FIC: Begin the Beguine (4/5)

[sharelle]

Title: Begin the Beguine (4/5)
Author: sharelle
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Pre-Series (but after the crew as we know it has all come together – minus Book, Simon and River)
Pairing(s): Wash/Zoë (with occasional friendship-y moments among others)
Written for: thegranddewru
Thank you: To ninamonkey for the terrific beta. And to edgechick816 for organizing the ficathon.
Previous installments: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: The crew of Serenity is offered a very lucrative job by a wealthy aristocrat. But when Mal is prevented from accompanying Zoë to the negotiations, there's only one man suitable for the job.

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Begin the Beguine

by Sharelle

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Chapter 4 – Movement the Fourth: Bridge

Wash walked with quick strides away from that door and back toward the ballroom. Several guests were still mulling about in the hallway, chatting and laughing – either completely oblivious as to what was going on . . . or possibly a party to it. Wash began to have an overwhelmingly paranoid feeling as he hurried past each of them. He could feel sweat rising on the back of his neck.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Something was definitely wrong. High-profile aristocrat or not, there was no reason Elisha Thornton would need a fifty-plus fedsquad staking out his own party, filled with his invited guests. Unless . . .

Wash picked up his pace to nearly a run. By the time he re-entered the ballroom, he was breathing heavily. His eyes darted quickly around the room, searching for where he had left Zoë with Thornton.

Wash had no idea what was going on, but he felt he should at least warn Zoë of the situation before they went any further with this deal. Maybe he was just overreacting. It was certainly possible. Somehow, though – with Thornton's own footman organizing the troops – he doubted it.

He caught sight of Zoë and Thornton to his far left. The crowd which had been gathered around Thornton had dispersed and Zoë was stepping forward to offer him her hand in greeting. Thornton accepted it with that same amiable smile – which, to Wash, suddenly appeared underhanded and insincere – and turned it over to place a formal kiss on her knuckles.

Wash darted forward. He had no idea how he was going to get her away from Thornton now, or how he could even discreetly signal that something might be wrong. As he hurried toward them, jostling his way through the crowd, the orchestra struck up a new song. The resonance of it echoed uncomfortably in Wash's ears. In his urgency, it seemed like nothing more than a dissonant tumult of noise. The only clear thing running through his mind was: Have to get to Zoë. Before she tells him who we are. Who she is.

He reached Zoë's side without an inkling of a plan. His brain didn't even register what he was doing at first. He wasn't thinking when he abruptly gripped her shoulder, spinning her away from Thornton, and around to face him.

Zoë's eyes were wide with shock, and maybe more than a little irritation. "Wha—?" she began.

And Wash did the only thing he could to keep her from saying anything: He seized both her shoulders and kissed her.

Zoë went rigid at first, then very, very still.

Wash tried not to focus on how soft and full the woman's lips were; tried not to dwell on how utterly gorgeous she was or how badly he wanted to prolong this moment in the hopes that she might kiss him back. But Wash wasn't stupid. Neither was Zoë. Given the opportunity, she would undoubtedly realize he was doing this for a reason. However, the shock he had given her could force instinct to take over before that realization had the chance to set in.

A startled Zoë acting on instinct could easily lead to bodily harm and the consequential blowing of cover.

Wash reluctantly pulled away.

Zoë's eyes were huge. The previous irritation seemed to be gone from her face, though the utter shock remained. Wash maintained his firm hold on her shoulders – maybe to anchor her to him, to the moment, so she would understand there was a reason behind his actions. Or maybe just to prevent her from taking a swing at him. He didn't have time to convey any type of serious message with his eyes, because Elisha Thornton was looming over Zoë's shoulder.

Wash plastered on the biggest grin he could muster, showing nearly all his teeth. "Baby!" he said dramatically. His fingers continued to press urgently against Zoë's skin. He glanced over her shoulder to where Thornton was standing, staring at him.

"My profoundest apologies, Lord Thornton," Wash said, still smiling hugely. "I just need to borrow my wife for a few minutes." His eyes focused back on Zoë. "They're playing our song, you know."

He began to walk away and his hands slid down her arms. When he reached her fingers he clutched them tightly and led her in the direction of the dance floor. Zoë turned her head back toward Thornton and politely said, "Be back in a minute." Then she lengthened her strides to walk beside Wash. She was still smiling, but it was forced; she was clearly not amused. "You do have a good explanation for that," she demanded though gritted teeth. It wasn't a question.

"God, I hope so," Wash said, letting out his breath in a nervous whoosh. He stopped and turned to face her, assuming the position to dance. Zoë stepped in toward him, placing one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. Her face, however, spoke volumes as to her growing anger and impatience. This time Wash didn't bother with any particular steps; the two simply swayed to the music while he tried to find the words to explain himself.

"What the hell happened back there, pilot?" Zoë hissed. The plastic smile she had flashed to Thornton was gone. She was definitely serious now.

"Okay, listen," Wash replied. "I know mounting my head on a stick and using it as a hood ornament for Serenity is probably sounding pretty good about now, but just hear me out. This business deal? I don't think it's on the up-and-up."

Zoë's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

Wash started breathing a little easier when it seemed as though Zoë was listening. "After you left to talk to Thornton, I went into the hall – just to kill some time and see the kind of huā qiào place he has for himself."

"And?"

"Oh, Thornton has got an interesting assortment all right," Wash replied. "Including a room filled with more than fifty feds, all armed to the teeth, with Thornton's prissy little butler right in the gorram middle of them."

Zoë stopped dancing abruptly and stared at him. The anger had evaporated and was quickly replaced by alarm. If there was one thing Zoë could do, however, it was cover herself. Nearly as quickly as it took for her surprise to settle, she was dancing again. This time she drew closer to Wash so she could keep her voice at a whisper. She swayed with him, her chin hovering over his shoulder and her breath tickling his ear as she asked, "Are you sure?"

"I know what I saw," Wash confirmed. "Either our would-be employer is overly serious about security, or something's going on that we aren't supposed to know about."

Zoë exhaled in frustration, but didn't allow it to seep into her body language. She and Wash continued to dance, and Wash could feel the softness of her cheek against his skin. "Gorram mystery shoppers," she said lowly. "No wonder there were so many people crowded around him all night."

"Come again?" Wash asked.

"It's what the captain calls them," Zoë replied. "Usually bored aristocratic types looking for a little adventure in their lives. The Alliance uses them to set up sting operations. Entrapment. They send out a broadwave disguised as a personal message, usually advertising work for smugglers, arms runners and the like. The marks show up at a designated time and place, get caught making a deal . . ." She shook her head. "Nice easy clean-up, and the feds get to meet some kind of quota for keeping disreputables out of the sky."

"So Thornton invites a roomful of smugglers to a party that's really just one big ambush?"

Zoë nodded. "Not all of them, though. Some are honest guests," she said. "Because what's the point of staging the heroic capture of notorious criminals if society's not going to be talking about it tomorrow?"

"So we're the evening's entertainment," Wash muttered. "Dinner and stakeout. That explains why you thought you saw your old friend Zheng."

"Probably a few more here than just him. And Thornton is wired, most like. That way the feds get names and voice scans."

"God," Wash breathed. "And our gracious host has just been keeping a running tally of how many potential smugglers he's spoken with all—"

He cut himself off abruptly and pulled back from Zoë. Wash's eyes were wide and his entire face was a mask of concern. "Oh, my God, did you tell him?" he asked her. His hand reflexively tightened at the small of her back, though the movement didn't register in his mind. "You didn't give him your name, did you?"

Zoë's features softened as she looked back at him. She seemed almost surprised at his obvious worry. After a muted moment, Zoë shook her head. "No," she said softly. "No, I didn't. Not yet." She tilted her head and stared at him curiously – as though scrutinizing every inch of his face, trying to decide how to catalog his genuine concern. In the end, she simply said, "Thank you."

And she smiled at him then. It was slight and it was subdued, but it was every bit as radiant as Wash had imagined it would be. She wasn't expressing any sort of wry amusement or merely smirking at one of his jokes; Zoë Alleyne was gracing him with an honest smile born from genuine gratitude, and Wash felt like she was handing him every world in the 'verse.

He was so transfixed by the upward curve of her beautiful mouth, he nearly forgot that this was neither the time nor the place to attempt another kiss. But, oh, if he ever had a second chance, he'd be sure to kiss her soundly next time. For another smile like that, he'd kiss her breathless.

For his part, he simply returned her smile and said, "Anytime."

Zoë drew herself back toward him, her mouth very close to his ear once more. "We'll have to get out of here before the fireworks start," she whispered.

"I don't suppose we can inconspicuously walk out the front door," Wash offered.

"Main entrances will be watched," Zoë replied. "They're not likely to let anyone out at this point – legitimate guest or not. Feds will probably start taking up their positions for the raid any minute, if they haven't already. And those invites Thornton sent out must have been coded in some way, so the Alliance knows just how many arrests they're looking to make tonight."

"So what do we do?"

"I got a decent lay of the land when we first arrived. The east balcony overlooks the garden that leads to the docking bay. If we time it right, we might be able to slip out before the excitement starts."

Wash twisted his head around to look at the nearest set of balcony doors. Folks had been coming in and out of them all night, which meant they probably weren't being watched as carefully as the house's main exits – so as not to arouse too much suspicion prior to the main event, most like. Zoë was right; it might be their best chance.

Wash suddenly felt a gentle touch on his chin. Warm fingers were drawing his head back around until he was practically nose-to-nose with Zoë. She smiled softly at him again as her hand continued to cup his face. Wash couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't blink. His skin felt too warm and tight all of a sudden. There was a flush forming at the base of his neck. Zoë's smile became a teasing smirk. "The other east balcony, Wash," she said, guiding his head in a full rotation until he was staring at the opposite door.

"Ah," Wash said. "Right." He chuckled as he turned back to face her. "You were investigating that potential exit strategy pretty seriously, weren't you?"

"As seriously as you were investigating the buffet table."

Wash grinned. "Touché."

As the music picked up, Zoë and Wash quickened their steps. Rather than make an immediate beeline for the balcony, it seemed less obvious if they simply allowed themselves to get swept up in the movement of the crowd of dancers – especially if Thornton still had his eye on them as potential targets in his little game. That way they could slip out of the house when they reached the door.

Wash wasn't leading them anymore, though it hardly seemed to matter. A brief thought flashed through his mind that Zoë had, in fact, been mistaken about herself: She was graceful.

She could have easily taken control of their movements another way – by hauling him up and dragging him along with her. Wash had seen her do as much before. Once or twice he'd witnessed her dashing through the cargo door of Serenity, heaving the rag-doll form of an injured Mal with her. But that wasn't what Zoë was doing now; she wasn't simply towing Wash unceremoniously across the dance floor. She took measured, deliberate steps that Wash followed easily as they traveled along with the crowd, drawing nearer and nearer to the balcony door. She honestly moved like a dancer – like the fighter she was.

He knew it. Calm, cool and in control, no matter what the situation.

When they got to the door, they kept going, slipping behind the silky curtain and out onto the balcony. There were no other guests about at the moment, and the warm night air felt cool against the skin after leaving the confines of the party.

The balcony was more than a balcony. It was actually a walkway that wrapped along the side of the house, offering a panoramic view of what was probably a very impressive garden in the daytime. The only light that drifted outside shone from the mansion's windows; the muted glow lay intermittently along the stone surface of the walkway like an arrangement of soft luminous veils. Down in the gardens, the Chinese lanterns twinkled like multicolored lightning bugs as they dotted the path toward Thornton's private shuttle docks.

Zoë wasted no time taking in the view. She stepped toward the thick stone railing and glanced over the side, tugging on the sleeve of Wash's jacket as she went. Wash followed obediently until they were both peering over the edge. The light from the party didn't reach very far down the outside wall, but Wash could definitely make out the shadow of an intricate latticework extending toward the ground. There were shades of what looked to be flowering vines climbing against the vertical surface. It wouldn't be the most dignified way of leaving such a high-class shindig, but it was certainly the more direct route.

Zoë suddenly started at his side, and Wash could hear her curse sharply under her breath. The next thing he knew, she was tugging him quickly back toward the balcony doors. He'd gotten so accustomed to following her lead over the last few minutes, he didn't even think to resist any pushing or pulling she inflicted upon him now. This was the part of the mission she was best suited for, after all. And he trusted her. He did. Once they got back to the shuttle, however, then it would be Wash's turn. His domain.

But they had to get there first.

Wash felt his back strike the outer brick wall of the house, just to the side of the balcony door. Zoë crowded up against him, and that was when he heard what she must have noticed – even when it had only been a distant echo: the rhythmic snap-click of terse boot-steps on stone. Every step was sharp, precise, military . . .

Alliance.

The feds must have begun taking their positions, and several of them were probably going to use the balcony doors as a means of entrance once the raid began. There was only one set of footsteps at the moment – likely doing a last minute reconnaissance sweep to secure the area before signaling to the others. But there would soon be more. If what Wash had seen in Thornton's study was any indication, probably a lot more.

Wash and Zoë didn't move from their location as the steps grew increasingly louder and closer. They couldn't flee back into the party because they might not get another chance to slip outside, leaving them trapped when the Alliance raid began. But the alcove in which they found themselves wasn't quite deep enough to conceal them. The shadows weren't quite long enough to hide them. It was inevitable that they would be seen.

Wash and Zoë stared for a frozen moment toward the sound of the oncoming footfalls, which were soon accompanied by an elongated shadow emerging from around the corner of the walkway.

"I told Mal I should have brought a gorram gun," Zoë muttered wryly. She cast her eyes in several directions – searching – and finally settled on Wash's face. He stared back, but could offer little by way of a solution. Suddenly Zoë set her jaw and her eyes darkened. She shot one swift, determined glance back in the direction of the oncoming shadow, then turned quickly back to Wash.

A second later her mouth was covering his.

In retrospect, Wash thought, kissing Zoë to get her away from Elisha Thornton had probably been a very bad idea. It was bad because ever since he'd done it, he'd wanted to do it again. It was bad because, even as they had worked out the details of their escape plan, the one which had been aimed specifically at keeping them both out of jail, Zoë's gorgeous mouth – and how it had felt under his – had never been far from his mind. It was bad because he had promised himself if he ever got a second chance, he'd do it right. It was bad because, now that Wash was getting his second chance, he knew that not even the great and mighty forces of the Union of Allied Planets in all their bounteous authority were going to be enough to get him to stop.

Zoë's hands were on his face at first, holding him firmly in place even as she pushed him against the wall and as far into the shadows as they both would go. Wash's arms hovered in midair for a moment, then one hand settled on her waist and the other came up to cup the ladle of her jaw, just below her ear. The tips of his fingers dipped slightly into her curtain of hair, pushing some of the loose curls back and away from her face. He angled his head against her and Zoë made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat.

It was the smallest sound Wash had ever heard her make. Even so, it was like a jolt going straight to the heart of him. It was all the encouragement he needed.

He straightened suddenly and the hand at Zoë's waist snaked all the way around her back, pulling her flush against him. In an instant he had spun them both about, until it was Zoë's back that was now pressing against the outer wall of the house. They pulled away from each other then. Zoë eyes were wide, and Wash could feel his heart pounding thunderously in his chest. His breath came shallowly as he looked at her. If she was going to kill him, she'd better do it now.

But Zoë's hands slid from his face and settled against his chest, just above the thudding timbre of his heart. She didn't use them to push him away; she didn't even try to tear his head off. She simply rested them there. He could feel the heat of her palms, even through his layers of formalwear. He could also feel her fingers begin to curl until she was gripping handfuls of the starched fabric. Wash stared, transfixed, at her lips as she moistened them. They shone like liquid honey in the muted light emitted from the doorway. Her eyes suddenly darkened again, and the next time they came crashing together, Zoë's mouth opened beneath his.

For a moment, Wash's hand remained resting beneath her jaw, where he could feel Zoë's pulse quicken against his skin. Then it traveled farther behind her head and wrapped around the thick tendrils of her hair, trying to pull her even closer. Her tongue pressed and stroked against his, and he could feel her fingers tugging furiously at the ascot he'd worked so hard to straighten. Wash didn't give it a second thought – except that he hoped she'd just tear the damn thing.

Wash bent himself over the fiery pull of Zoë's mouth, pressing one leg between her thighs. He swallowed her gasp and felt her hands slide beneath his open jacket. Her blunt fingernails raked toward his spine, pulling him tight against her. With the roar of blood pounding in his ears, Wash never heard whatever it was she caused him to murmur against her lips.

Something broke loose inside Wash in that moment. He'd kissed plenty of women in his life but for some reason, this time, some vital part of him knew that from now on – for him – there would only be this. This woman, this feeling. Wash didn't simply resign himself to his fate; he welcomed it.

When they finally broke apart they were both gasping for breath. Wash was reluctant to move, as though doing so would nullify the moment. He did manage to bring his hand back around to her cheek, and he felt a warmth spread through him when she reflexively leaned into it.

"Zoë," he murmured, stroking the pad of his thumb against her skin. "I . . ."

She smiled at him then, and any residual doubts that Wash may have been harboring vanished into the night air. "If I'd known you were so good at that," she said softly between breaths, "I'd have made you shave that gorram bristle off long ago."

Wash's eyes went very wide, but she was still smiling at him and it was unbelievably infectious. His returning grin was so huge, for a moment it felt like his face might split open.

It took everything in his power to keep himself from kissing her all over again.

Zoë glanced over his shoulder and Wash suddenly remembered the patrolling trooper. He was certain that he didn't hear anything anymore. In fact, once Zoë had started kissing him, Wash had no recollection of observing the fed, hearing any further approaching footsteps . . . or even his apparent departure for that matter. But when Wash reluctantly detached himself from Zoë and looked behind him, the balcony was, again, deserted.

Together they moved away from the wall and hurried back over to the railing. They would probably only be alone for a window of a few moments, and something told Wash that a vigorous public display of affection wouldn't be enough to make the Alliance look the other way a second time. (Although he wouldn't be opposed to giving it a try.) They looked over the side of the balustrade. The ground below was also deserted, for the moment.

In an instant, Zoë was bending double. She reached down to her feet and grabbed the hem of her dress, pulling it through the high slit and between her legs. She wrapped the black sash at her waist around it and tied it off, transforming the long dress into what now looked like a set of very short, loose-fitting breeches. Although he needed little reminding, Wash was again struck by the fabulousness of the woman's legs.

Zoë glanced up and down the balcony one last time, then she hoisted herself onto the railing and swung her legs over the side, easing herself down to the lattice. Wash heard a pair of dull thuds – Zoë had kicked her shoes down to the earth below. She waited for a moment, keeping her eyes intently on the ground to see if the muffled noise had attracted any attention. When she seemed satisfied, she looked back up at Wash.

"It's metal," she said, bracing her feet firmly on the lattice. "Should hold up all right. Let's go."

Before she could climb down, Wash placed his hand over hers on the stone railing. She paused and looked up at him. "Zoë," he said, "when we get back, I'd like very much to have a talk with you." He smiled. "A proper talk. If you want."

For a second she just looked at him again, with that same odd combination of surprise and curiosity. Then her lips were coaxed into a sly smile. "Wouldn't say no to a drink," she said. "Later."

"Okay," Wash grinned. "Good." He released her hand and hopped up onto the railing. Zoë began the downward climb as he swung his legs around and lowered himself after her. A minute later, they had descended the lattice and were on the ground.

Zoë held up her hand and Wash paused behind her. Only the garden separated the house from the dock, but there was no way of knowing just how many feds were stationed between them and the shuttle by now. They took a few cautious steps across the darkened lawn. Zoë passed over the spot where her shoes were lying, but didn't bother to pick them up.

They made it just beyond the shadow of the house, when a stern voice shouted, "Hey! Who's there?"

"Run," Zoë ordered sharply, and the two were immediately sprinting across the grass.

All around them floodlights suddenly blazed to life – burning, blinding and aimed directly at the upper floor of the house. Above them, raised voices and chaos erupted from the building as the sound of the Alliance raid reached them on the ground below. Wash could hear yelling and struggle emanating from what had been the party, even as he and Zoë belted past the heavy search lamps and into the relative darkness of the garden.

It was obvious that not all the assembled feds were inside the house, however. Shadows of ground troops emerged from beyond the plots of well-manicured flora.

"Keep going!" Zoë called back automatically, but it was unnecessary; Wash was not about to break his stride. He managed to stay only a few steps behind her.

The low-pitched drone of a sonic rifle shot thrummed through the air. Then a second. Wash reflexively ducked his head at the sound, but kept going. Just as he felt as though his lungs might explode, he and Zoë were charging up the shuttle's ramp.

Wash didn't waste a second. He dashed to the fore, falling into the pilot's chair. He fired the engines and tossed an order back at Zoë to shut the hatch. She did, and Wash flipped several switches on the control panel above his head. He tugged back the throttle and the thrusters roared to life. Zoë made her way to the front, and Wash pulled back on the control column. They were airborne in moments.

Zoë stumbled slightly against the shuttle's sudden pitch and dropped into the co-pilot's seat. Wash quickly compensated and evened them out while Zoë drew her safety harness over her shoulders. "They comin' up behind us?" she asked.

"They are," Wash replied evenly.

Behind them, a pair of security transports roared from the opposite end of the bay. They didn't belong to the Alliance, however, and had probably been deployed from Thornton's own command center the moment an unauthorized departure registered in the system. Either that, or they had been sent out earlier to assist the feds by patrolling the perimeter.

They were actually just a pair of short-range speedsters. Unlike federal cruisers, they didn't have the ability to follow the shuttle out of atmo. What they did have, however, was speed – as well as a sophisticated grappling system. If they pulled alongside the shuttle and hit it with an electrical conduit from each angle, Wash and Zoë would find themselves debilitated. After that, it would only be a small matter of waiting around until the feds picked them up at leisure.

Regardless of the closing security ships, Wash kept his heading straight, even and controlled. "Do me a favor," he said to Zoë. His face was the picture of intense concentration, but his tone was as light as if he were simply asking her to pass the salt. "Pick up the comm and hail Serenity."

Zoë grabbed the radio and flipped on the broadcast channel. "Sir?" she said into the mouthpiece. "Captain, do you read?"

Mal must have been in the vicinity of the bridge, because it didn't take long for his voice to crackle over the comm unit. "Zoë? What have you got?"

"May I have speakers, please?" Wash asked her, keeping his voice level, even as he banked a hard right to avoid the pursuing ships. Zoë punched a button above their heads and held on to her seat.

"Mal," Wash spoke up into the overhead speaker unit. "We're looking to rendezvous. How long before you can get Serenity in the air?"

Mal's pause was rather extensive. "Mind telling me why you'd rather not meet up with us here?" he asked. His voice was measured, if a bit suspicious. "What happened with the job?"

"Job was certainly interesting, sir. I'll let Zoë tell you all about it. For now, what's say you meet up with us somewhere a little less visible than the docks."

"Where are you now?"

"We're low in the weeds right now, Mal, but we're looking to get a bit higher once we shake a few pests," Wash answered as he checked the instrument panel. Zoë, at his side, was watching the trajectory of their pursuers.

"Gorramit, Wash. What the hell happened with the job?"

"There was no job, sir," Zoë answered for him. "Our man Thornton was a flannel-mouthed liar."

"We'll tell you the whole story when we meet up with you," Wash added. "In the meantime, think you can coax her up without me?" He grinned to himself, imagining Mal's reaction.

"Where?" the captain's voice was tight over the comm unit.

"How about orbit?" Wash asked. "Orbit work for you?"

"This better be a damn good story," Mal muttered over the radio. His transmission was garbled by the firing of Serenity's engines.

Zoë replaced the radio handset in its cradle and Wash reached for the controls on the front instrument panel. He manipulated the tailfin rudder, and this time the shuttle yawed hard to the left.

"You told the captain we'd meet them in orbit," Zoë said.

"That I did," Wash replied.

"So don't you think you should head there, Wash, 'stead of skimming the surface? Those security transports can't follow us out of atmo."

"True enough," Wash agreed. "But they can get a bulletin out to those who can. As long as they see us hugging the land, they may not tie us to Serenity. I'll burn for atmo once we lose them."

Zoë glanced at the viewscreen. The speedsters were gaining. She gave him a skeptical look. "Can you do that?"

Wash flashed her a wicked grin. "Watch me."

A returning smile spread infectiously across Zoë's face.

"Besides," Wash added, turning back to the front, "I've got me a date later that I do not want to miss." He gripped the controls and pressed onward.

Zoë raised her eyebrow and then she, too, turned back to face the window. "Any particular way you plan on accomplishing that?" she asked.

"They've got decent grapplers on those things," he said. "But the trade-off is they're very short-range. That's why the speedsters need to be so fast – have to get pretty damn close to use them."

"So?"

"So I let them get close."

Wash continued to push straight, banking occasionally when things got a little too tight. The security transports continued to advance. Soon they were close enough that Wash could clearly see gunners manning the swiveling grapplers, located in the tail-mounted turret of each vessel. The speedsters broke into a Y formation, edging forward to flank the shuttle on either side.

"Do me a favor," Wash said. He suddenly grabbed Zoë's hand and positioned it on the largest lever on instrument panel between them. "When I say, push forward on this. I'm going to need you to cut the throttle, and cut it hard." He felt Zoë's fingers tighten on the lever beneath his. "Only . . ." he eased. They looked at each other over their joined hands. ". . . when I say."

Zoë nodded and relaxed her grip. Then he released her hand.

Wash watched the speedsters creep up either side of the shuttle. His eyes shifted rapidly from left to right and he concentrated on keeping the yoke straight and steady. He saw one of the turret gunmen shift his grip on his weapon.

"NOW!"

Zoë slammed the throttle forward and the shuttle thrusters all but cut out. Wash felt a horrible jolt where the shoulder harness crushed into his chest from the sudden deceleration. But it worked: the speedsters sped ahead for several more meters, and the pulsing charge of an electrical conduit shot across the shuttle's bow, sideswiping one of the pursuing vessels. It dropped quickly off the viewscreen.

"Throttle!" Wash called, but he didn't wait for Zoë to react. He automatically gripped the lever, with Zoë's hand still there, and wrenched it back. The engines roared to life again. Wash and Zoë were slammed back in their seats as the shuttle banked hard and changed direction.

The remaining speedster managed to stay on them through the turn, but spun out when it flew wide and clipped the wing of its derelict partner. Wash grinned when both vessels vanished from the radar. He finally released his breath in a huge whoosh, grinning as though he'd just had the time of his life.

"Whew!" he breathed. "That was an eye-opener, huh?"

Zoë looked back at him, smiling. Good God, he would never get tired of seeing that. Then he realized that her hand was still beneath his on the throttle. He risked an extra moment or two before removing it.

"Burned pretty hard reigniting the throttle," she observed as Wash settled back into his seat with both hands on the controls. "We have enough to break atmo?"

"Should do," Wash answered. "So long as we use the momentum we're running on to get there and don't slow down again."

Zoë nodded. "Makes sense," she said casually. "Nothin' good ever came of taking backward steps."

Wash looked her in the eyes and he smiled.

"Wash?" Mal's voice crackled over the comm unit. "Zoë? You both all right down there? What's your status?"

"Just breaking atmo now, Mal," Wash answered. "We're looking at an ETA of about seven minutes."

"Fine," Mal replied. "We'll be waiting."

The shuttle shuddered a bit as it rose through the atmosphere of New Xian. Wash eased his grip on the control column and guided the vessel into a slow drift as the black enveloped them.


To be concluded . . .

* * *

Mandarin Translations:

huā qiào – fancy


One more part after this. I hope you've enjoyed!

(x-posted to wifesoup and zoe_wash)