash’s face, closer than she’d been, and stroked the fabric paw up and down his cheek.

“She misses you.”

“Who?” Wash rasped as he regained his wits. “Zoe?”

“Nope. Zoe knows where you are. She. Serenity. You’re not in your place. But she’s waitin’. Sittin’. Waitin’. The girl flies her when the Captain needs it done, but she misses her boy and is waitin’ on him. Patient for him always.”

Wash stared at her, stunned. He knew he wasn’t the only one who’d let the ship acquire her own personality and attachments in his head, but River’s words made him realize how much he missed her too. He was on her, but wasn’t in his place.

All he remembered of Inara was her singing softly to him, her voice lilting up and down beautifully, and when he’d groggily rolled his head towards her, she’d looked up from the tatters of his shirt that she’d somehow gotten the blood out of and was mending. She’d smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow and upper chest and given him a couple sips of water. He wasn’t much close with Inara, but she had a sweet humanity and intelligence to her that made him like her anyway appreciate her presence.

The incident with Kaylee was by far the most amusing and embarrassing. He’d been bedridden for almost a week and gorram sick and tired of using a bedpan to relieve himself. Wash wasn’t a big fan of getting naked for anyone but Zoe, even when he worked on the ship or played hoop-ball or walked a planet and it was sweltering, he always kept his pants and at least a wife-beater on. Too many old scars and insecurities. And now he sure Simon, Mal, most likely River and probably Kaylee and Jayne had seen him more naked than he liked to know. Even if Kaylee had already helped him with the bedpan, he didn’t want a repeat, especially when he’d be conscious and lucid.

So he’d struggled and fought his way to a sitting position, whimpered and sweat himself onto his feet and wobbly staggered over to the nearest toilet. Simon and Zoe both would have killed him for even voicing the idea, but Wash was determined to piss in a real toilet like a real man, even if he passed out halfway back to the infirmary. He needed some semblance of dignity and self-reliance back, or he was afraid he’d go nuts. Kaylee had gripped his arms and babbled nervously the whole way, but helped him move nonetheless and even agreed to wait outside the bathroom while he did his business. She made him first promise to not tell anyone she’d assisted in defying the doctor’s orders of complete bed rest, then to promise to leave to door unlocked and to sit on the toilet just in case, but she let him go and kept a watch out for anyone coming down the hall.

Wash had emerged five minutes later, shaky and pale, but grinning broadly. “I’m a man!” he’d crowed happily, his voice almost as strong as it was a week ago. “I pissed all by my little ole self and gorram am I proud! I am officially back in the game!”

Kaylee had laughed, delighted despite the context of the situation, and gave him a loose hug and a kiss on the cheek before dragging him back to the infirmary.

And Zoe. There was no one single memory of Zoe in that blurry and painful first week of Wash’s recovery. She was always present. At his side, squeezing his hand and murmuring in his ear to help him over the bad waves of pain, brushing away the silent tears with her thumbs and stroking his cheeks and shoulders in comfort, combing his hair with her fingers and smiling when he woke up to her, sponging his body clean, shaving his stubble and carefully helping change his bedding, listening to his drug-induced ramblings, and kissing his face, neck and mouth softly whenever she thought one of them needed it.

When she was catching up on sleep or out on a job with Mal, Wash was okay to wait, knowing that someone else would keep him company until she returned, and that she would indeed return. After what happened to him, Wash was convinced that there was no way Shepard’s God would take her away now. Sometimes he worried that his injuries were too much of a strain on her, despite her seemingly endless store of strength, and wished he could make it all better for her, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. Once or twice, in his confusing fever dreams, he’d thought about giving up, letting himself fall asleep for good, just so she could stop worrying and move on, but he was selfish and couldn’t imagine a world or heaven where he didn’t have her close, loving him.

Shifting in the newly repaired pilot’s seat, Wash slipped his hand under his shirt and gingerly fingered the wound that was almost a scar now. It’d been a month since the attack and though it was still red and angry, it was more or less healed now. The scar on the front of his chest was about two inches in diameter, the one on his back slightly smaller since the harpoon had been tapered. The flesh was still tender, and the ribs that Simon had rebuilt still ached and stabbed at his lung sometimes. It wasn’t continuous pain anymore, but Mal still saw fit to appoint him to co-pilot while River took the controls under his watchful eye. Jayne growled and snapped whenever he tried to help lift crates, drive the mule, or asked to get in on the hoop-ball game, Simon still gave the occasional lecture about overdoing it, and Zoe gave him death glares whenever he ended up needed one of the lectures.

Which was another reason Wash loved being on the bridge late at night when everyone else had gone to bed and Serenity was asleep for the night on autopilot. He could sit back in his trusty old chair and stare out at the black without dealing with the worries of the rest of the crew. He loved them – hard-headed Mal, brutish Jayne, elusive Inara, eager Kaylee, awkward Simon and River the oddball – all of them. They were his family just as much as Zoe was. But being alone was good too. It let him be quiet and contemplative without having to keep up with any games or conversations in which his smart-mouth and easygoing nature were required to make an appearance.

Tonight he was thinking about Shepard Book. He’d been a truly and utterly good man if Wash had ever met one. He’d liked Shepard’s rich, calming voice, easy sense of humour and warm stories. When he would come up on the bridge at night to visit Wash, they’d mostly just sit quietly and stare out at the stars together. Sometimes they’d get into the stories and jokes and laughing uproariously until Mal yelled at them to shut up or Zoe came to retrieve her husband for bed, but mostly they were quiet.

Sometimes though, Shepard would talk quietly about God, maybe read a passage or two. Wash would listen and ask questions, usually about dinosaurs and where they fit in, but also about being a good soul and what might be in store for their motley crew after death too. And though he didn’t quite get a lot of it, Wash knew the Shepard like talking about God and redemption and heaven the same way he liked talking to Serenity and about the stars and flying. It was reassurance for a wandering soul.

Wash missed the man. His very presence had been a reassurance for the whole crew and the way he’d died had been cruel and wasteful. When he wasn’t dreaming about Reavers and Niska and his long, dank childhood and getting harpooned and Zoe maybe not making it back okay one day, he dreamt about landing on Haven and finding the bodies of their friends, people who’d sheltered them and shared their bonfire and good food and stories. It was just hard some days thinking about all the friends and loved ones they’d all lost over the years.

Sometimes Wash wondered. Wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have survived. He believed himself to be a halfway decent human being and a good pilot, and tried his very best to be everything Zoe needed him to be, but there were a lot a good people on Haven. Better people. People who didn’t hang out thieves and murderers and good-for-nothings, who didn’t assist in illegal operations and plunder from anyone to sell to anybody. Surely one of them deserved survival more than him…?

Suddenly Wash shivered. He liked the black and darkened bridge at night, the cool air and solitude, but he’d let himself get carried with his thoughts on the Shepard. He wanted to be with Zoe now: curl up with her under their warm, heavy blankets, maybe make love, and get some hopefully nightmare-free sleep. He eased himself out of the pilot’s chair with a groan, double-checked the ship’s course and stats, rearranged his dinos a little and gingerly made his way down to the bunks level.

His and Zoe’s bunk was furthest down the hall, with an empty room separating them from the rest so they wouldn’t disturb anyone with their nightly activities and while he was glad for the extra little measure of privacy, he was sore, cold and tired now and just wanted to be in bed already. The pain wasn’t too bad, but he sure did wear out easy these days.

As he carefully made his way down the ladder, on hand one the rungs, the other wrapped firmly around his chest to ease some of the dull ache, he heard a noise he wasn’t sure he’d ever before in his life. Crying. From Zoe.

Wash stood at the bottom of the ladder for a moment, frozen with shock. Zoe was sitting in the corner of the room, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her head on her knees, crying harshly. He’d seen Zoe cry before, but those were silent tears shed in the dark while he held her and whispered gentle reassurances. Not this. This was full-out, broken-hearted sobbing. Wash stared at her, stunned. It appeared she hadn’t even heard him coming down the ladder, military training or no, because when he finally took a clumsy, unsure step forward and said her name softly, her body jerked and she looked up, startled and angry.

“Zo’?” Wash tried again kneeling slowly in front of her. “Baby, are you alright? What’sa matter?”

Zoe rubbed at her cheeks to get rid of the tears clinging to her beautiful skin and gave him a defiant, level look.

“Nothing. I’m fine, dear. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Wash stood, trying to hide the wince that went with the move, and held out his hands to her. She stared at them for a minute, then said in a hushed voice, “Will I hurt you?”

“Naw. I’m unstoppable, ‘member?” He grinned and wriggled his fingers for her to take them.

But she just looked up at his face sadly. “I’ll hurt you, Wash.”

She stood on her own, but before Wash could really let himself be hurt by it, she stepped close and wrapped her arms around his waist and lay her head against his shoulder. He hugged her back and asked quietly, “What were ya cryin’ for, huh? You see Jayne comin’ outta the showers without a towel? ‘Cause when I did last week, I started cryin’ too. Only I crawled under the bed to do it.”

Zoe sighed and Wash felt some of the tension leave her. “No. Thank God. I’m okay. Really, baby. Let’s just go to bed, okay?”

“Zoe…c’mon. Talk to me. Please? I’m still in pain too. You talkin’ makes me feel better.”

She let out a soft sob and pressed her face into the warmth of his shoulder, breathing in his smell of disinfectant, worn cotton and cold air. “Oh gorram it, bao bei. You’re still in pain…?”

Wash tried to backtrack desperately. “No. No, no, sweet-pants. I’m okay, I swear. It-it aches sometimes, when I’m tired or whatever, but it’s okay, really.”

Zoe lifted her head up, which didn’t take much considering he only had two inches on her, and gave him the saddest look he’d ever seen on her face. She’d never looked so lost before and Wash was floundering for what to do next.

He loved being able to support her, to be the warm body and loving soul she came home from a job or gun fight to, the man she loved and trusted completely, the one who really got her smile, chuckle, laugh – hell, out right giggle – but usually she was so strong herself. Sure, he comforted her after nightmares, kissed away all her doubts and fears about what they did and who they did it to, about the Serenity Valley, about being a good mother some day. But he’d never really had to reassure her about his own presence. His blatant devotion and admiration had always kind of spoken for itself. Even when she’d been the first to say ‘I love you’, him saying it back, the very act of speaking the words, had been enough for her because she knew first-hand how honest and truthful he was with her.

“Tell me something good, Wash. Something to make me feel better. Make me feel like we’re going to be okay.”

Wash sighed and shook his head slightly. “I don’t-I don’t…Uh, well…When I was little, living on that shit-hole planet I grew up on, when my dad was still alive, he’d look at our filthy slum, our forever grey sky, at my…my mother, my hard-hearted brother, and he’d say ‘if ya can’t fix it, you stand it’.”

Zoe squeezed her eyes shut listened silently. He barely mentioned his father, even less so than his unhappy mother and cruel, bullying brother, but it was clear when he did that he had nothing but love and awe for the man who’d told long, funny stories about the stars and other worlds – some real, some not – and who’d encouraged his youngest to follow his dreams of flying away. Who’d died in a factory explosion when Wash was twelve. Zoe knew Wash had once dreamed that when he left his lonely, pollution filled childhood he’d have his father by his side, and it’d hurt him deeply when Edwin Washburn had been taken away so suddenly. Just as suddenly as she’d almost lost Wash himself.

“But,” Wash continued gently, “I gettin’ fixed, baby. Slowly but surely, I’m gettin’ better. We don’t gotta stand it much longer, I promise.”

“No,” Zoe said fiercely, opening her eyes to glare at him. Wash blinked and looked startled at her rage, but not afraid. That gave her the courage to continue. Gripping his shoulders tightly and pulling him close, she said, “I can stand this, Wash. I can stand seeing you hurt and in pain. I can stand your tears and my own. I can stand watching you sit co-pilot and moving careful-like and having to be gentle in bed every time now. I can stand all that. ‘Cause you’re still here. Still here to make your bad jokes and snipe about Mal and get in bitchy fights with Jayne at wildly inappropriate times and make me wait to have a baby and to worry too much about me going out on a job and getting hurt. If…if you weren’t here at all…that’s what I couldn’t fix or stand, bao bei.”

Wash studied her for a long moment, then said softly, “My jokes aren’t bad. My jokes are amazing. Mind-blowing, insightful and cutting. Yet affectionate. I have never made a bad joke in my life, Zo’.”

Zoe let out a laugh that almost sounded like a sob and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “See?” she mumbled against his lips, his smile. “Wildly inappropriate times.”

He chuckled and pulled her as close as he could while still keeping his mouth against hers. Held her as tightly as he could without hurting himself.

“Better?” he whispered tentatively. “’Cause I am.”

“With you? Yes. I just…It all just caught up with me, I guess…I love you, Wash.”

“I love you too, Zoe. And I’m gonna stay with you. I’m always gonna be here to stand it all with you, tryna fix whatever I can.”

She smiled slow and nodded. “I know. You’re my man. Even if you are goofy in the head.”

“Damn straight, lambie-toes.”

He’d had enough of the stars and black for tonight. He had his beautiful warrior woman of a wife in his arms. That was all he needed for reassurance and warmth now.