Today, at Your Local Spaceship
by Nel

Rating: PG
Fandom: Firefly
Spoilers: Small one for Our Mrs Reynolds
Requested by: aricadavidson
Summary: "I hate this job."
Author's Notes: Pondered for long and finally came up with.

I'm not fast, but I'm slow.

And I think there might be a theme to some of my fics...

Thanks to Suz who always helps me out. Also, I think I forgot to cred her in the last thing I wrote. You guys can just always assume that she's had a finger in everything I write, because she has :D

Thank you so much for always helping me (even when I forget to give you credit)!


"I hate this job,” Wash whined.

“Now, dear, don’t be bitter.”

“I’m well within my rights to be bitter.” Pause. “Why do I have to be the one to wear a dress?”

“Because they’d recognize the Captain and Jayne refuses to shave his beard.”

“And what brilliant excuse – that I should have thought of first – does Simon have?”

“None. He’s the doctor. If he’s shot, we’re cooked.”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

“Of course I do. I’ll just love you more when you’ve worn this dress.”


“Really. Now shut up, I can’t put the lipstick on while you keep talking.”

“How sad.”


“It ain’t so bad.”

He looked at Kaylee. “It’s not?”

“No!” Kaylee smiled encouragingly. “I mean, you have really nice legs. And your boobs look realer than mine.”

“Are we really having this conversation or is this what madness feels like?”

“It’ll be over in no time, you’ll see.”

“But my manliness will be irrevocably smudged.”

“The Captain wore a dress, and he was still manly.”

“But he got to have a big gun. What kind of substitute do I get?”

She considered it for a moment. “You could borrow my umbrella.”

“Good,” he replied sarcastically, “then I can beat myself to unconsciousness.”

“Now, that’s not very ladylike, Wash,” Mal said as he passed by, carrying a big shotgun.

Wash looked at the shotgun and sighed sorrowfully.


“Zöe!” Wash hissed. “For god’s sake, don’t leave again.”

“What is it?”

“That guy *groped* me!”

Zöe patted his hand comfortingly. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll cut his heart out and serve it to you for dinner as soon as we close the deal with the smugglers.”

“You’re having so much fun at my expense, aren’t you?”

“You can’t even begin to imagine.”


“So, what is it you do?” the overly drunk man asked, trying to look attentively at Wash, whose face was apparently attached to his bosom.

Wash smiled pleasantly. “I kill small puppies and eat them for dinner.”

“How nice,” the man replied, taking a generous sip of his drink before turning back to Wash. “What do you say about you and me going outside for a more…private chat.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Wash batted his eyelashes, “but I’m married.”

The man laughed. “So am I.”

Wash laughed as well and muttered under his breath, “I hate this job.”


“How did you say this happened again?” Simon finished regenerating the cut underneath his eye.

“I walked into some sharp fingernails.”

Simon looked intruiged. “Oh?”

Wash sighed. “Yes. Someone’s wife took offence to me being hit on.”

Simon frowned. “That’s a strange thing to take offence of.”

“Well, considering that it was her husband that did the hitting, maybe not so much.”

Simon patted his shoulder. “But now it’s over, done, history. You don’t have to think of it ever again.”

Wash smiled in gratitude. “You’re right. Thanks, doc.”


He regarded the pink covers, the make-up kit that definitely wasn’t Zöe’s and the stiletto heels sitting neatly on his side of the bed.

He wished he could say it was all Mal, but he recognized Kaylee in the pink hearts on the make-up kit and he remembered Inara being excited over a pair of stilettos looking just like these.

His manliness was irrevocably smudged. But at least the covers looked comfy.


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