Fortune Cookie

by Autumnburn

Zoe is digging through her closet when she finds it. She had been looking for a particular pair of shoes – Mal had just informed her that they were meeting a contact at a glitzy lounge, and she’s sure she owns a pair of dress shoes, or at least she has at some point during her time on Serenity. But for such a small area, her closet is frustratingly unforthcoming. She’s crouching beneath the hanging shirts and vests, riffling through the assorted junk on the floor when she knocks against the clothing above her. That’s when she finds it. A small piece of paper flutters down from its home in the pocket of a garish Hawaiian shirt.

Zoe’s first impulse is to brush it aside, but the tiny print catches her eye. She picks it up, reads it – and a memory washes over her senses, immersing her in a night she had all but forgotten:

They were planet side, and the whole crew of Serenity was gathered at a dingy Chinese buffet. It was after a mission - a good one if Zoe recalls correctly – one of the rare missions where no one got shot and they were only double-crossed once. They got paid, and they had some spare time, so there was no hurry to get back to Serenity. The cheery red and gold paper lanterns outside the restaurant had caught their eyes, and hunger and good moods had made them all agree to eat at the same place for once.

The table was a tad small for their group, but they made room as best they could. She and Wash took the brunt of the tight fit – they ended up all but sharing a chair, while Jayne got more elbow room than the rest combined. Inara looked as poised as ever, even sandwiched between Book and River (and even as the latter played a precarious balancing game with an egg roll and a bowl of wonton soup.)

Wash loved the spicy entrees – the General Tzao’s chicken and beef with pepper - and so the aromas of his loaded plate tickled Zoe’s nostrils. The two of them were scrunched together, their shoulders and arms brushing up against each other constantly throughout the meal. He poured her a bit more sake and whispered a joke in her ear, something about Mal and the waitress and she chuckled as they both received a death glare from the captain.

At some point she had snatched a piece of chicken from his plate with her chopsticks, teasing him about his slow reaction time. ‘Sure you should be piloting, Mister, what with reflexes like a dead man?’ He had nipped at her nose in retaliation, smiling, not caring who saw. He never cared who saw.

The bill had come eventually, along with fortune cookies. Prompted by Kaylee, they read their fortunes aloud, finding every possible reason to laugh in those small phrases of wisdom. When it was Wash’s turn, the table erupted in raucous laughter upon hearing his fortune. “I guess whoever made these never met you,” Jayne snarked. And Wash laughed too, as he tucked the fortune into his shirt pocket, because Wash didn’t mind the teasing. He never missed a chance find humor in anything, even – no, especially – himself.

The burn of tears in her eyes is unexpected as she stares at the fortune clutched in her hand. Wash showed her how to smile again after the war. He’s also showing her grief like a knife in her chest, but she is no stranger to grief. It will get easier. It has to. Glancing one last time at the scrap of paper before slipping it into her own pocket, she reads: Life is too short to be little