Disclaimer: all things Firefly/Serenity are the property of Whedon et al. I'm not making any money of this, just playing with the toys.

Set: post-BDM

You were born on a Sunday.

Your ma told me that. She told me near on everything there was to know about you. She smiled so wide when she talked of your finishing secondary school. First one since comin’ to Beylix almost a hundred years ago. The pride on her face shone so bright I swore I was looking at you. Knew at that juncture where your light came from.

But when your father came in, her smile vanished, replaced with tight lips and wrinkled brows. Her hands latched together, knuckles turnin’ white. She looked down to them as her husband crashed through the kitchen, slammin’ glasses and turning faucet knobs so hard they nearly broke.

I nearly broke.

Wasn’t ever one for a whole lotta words, leastways not until Miranda. Made many a speech for that little piece of horror. Found myself now without words, without voice and it scared the go se outta me.

I heard the girl before I saw her peek her head over the kitchen window, brown strands catching the light wind and crossed her face. Brown eyes widened then crinkled like she had some gorramn secret. She ducked and scurried away.

The shaking table brought me back to the here and the man who now sat at it, jaw hard and face harder. His throat gulped at the water loudly and I could see his eyes shut up tight. He finished, dropped the glass and took a deep breath.

I waited for the storm.

“Tomorrow’s the fourteenth,” he said, looking to the woman.

She nodded, knowing what he meant. Her fingers carefully found their way into his hands and he held them tighter’n he held that glass. Pained, sufferin’ eyes found mine and I had to look away.

“You’ll be there,” he said in that voice that left no room for arguing. “Say some words,” his voice hitched, “about my little girl.”

“Yes, sir.” I looked back up. Hadn’t called anyone sir since the war.

He nodded once the