All Firefly characters are property of Joss Whedon and Fox; just playin’.

At Amdobell’s behest, here is part 2 of 3 in the little ficlet series which starts with Not Forgotten. This one is from Mal’s perspective. Hope you like! All feedback is welcome and helpful.

"Risen" by Nina Clark 21/9/08

The smell of bread baking. Images flooded densely upon themselves. His ma, her rough workers hands kneading dough, flour strewn on a board, then caught by the rolling mass. A precious resource not to be taken for granted, she would say. The glow of the stove as he knelt expectantly on the kitchen floor before the great machine, soaking up the warmth and the aroma. The dappled light through the window from the apple tree in the yard, casting fragmented shadows on the table. The basket, empty and ready, lined with a small cloth, darned in some forgotten way.

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The smell of bread baking. Mal awoke groggily, his hand numb underneath his head. He mumbled something incoherently, blinked twice and closed his eyes once more. Just a little longer. Breathing in deeply, he smelt it again. It was unmistakable. Yawning into a stretch, he arose from the bed, looking around the small room. He wandered over to the bed nearest the window, noting the neat hospital corners of the bedspread, and drew the curtain back. The sun was high in the sky; it must be nearly lunchtime. Don’t remember the last time I overslept, he thought. Huh.

Having splashed his face with water from the sink in the communal bathroom, he tossed on a shirt and a pair of fatigues and strolled downstairs. As he came nearer the origin of the enchanting scent he heard the sound of amicable conversation. Entering the kitchen, he found Zoë seated at the long table in the centre of the room, sipping from a steaming mug.

“You talkin’ to yourself?” he stared at her quizzically, for the room was apparently empty but for his friend.

“Morning Sir. Finally roused, did you? Was beginning to think you were gonna sl