The Moustache Offensive

Spoilers- Out of Gas and Our Mrs. Reynolds, just little things relating to Zoë and Wash.

Disclaimer- Characters and settings belong to the Joss, I merely write to escape my uni woes.

Note- thanks go to Lucas Harper for the title and GrayMatter for the beta-ing.

Translation: O, zhe zhen shi ge huai le de jin zha- Oh, this is a happy development

xxx

Hoban ‘Wash’ Washburne stared at the Firefly docked in front of him with a critical eye. It was old and slightly beat up but the old girl had some class to her. He had to admit, he had a weakness for Fireflies. They flew well, a pilot even half awake could keep one in the air, and the parts for them weren’t all fancy, you could take junk parts and put ‘em in and the things would run forever. They were good for smuggling too; Fireflies had a thousand and one hiding places.

Wash put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He’d been offered plenty of jobs. A couple of people had been actively pursuing him for a while, buying him drinks, women and fancy new doodads. The Alliance had offered him a particularly attractive package. Really attractive, if he didn’t think a little boring. Flying trade ships and cruisers through space, tracking down scavengers and giving them a slap on the wrist, please. The only worse would be to be grounded. Plus, the whole uniform thing? It just wasn’t his thing and they would have made him shave off his moustache! He loved that thing, been cultivating for about two years now. There was no power on this green earth-that-was replica that could make him shave it.

Wash pulled his hands out of his pockets and walked around to the open cargo bay. A woman stood in the middle of the bay, a large pair of industrial earmuffs covering her ears as sparks sprayed around her, a medium sized jackhammer in her hands.

Wash blinked. “Wow!”

She looked like an angel, all that hair tumbling down her back. And then there was her legs, and her… lower back. Wow.

“God, I hope you’re one of the crew.”