Who: Wash & Zoe What: a reunion! of sorts. Zoe got aged up and so they're married again. When: after this (so, backdated to sometime around December 29th) Where: Wash's apartment. Warnings: it's tame and mostly happy. Some heavier emotions in the narrative.
Two in the morning. Wash was used to being woken at early hours, so within moments of realizing his phone was beeping, he was mostly awake. By the time he'd realized who was texting him-- and even more importantly, why-- every bit of grogginess had disappeared.
He had slept in a comfortable shirt and sweats, and momentarily contemplated changing before deciding against it. Zoe remembered him now; it wasn't going to matter. All the same, he glanced at himself in the mirror to make sure he hadn't let himself go too much since he'd been living without his wife. His hair was a bit mussed and he'd acquired a six o'clock shadow-- between being sick himself, being worried about Carol, and being stuck on Earth again, he'd been busy and stressed recently-- but otherwise, he didn't think he was much the worse for wear.
Of course, if she'd remembered the point at which he'd died (a fact he'd picked up from River's ramblings and then promptly ignored without verifying the details) then even the sight of him in a mustache would be a welcome one.
That left only the question of how happy he was allowed to be to see her. She remembered marrying him, but did that mean she was the Zoe who'd lived through it? Would she consider herself his wife now? These were questions he had never thought he'd have to worry about, and yet, ever since he'd arrived here he'd been doing almost nothing else. (Was it unfaithful to even think about this version of his wife, since she was younger and didn't remember him? He still didn't know the answer to that.)
He was pacing right behind the door, and heard or maybe sensed her approach. He opened the door before she could even knock or try to turn the knob, and stared at her. This was obviously not just about the memories. She had somehow grown older, too, apparently overnight.
Still not entirely certain where that left them, or if this was even really happening, he stayed still, but said quietly, "Zoe?"
--
Her head was still reeling, whether from the pounding bolus of memories that had ripped themselves forward from who knew where in space, or the stretching and minute changes of skin and sinew that accompanied five years of aging that the best overnight cream a companion could hope for couldn't have stopped. But she had been awake for some time, convincing herself she was real, convincing herself this all was.
Zoe ordinarily would have had no reason to doubt herself or her memories, except that this time, she wondered if she had wanted it too much. She would never have admitted loneliness. But it had been months since Mal had left, leaving her to pick up and keep moving forward essentially alone; keeping his crew together out of some sense of space and loyalty even as a wildly different world tried to pull them away. She'd never actually done this alone.
It was a crew, but not quite a family. She had watched their series, seen the friendships, the love, a different side of herself that she'd never imagined she'd wanted and knew it could be. It was hard to think that she was the reason they weren't. The group, particularly the man who warmed her heart, were too bright to look at without being blinding. Few knew the emotional depths of Zoe Washburne--Alleyne?--including apparently Zoe.
She had taken the time to clean herself up before coming over, a shot of liquor to chase the nerves that told her she had convinced herself that a few lines on her face and images in her head were the connection she had heard of but not felt. Another swig couldn't silence that the memories might not change a thing but at least drove her into the hall.
She steeled herself as if she were preparing for a job, and straightened her spine waiting by the door. But when Wash opened the door: there, groggy, and a little rounder than she remembered him, Zoe didn't worry about the maybes. Her arms moved around him and her face buried in the crook of his neck.
At least she belonged somewhere.
--
When her arms went around him, all of Wash's questions and worries were forgotten as well. It had been months since he'd held his wife-- longer than he cared to try to calculate at the moment-- but he hadn't forgotten the solid warmth of her strong body, nor the scent of her skin. His arms immediately went around her in turn, one hand moving to stroke her hair as the other curled into her shirt.
"Hey there, sweetheart," he said lightly, softly. The term of endearment almost felt foreign on his tongue after censoring himself for so long; he was afraid he might be a little rusty. But that was probably nothing compared to how strange this must feel to her. He decided against saying that he'd missed her, although he had. Terribly.
When he could bear to lift his hand from her head, he moved it blindly to close the door behind her, still holding onto her with one arm. Once it was shut, he wrapped the second arm back around her, returning the embrace with renewed energy.
He was fairly certain this wasn't a dream. It felt entirely real, and the physical contact made him feel more relaxed, content, and warm than he'd had in months. Turning his head, he was unable to resist kissing the sliver of her cheek that was available. He ran one hand halfway down the length of her spine and then back up again, offering comfort, but not trying to coax her into coming out of the hiding place she'd found in the crook of his neck. In the back of his mind, he wasn't sure he was ready for the conversation that was surely coming. So far as he was concerned, this warm and simple moment could drag on as long as it liked.
--
Zoe was an amazon, a battleship, and an indomitable mountain of determination, but on a deeper level, Wash had long ago become the source of that strength. She wasn't sure she could let go of that. She hadn't gone through anything so dramatic as losing him, though there a vague awareness that if everything else of the series had held true, she might yet and soon. But the surge of love, memory, and proximity warred deeply with the isolation, uncertainty, and directionlessness that she had kept bottled for months. It was longer than she would admit before she was able to pull herself from that.
She didn't entirely unentangled when she loosened her grip and that was okay. Her hip shifted to press against his, replacing contact for contact as she studied him with the same familiar curiosity she could feel in his face. It was nice here against him, it was perhaps more surprising she hadn't forgotten that than it's discovery.
Zoe's hand reached up and rested, fingers curled against Wash's cheek. She smiled at him, before looking down with almost a bashful huff. It would figure, so much to say, and this was where they were. But if there were too many words for even someone like her man, Zoe didn't stand a chance. She nodded and glanced back over. "Hey there yourself."
--
It didn't surprise him that Zoe wasn't quite ready to start the conversation, either. All that armor she wore made it difficult for sentiments to come through in words, and that was doubly--triply-- true at at the age she'd been yesterday. By the time she'd looked like this, she should have had a good while to get used to the concept of being forthcoming with him, but now she'd somehow gotten all that time condensed into-- what? Hours? Minutes? Had the change been instantaneous? Did it even really matter as long as she was able to cope with it?
Ultimately, out of all the questions and emotions running through his mind, concern for Zoe won out.
"Are you alright?" he asked, softly. His movements mirrored hers with the ease of long practice, shifting to allow the loosening of their mutual grip on each other, one hand lifting to rest his fingertips lightly against her temple. Approximately where he imagined a headache might be forming, either from the physical and mental experience itself or from any ensuing confusion.
At least, the longer he looked at her, the more his own confusion was dissipating. No matter how it had happened, she had somehow inexplicably turned back into the woman he'd been with before he'd arrived here. Or maybe a slightly older version, as she'd said, although it was difficult to tell when her face was already older than it had been last time he'd seen it.
And because he was wondering about it, he supposed he might as well ask. Unsettling as this conversation might turn out to be, he wanted to get past it so that they could get on with the more fun part of familiarizing themselves with one another again. "What's the last thing you remember?"
--
It was a moment of promised peace, all too familiar that made her want to linger. But she was awake and this was her moment. A reflex from a lifetime of battle, she didn't settle easily. It was late, sleep had been rough and interrupted by the Tesseract, and she'd regret it in the swiftly coming morning, but she was awake.
She thought about what to say: that the Alliance was after River and Simon, that Mal was needlessly rattling their cage to catch Inara's attentions, that a simple job'd become bigger and messier than anticipated. It didn't narrow it down much to when and where.
She turned to look at him, hands to smooth the cotton collar of his rumpled t-shirt. She could tell what he was asking, neither of them had experienced the shadow looming over Serenity; neither of them had talked about it these past few months. But she had known for some time. He'd have to eventually, but he didn't tonight. "That you fly like a maniac, dear."
"Bùyòng dānxīn, wǒmen ànzhào yīgè fēngzi." She pressed her lips to his forehead, relishing the normalcy of this man beside her, trying to savor it for as long as it would last. "You want to take this to bed?"
She was awake, but that didn't mean they couldn't find something to do.
--
That got a laugh, equal parts relief and amusement. If their differing points in timeline didn’t matter to Zoe, then Wash was just as happy to put them aside. He was willing to follow her lead in this, as he had in so many other situations. It was only her opinion of whether it mattered that made any difference to him, anyway. In many ways, she was his Captain more than Mal was, but since she followed Mal so loyally, the two were often indistinguishable.
Here, it was going to make things more complicated, since he’d also chosen to follow SWORD. Especially since the acquisition of a spaceship and the subsequent crippling of one of its leaders, Wash felt all the more attached to them. He wondered vaguely if Zoe could be convinced to join, if only for the prospect of joining him in space. It had been enough for him to stick with Serenity. But that was a question for another time.
And in answer to her final question, he pressed the palm of his hand against her cheek and leaned in close, until their foreheads touched. He brushed his lips lightly over hers, and said with a smile, “We do have a few hours to kill before your next run.”