milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

kaylee frye,
wash

(no subject)

Kaylee is currently going fishing.

In her bowl of soup.

For alphabet letters.

Because spelling things out is fun.

She's sitting at a table near the Bar; there are words strung out on a napkin.

Maybe soon there will be a sentence.

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It's like Scrabble! Only soggier.

Over her shoulder: "H-E-I-S...." Mournful, "No Ts? The soup has failed us."

"Wait..."

Kaylee stirs the soup, very, very carefully, peering down at the bowl.

"...there!"

She fishes it out using the tip of her spoon, and pokes it down with the rest of the letters. "There we go." Beaming.

"Dog at night with heist," he reads, deadpan, and nods. "Very poetic. I'd buy it."

"Yeah? What would you do with it then?"

"Whatever it is you do with Very Poetic Things." The captials are audible. "Stitch them onto pillows, carve them onto shiny wood plaques, pass it off as my own work and make millions...."

Wash gets glared at. Mildly. "That ain't very nice, Wash."

Pause.

"That's what collaboration is for."

He tilts his head, gives her a considering look.

"Yes...yes," he muses. "A clever plan. I approve. Bar, can I have some alphabet soup too, please?"

And up pops a bowl.

Wash grins and picks up his spoon, immediately sifting through the pasta letters.

Kaylee giggles.

And pulls out two Es, a S, and a G. "What've you got?"

"I -- hey, look at that."

Kaylee fishes out a Q, with far too much pride.

It's followed by two more E's.

"It's like those...." He snaps his fingers. "Windshield cleaners on hovercrafts. The English word for 'em."

Headtilt.

Staring.

"...squeegee? But we need a U for that."

"We," says Wash, "are poets. We're above obeying the laws of correct spelling and grammar."

Reverently, he lays down his letters.

Kaylee is dubious.

But keeps fishing.

"Just a couple more days."

"Yeah? I don't know, I think it's gonna take that long to find a U."

It's teasing, gently. Wash skims his spoon just over the surface of the soup and presses down, letting it fill without catching any of the letters.

"You're ready. I know you don't think you are, but you are."

Sidelong look.

And, mumbled, "Ready for it all to be over with."

She can't say it to Simon or River. Won't say it to Mal.

He pours the soup out of his spoon, repeats the process once more as Kaylee talks, then lets it fall into the bowl and quirks a small, apologetic smile.

Not speaking, just yet. Listening.

"'M tired of movin' around like we know we're about to step on a gorram landmine."

Kaylee pokes an O with the edge of her spoon, turning it into a pair of Us.

"You're not supposed to feel this way when -- "

And stops talking, abruptly.

Not so much with the smile, anymore.

Much, much more with the apologetic.

Because Wash has tried, when he's been forced into the same room as the Tams, but it's not like it's done any good, or been any real help -- and he almost wishes the landmine would go off at this point. It'd be horrific, but maybe, at least, they'd all be able to breathe.

"It's just...." He sighs. "One of those getting-used-to-each-other things, I think. How many times've we all been together before now? I mean everybody. Ain't been for a while, if at all. And -- " another smile that makes up in wryness what it lacks in size, "awkward family moments are practically tradition."

Kaylee nods, and doesn't say anything. Doesn't really feel like talking any more.

"Sorry. Forget I said anything."

A wince. He bites his lip.

"Can there be mutual forgetting? I'm sorry, Kaylee."

She nods again, too quickly. "Shi a. It -- it'll be over with in a couple days anyhow."

Over with.

'Over with'.

No curse in English, Mandarin, or the tongues of small and fluffy creatures.

None whatsoever.

Silence, for a brief time.

One hand finds her shoulder, the touch light, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"What's more important is what's gonna come after. You and Simon. You're going to have that no matter what else comes up."

Kaylee is quiet for a while. A long while.

When she finally says something, her voice is a little shaky, and she's not looking at Wash. "You gonna be hurt if I get up and go away and pretend everything's fine but really go outside and cry for a while?"

The hand falls away.

Very, very softly: "No."

Maybe a little.

"Duìbùqĭ."

It's when people apologize that it gets bad, because they say it and they say it and it never gets any better. Whether it's a black rose or a bad dream or a family that's broken.
now Jordan's banks, they're red and muddy
Sometimes a thing gets broke.
and the rolling water is wide
It's beastly hard to fix anything.
but I got no boat so I'll be good and muddy
Whether she likes it or not (not), she's crying now. Just a little bit.
when I get to the other side
Kaylee swipes at her eyes, and gives Wash a tremulous smile, and says, "You're not seein' this, right?"

His lips twitch.

"What can I say. Temporary blindness. Runs in the family and pops up at the most inopportune times like, say, right now."

"Then we're shiny."
and when I pass through the pearly gates
Deep breath in. And out.
will my gown be gold instead?
Kaylee pushes her chair back and stands.
or just a red clay robe with red clay wings
"You gonna be okay in here?" She eyes the soup. "Or is it the literary community at large I should be worryin' for?"
and a red clay halo for my head?
It's a lame effort. She's trying.

"Nah, I can find somebody else to restrain me from singlehandedly destroying the entire English language for a little bit."

While she's outside, crying, over her wedding.

Gŏushĭ.

He picks out an 'O', chops it into halves and one of the halves into quarters, and arranges it in the shape of a smiley face.

And then he whispers something to Bar and discreetly pushes the tiny, resulting packet of tissues in Kaylee's direction.

Way to

(And...when folks were nice to you about it, did it make you feel worse, a little?)

almost make her

(It was very hard for me to return to the bar, to make apologies. How, after all, do you apologize for something like that?)

lose it again, Wash.

Barely whispered:

"Thanks."

And then she and the tissues are gone, headed for the lake door. And then the door closes.

Wash watches her go.

He chews his bottom lip.

Then, very carefully, he cuts the smiley face into eight tiny fragments before scooping them up and dumping them back into the bowl.

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