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Zoe waits a full month before going to see Simon. By this time she's sure herself, but there are still factors to rule out: grief, diet, the shocking difference of living without a constant adrenaline high.
In that month, making double-sure before going to Simon, Zoe practices cataloguing her body. It's no great difficulty: she's a hired gun; she's made it through a war. She's lived with no certainty but her body and its limitations, and this has given Zoe an ability to be aware from her soles to her crown.
Both her soles and her crown, however, are normal, no matter how often she checks in. It's the centre that is suddenly new ground.
They're at Haven, the ship grounded. Mal is out with Book; Simon, River, and Inara are asleep; Jayne and Kaylee are singing campfire songs. Wash and Zoe have the ship to themselves.
"I'm gonna make noise," Wash says gleefully. "Lots of noise. You think that blue's my normal sex-face, but wait 'till you see what I'm like when I don't have to consider Jayne listening in next door."
"I know what you're like, sweetie," Zoe grins, looking up at him from under lowered lids. "You're very good at making things fly."
There's more, of course -- there's the immense comfort of love; there's the ease having a partner who knows exactly where to tap, flick, kiss, lick, scratch -- but mostly, afterwards, Zoe remembers that there was laughter. Giggles, even. And at the point when they're locked together, giggles gone, Wash kisses her with fierce joy on his face and Zoe thinks that Book must be right, there must be a God, and there can't be anything better than this.
When they're repairing Serenity and trying to patch up themselves (after Miranda, after everything), Zoe spends some time reconsidering the God part. Her skin aches; her mouth aches; there's no soothing to be found. She cries silently at night, everyone else asleep, her throat burning and raw with the effort of holding the noise in. She spends days making herself move, even starts working out with Jayne for the sake of action. She tackles all the projects that Mal wanted to finish sometime, tightens every single loose bolt, does upgrades on the second shuttle. When Mal scrounges up a new job (moving plants and hydroponics to a new colony), Zoe immediately volunteers for the bulk of the work. It's soothing to be in the cargo bay surrounded by green: watering, fertilizing, clipping. She even sings when no one's around.
And it's there, thinking about plants and oxygen and growth and death, that Zoe finally realizes the thing that grief had kept her from noticing. The huge thing. The hugest thing that ever she and Wash had disagreed on, suddenly shouting for attention.
Simon's eyes shutter as soon as Zoe explains why she's come to see him. She gets it -- the sudden distance -- he's afraid for her, doesn't want to encourage hope if there's nothing to hope about; doesn't want to react before he knows how she feels about it. He goes into the most bedside of all his manners, and they do the necessary tests behaving for all the world like it's routine, like he's just patching up another contusion or knife cut.
Since the infirmary has all the necessary equipment to process the samples, however, the cool, detached, this-is-routine act lasts all of ten minutes. Zoe is lying on one of the cots when Simon turns back from the viewscreen, his eyes wide.
"I'm pregnant," Zoe says.
Simon exhales. "Yes."
It's only been a month, though. It's not far enough to be certain about; Simon won't breathe easy until Zoe's 12 weeks along and the danger of miscarriage lessens. He explains this gently and Zoe nods. Zoe sits. And they stay there together for a minute, quiet.
"I've got work to do," Zoe says, standing.
"Me too," and Simon gets up to walk her out.
Zoe is a stoic. Zoe is a soldier. And both these things get her through the next two months, which are thankfully full of boring jobs with minimal bodily danger. The sudden lack of Federal interest in Serenity & her crew paves the way for all kinds of regular-joe work: a monthly supply run between three outbound moons (paper, water purifiers, spices); postal delivery for rich families nervous about using normal channels, preferring instead to have hired guns ferry their gossip about.
And through it all, though she damps it down and is careful not to think about it, something lightens inside Zoe. The grief is less harsh. There's a warmth, an extra source of light singing in the black. There's possibility, and there would even be delight, but she's not ready yet to think that, can't trust enough yet that this won't be taken away.
But three months pass and Zoe knows the baby (this is new too: she hasn't let herself think the word "baby" until now) is strong and healthy and rooted. Stubborn life. She knows it and Simon knows it too, and as he checks her, they are smiling together.
Mal is terrified, at first, scared out of his skin by his first mate suddenly eating for two. Kaylee fusses like no one has ever fussed. Jayne is protective and enthusiastic. Inara blanches when Zoe first tells her and Zoe laughs, immediately understanding -- sex, of course, being natural and easy for a Companion to discuss; pregnancy being an outcome to be avoided at all costs. Inara recovers and laughs too, and then becomes immensely useful, turning up all kinds of women's lore about the different kinds of morning sickness and what will lessen each.
River smiles dreamily when Zoe tells her, and reaches down behind the flight console to retrieve a package, which she hands over. Zoe opens it with raised eyebrows. Inside is a soft wool blanket. Unfurled, it is a collection of earth-coloured squares, each with a different dinosaur in the middle. Zoe finds herself unable to speak.
"You're welcome," River says, and bends at the waist to kiss Zoe's belly, graceful as a flower.
Six months pass, and no one dies, and Zoe doesn't fall down any stairs or get shot or have to duck shrapnel. They keep flying. Things are easier, there's food on the table at more or less regular intervals, and customers start passing the word on to other customers that Mal Reynolds gets things done. It's not the stuff of thrilling adventure tales, but Zoe kind of likes the pace. She's slower, too, nine months full of baby, and the crew has taken to rotating Zoe-duty to ensure that someone's close by whenever she needs anything. (Zoe suspects there's a roster on paper somewhere, probably in Kaylee's bunk, but nobody ever mentions it.) They're all reading baby books, too -- once, Zoe even caught Jayne in the lounge furrowing his brow over a copy of "What to Expect." She cleared her throat as she walked in, and he looked up.
"Zoe!" falsely cheerful. "How're you doing today, first mate and pregnant lad... eee..." and then his enthusiasm ran out. "I got to go and, well, there's something that - Kaylee!" and Jayne set the book down and scampered out, all the while making a large berth of her and her big tummy.
Later, Zoe overheard him whispering in shocked tones to Kaylee in the engine room.
"You won't believe what birthing looks like!"
"Sure I would," Kaylee rejoins easily, smiling. "I helped my Momma birth my brother, and we had puppies twice."
"Didn't make you vomit?"
"Of course not, ninny! It's amazing -- a new person seein' the sky for the first time, seein' another face... I can't wait."
For the next little while, though, when they talk, Jayne still keeps his eyes firmly on Zoe's eyes and only her eyes. Amused, Zoe reflects that, although massively silly, it's an improvement over the interest he'd been showing in her swelling bosom.
Then comes the day. The Day. End of September, and they're in the world, Glanmore to be specific. Zoe is in the engine room dozing in Kaylee's hammock. River is sitting on the floor next to her, drawing pictures of the crew as bobble-headed dolls. Inara's off with a client; Kaylee's visiting friends; Mal, Jayne and Simon are in town picking up supplies. It's summer in Glanmore, a pastoral planet with enormous amounts of rainfall, and the air breezing through Serenity's open vents is full of leaves and pollen. And dreaming about flowers and pools with waterfalls, and a naked Wash doing cannonballs and splashing Mal, who is wearing a very fine hat, Zoe's labour starts.
She doesn't notice right away, but River does. When Zoe finally starts awake, River is peering intently at the watch she'd recently taken to wearing.
"They're 27 minutes apart. Lots of time."
By the time the others get back to the ship, River has maneuvered Zoe to the lounge, where they were walking around determinedly.
"The cargo bay would've been better," she explains to a bemused Simon, reacting to River's deployment of his tools, "but I wasn't sure if it was needed for work."
"River, we were just getting supplies."
"Jayne wanted a motorcycle and Mal was thinking about taking on a cargo of hay bales. After I realized that, I had to pay attention to Zoe. Didn't check to see if either of them decided."
"There are no haybales. Or a motorcycle." Simon turns to Zoe. "Do you want to go to the cargo bay?"
"This is fine. This will work fine." Zoe puffs. "River's set it up."
And she had, Simon realized, perfectly -- pads for kneeling and sitting, ice to chew on, blankets to lie on, drugs at the ready if Zoe needed pain relief.
"Right then," and both River and Simon, smiling at Zoe, roll up their sleeves.
In total, it takes twelve hours, and Zoe, stoic Zoe, yells like no one had ever heard. Twice Mal bounds in, panic-struck at the sound of his first mate bellowing, and twice River is at the door to meet him, smile reassuringly, turn him around and kick him out. Jayne does the same thing, but only once -- River kicks him out by kicking him, and Jayne decides that crazy people and birthing people is a combination he doesn't wanna be around.
And it was easy, (thank God, thought Simon) smooth, fast, nothing tearing. When Zoe's son finally slides into Simon's hands, a gush of life unexpectedly quick, Simon shouts with happiness, River whoops and flings out her arms with joy and relief, and Zoe breathes deep. And then everything is finished, quickly, Simon doing the necessary cutting and River wiping off the baby and handing him to Zoe. The bloody parts of birth are cleaned away, and Zoe gets fresh clothes and everyone troops in to coo over the baby-- Kaylee pouting at having missed the birth; Inara disarrayed (as Mal points out, smirking) and out of breath from having cut her session short in order to run back and see the baby; Jayne and Mal, for once, equal in their relief that it's over and they didn't have to see any of the squeezing out bits.
He's perfect, of course, mocha-coloured and tiny, with curly dark hair. And when little Benedict opens his eyes to see what the fuss is all about, everyone gasps to see that his eyes are blue blue blue, like the sky.
Like his daddy's.
"Benedict?" asks Mal the next day, sneaking into Zoe's bunk after lunch. She's exhausted still, of course, but doesn't want to close her eyes in case her baby's tiny body is actually made of spun sugar and he melts into the air.
"Yep. It means blessing."
"S'okay if I just call him Ben?" Zoe's put the baby in Mal's arms, and he's holding him gingerly, fascinated but wary.
"Interesting," comments River, swinging down from the door. "Ben and Mal. Bad and good."
"Just as long as no-one's calling him 'Dick'," Jayne remarks, passing the corridor, and then they all laugh, and the baby wakes up and cries, and Kaylee pages Mal to say that there's a wave for him and life starts up again. And Zoe forgives Book finally, who wasn't, she reflects, entirely mistaken about things. The hurts aren't all better, of course, but there's new love to help the old pain and Serenity glows with it.
And that's enough, Zoe thinks, sliding into sleep as River settles in the rocking chair with Ben, to keep her flying.
Please post a comment on this story.
Title: Good, In The Latin
Author: merrily [email]
Details: Standalone | PG | gen | 11k | 01/12/06
Characters: Zoe
Pairings: Zoe/Wash (kind of)
Summary: Life persists, even in the black, even when you're hollow.
(Hint - wouldn't it be nice if _someone_ had a baby?)
Notes: Spoilers for the BDM
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