"Ta ma de...well, that tears it." Wash flicked the sweat trickling past his cheek with his thumb and grimaced at the hellish New Tejas' sun. Defeated, he flung the wrench across his path and watched as a mocking cloud of dust pooled around his feet. The wrench added one more piece of clutter to the bright copper, tile, and tin starter parts and the litter almost resembled a bouquet of broken desert flowers.

Zoë’s frown deepened. "No luck, huh?"

"Nope. We're humped, but good."

She sighed, but thought twice about leaning against the dead shuttle's side knowing the hull temp would've melted her vest clean through. Ain't fit for a snake underground out here, she thought, but at least the cargo's safe. She cupped a hand over her brow, checking for snipers in the far and near distance, but relaxed when the horizon was free from telltale metal glints. No enemies as far as she could see. Her eyebrow rose after the pilot swore under his breath.

Well. Present company excluded.

Off her look, Wash grit his teeth. He yanked the wrench from the ground and slammed it into the toolbox. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Feigning ignorance, Zoë picked invisible crumbs from her vest and for the umpteenth time wished for Bester on a platter. The mechanic was a royal pi-gu but she'd got nothing but static hailing Serenity for over two hours - which was bad on two accounts. Sounded like the mechanic and the Cap got themselves in a mess...while she was stuck down here on a desert moon, with the jabbering flyboy.

She sighed deep. "So. What're you mouthin' off about now, pilot?"

"Don't hand me that." He was dangerously pink from the heat while a deeper flush crept up his neck. Zoë watched him with a small smirk. If he were a kettle he'd be whistling. "You've been givin' me hell for three months, lady, and I'm gettin' pretty damn tired of it."

She bent down and poked through the scattering of parts, dismissing him. "Which one o' these is the broken piece? Might be able to