3

She didn't need to close her eyes to see him and be with him, yet she followed what had become a ritual in the few short weeks since Wash had died. Whenever she needed to escape from the tormenting image of Wash dying, which haunted nearly her every waking hour, she retreated to their bunk, closed and locked the hatch.

She took off her leathers and boots, stowed and checked her weapons -- making sure she had some security at arms reach. She rinsed her face and hands, each time staring intently at her face to see - she didn't know what. Maybe that she was somebody else and Zoe Washburne was in some other where, still happy, still with her man.

She lay down on the too-wide bed, making sure not to catch her curls underneath her body.  Breathing deeply, resting her hands with her long fingers pressed together at the tips, steepled over her belly she closed her eyes and willed Wash to come to her.

Eyes closed, she saw and felt herself standing inches from where she lay.

"Baby?"

"I'm here, ," Hoban Washburne's voice resonated in her head.  She had found she could hear him like this since they'd left that moon.  Seemed she could almost hear it with her own ears.  The sound was so real. The Zoe who stood beside the bed turned, and there he was - face pale and lively; goofy, spiky hair a mess. Tacky Hawaiian shirt open revealing one of her military-order undershirts over worn flight pants. He stepped toward her, the one of her who stood in the middle of the room, and twining one arm around her waist and the other across her shoulders and into he hair, pulled her into a kiss.

Zoe imagined she felt-no, what she felt seemed real, was real. Her heart raced, unsure if her sensations swam up from memories, dream or some mystical reality she'd never believed in. She felt his left arm, which was wrapped around her body, slide up her back; felt his fingers as they grasped the ends of her hair and tugged with gentle insistence, slide over her shoulder-blades and bump across her leather choker up into the tight curls at the nape of her neck to join it's partner tangled in her hair. She shivered from that touch and from the ghost of the day he fastened the slim leather cords on her neck-the cords she had not worn since the funeral. And the one of her on the bed not seeing all this, well maybe it was not so far-fetched that she felt his touch as if he were there.

Zoe purred, vibrating her lush, thick lips against her husband's thinner-yet-busy ones. "Mmmmm, baby. That feels so nice."

Wash nipped her lip and Zoe let out a yelp.

"I love this part. I get to show off my musicalness and make you sing." Wash kissed her again as he walked her backwards until she bumped into the vertical ladder that descended from the hatch. Zoe pulled back from him and raised an eyebrow.

"I s'pose I'm S'POSED t'be knowin' the words to this song?"

"That's right. The words are easy enough: , Wash, take me now, O God, harder, yes," he deadpanned the words while he ran one hand down the front of her body, and back up to circle over her breast. He identified the most sensitive spot and firmly pinched the hardened nub through the fabric of her shirt, both deliberate and gentle, receiving a loud gasp in reward. "See, sweetie? You already know the tune...."

Grasping her ponytail with his left hand, he angled her face upward as he kissed a trail along her jaw to her throat as low purr growled it's way back up her throat and into his ear. With his right, he reached down and stroked between her legs.

"Somebody's gonna be doin' some laundrin'," he told the dimple above her collarbone. She knew he was right, feeling the deep, internal ache even as the wetness spread.

"Make me sing, husband"

Zoe-on-the-stair clasped both hands behind Wash's head and brought his mouth forcefully to hers. She always marveled at how his thin lips kept pace with hers, which were monumentally full. His tongue traced the contour of the inside of her upper lip, then dipped into her mouth, teasing and dancing with her tongue, She folded her tongue around his and sucked, causing her husband to press his hips against her thigh and grind his desire into her, right hand still stroking her pants at the crotch.

Wash unfastened Zoe's pants, while she lifted her shirt over her head. As the pants rolled down her hips, she felt lips kiss the path they took while she wrestled her hair and arms free. Wash was naked and fully prepared. He smiled at Zoe, eyes full of love and heat, and placed a hand on either hip, angling her bottom forward for better access.

"Looks like John Thomas is eager t' go explorin'."

Zoe reached up wrapping an arm around each side of the ladder and opened her legs, inviting him home. Wash took his clue and entered her, only to be caught fast by her powerful caramel limbs. He explored her all right, first teasing between her folds, then forcing through her tightness, finally sliding to the hilt. He paced their rhythm while Zoe sang the words to the song he had taught her.

Sometime later, her voice hoarse and spent, she clung cuddling her husband as he massaged her belly and lost himself in her exotic brown almond-shaped eyes.

"Did ya like my singin'?" she crooned into his ear.

"Me...and likely all else's racked in their bunk," Wash ducked his head too slow to avoid the playful smack that caught him.

"You had me tunin' like-I don't know.... What sings pretty, Wash, somethin' exotic I reckon...like parrots?"

Wash pulled back and studied her, blue eyes sparkling and golden hair spiked about his face, picking up and tossing back the glow from the dim florescent lights. He traced a small circle on her belly and lightly poked it's center.

"Like earth that was? The earth was always singing praises to the morning sun. Am I your morning sun, Zoe?"

A sob caught in the throat of the supine figure, while the woman on the stair shook her head, scattering back the false glints of light and the lingering passion with the sweep of her ponytail.

"That sun set," they said in one voice.

"Sunrise and sunset don't matter in the black." Wash sounded perturbed and less distinct.

"It matters when your sun's the one been set and I'm left here jus' settin'," Zoe's voice held a faint tremor and sounded something of a whine to it and all that was a warrior in herself recoiled in shock, shame and disgust.

"I'm still here, sweetie. I'll never leave you." The hand, so real only moments before, pressed weightlessly against her sternum for emphasis.

" But you did.  Your gone! Now, all I see is you and that harpoon and then me, here. Gorramit!" The woman on the bed sat up and shouted at the couple on the ladder, eyes still closed. She flopped back onto the bed, noticing as she turned her head from side to side in frustration that the cover was soaked with her tears. The woman on the stair reached up to turn her husband's head back to face her, but her hand moved through the image. He turned eyes wide as the universe to her, a sad smile tracing his lips.

Defeated, Zoe whispered, "Wash, I want to be with you. I can't go on with out you."

"Zoe, it ain't your time.  Where I am now, I can be your inspiration and your comfort, but I can't be your shield. You gotta do that on your own."

Zoe watched herself turn away from him.

"Zoe," Wash's tone had changed, and he had turned from her other self to face her true self, her-that-was-on-the-bed watching with the eye of inner sight, "did you find the gift I left for you?" She shook her head and watched the other's ponytail mimic her movements, sweeping grief and loss throughout the room. The image of the harpoon filled her mind as her eyes spilled tears.

Wash rolled his eye's and his face got that look he saved for Jayne or when other folks were being dense, and muttered mostly to himself, "I showed you right where it was." He paused, shook his head and continued.

"Baby, you can't be stuck in that spot, you have to move. There's nothing back there for you. 

" there ain't nothing here for me!"

"No, you can't think that! Everything you've ever wanted lies ahead of you. Remember me as I was before and as you see me here and now."

"What here and now, Wash? You ain't even really here."

"No, I'm dead, but I'm really with you. I'm always with you, but its time for me to go."

And she was alone.

Zoe sat up on the bed and looked wildly around the bunk, while from deep in her throat her grief roared out.

"NOOOoooo...," and she collapsed into the wasteland of hysterical tears.

--*--

Zoe started awake. Disoreinted, she checked her location - bunk. Weapon? -- at arm's reach. Time? -- no idea. She got up and went to the lav, pulled out the drawer console, opened the tap and splashed her face. Her most recent visitation trickled back through the fog of sleep. Wash.

"Girl, this madness can't continue - you need to see to yourself," she told her puffy-eyed, slack jawed reflection. She pressed the console closed with her foot. Centering herself in the small open space, she recited a warrior mantra, then put herself through a short, rigorous exercise routine.

Dripping sweat, she stripped off her clothes - smirking bitterly at the fact that she did, indeed need to wash what she'd been wearing - and slid into a clean set from the sparse lounge items she allowed herself to own - loose rust pants and a brown print top. Wash had been particularly fond of these. She laced into her boots and grabbed a small gun that she kept fitted into a boot-rigged holster.

"Ain't you a girlified site." She laughed at the combination of weapons and plush.

The notion of wearing the soft, loose garments, contrasted with the gun, but she was still first officer of a ship that faced no end of trouble at every turn. She slipped her knife into her other boot. A woman had to be ready for anything.

Determinedly, Zoe climbed the ladder up to the hatch, released it and headed for the bridge to look for River.