Wash is always the first to say his heart belongs to Zoë and, though she just smiles, she knows it to be true.

It was the only thing she really wanted, after the war, from the moment she saw it all shiney and bright, seemingly unflawed, like a ruby pulsing in a junk shop window. It stopped her in her tracks: a simple thing of such extraordinary beauty, and she desired it with all her heart.

Zoë’d never wanted for much, and after she joined up never thought to hope for more than a dry kip, bite of mess and clear aim, though, eventually, she stopped hoping even for that.

And even after things were healed and moving on she looked for nothing more than she got: dry kip, bit of mess, clear aim … then Wash – weird, wacky, wonderful Wash, wanting her more than any other wonder the world had to hold, so much it made her cry though no one really knows this but him.

Wash is always the first to say his heart belongs to Zoë and, though she just smiles, she knows it’s true, and she keeps it zealously, gently, beating right next to her own.