Disclaimer: All works cited herein are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th C. Fox, Universal Motion pictures. Written for fun, not profit.

Notes: All constructive criticism is appreciated.

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Red Rocket, White Candle

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On some rudimentary level, it was beautiful. There were mountains in the distance, tuape and lavender with the sunset. The ground they stood on was hard and rocky. They flanked three tombstones in small groups. It was almost enough to know that they loved enough to bury. Still though, that didn't take away the ache of burying. And it didn't soothe the pain of being without one of their own. Mr. Universe had been a friend. Not enough of a friend that they knew his name, but a friend. Shepherd Book had been a friend, too. Not enough of a friend that they knew who to contact to say he was gone, but a friend none the less. A personal friend to each of them.

But Wash. Wash had been one of them. More than a friend, better than a brother. A lover and a confidant and a helper and a pilot and a man. It was just plain hard to deal with the idea that he was the only one of them who hadn't lived through the sortie between the Alliance and the Reavers. Each and every one of them had their own miracle to talk of. Jayne's gut wound would've killed a weaker man. The cut on Zoe's back had been centimeters from her spine, but she walked tall. Kaylee had taken drugged darts in the throat-- should have been paralyzed, or mute, or worse. Another gut wound for Simon that had inexplicably driven only into soft, muscley tissue. Inara with only a bow and arrow and her wits between the front line and her half-covered body. Mal in the fight of his life and River the fight that should have been her death a hundred times over. No one had asked how she could know all those moves in advance but still have given no warning, no hint that their pilot would be killed.

So they had come here to bury Wash. Praising him would wait for a day when the wounds were healed some, the gri