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[locks_it_up]

Death, it turns out, has a small apartment that seems to be somewhere in Southern California, judging by the view from the linen-curtained windows.

And a shabby, well-loved purple couch. Overstuffed, and, sitting on top of a throw pillow, there's a small stuffed chicken. A small bar-thing seperates the kitchen from the living room. She spreads her arms out, grinning.

"This is my place. Would you like a drink?"

Small plastic dinosaurs lurk in stacks of magazines and books and cds. There's a fishbowl in a corner, right underneath a family photo. The place is rather cheery, all in all.

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[flybywash]

The afterlife is an apartment.

He isn't sure if this is one of those things that's so deep, complex, and richly symbolic that he can't understand it, or something that makes no rutting sense whatsoever.

A small part of him that isn't boggling approves of the dinosaurs, though.

"Uh." Unthinking, Wash massages his chest. "Tea would...tea sounds good."

[locks_it_up]

It's what she likes. She likes her apartment very much.

"'Kay."

She ambles into the kitchen, and there are the sounds of rummaging.

"Earl Grey alright with you? Sugar, honey, milk, molasses, yak butter? Anything?""

[flybywash]

"Yeah. Um. Just sugar. Xièxie."

Sitting down seems like a very good idea all of a sudden. So Wash walks, not entirely steady, to the bright purple couch and sits down, hard. The throw pillow bounces a little.

He stares at his hands and forces his throat into working.

[locks_it_up]

She brings him the tea, steaming but not so hot that it'll burn his mouth, and kneels next to him, pressing the cup into his hands.

"You gonna be alright, kiddo?"

[flybywash]

"I don't know."

Both hands wrap around the mug, automatically. He doesn't drink right away.

"I think so."

His eyes burn, and he has to blink a few times before he can look up at her.

"Are they?"

[locks_it_up]

"They'll be fine."

For as long as people are, anyway.

[flybywash]

"Yeah?"

It doesn't erase the memory of Zoe cradling his head, pleading with him to move. It helps steady him, though.

A little.

Wash exhales and brings the mug to his mouth, taking a small, experimental sip. It tastes almost jarringly normal.

"Good. That's...." A small, weak smile. "Ain't that desperate to see them all again so soon. Not if -- "

Not if it means they have to die, too.

[locks_it_up]

"I understand."

She might ruffle his hair, a little bit.

[flybywash]

He laughs; even manages to stop it from turning into a sob halfway through, because what the hell else can he do? He just died, and now he's drinking tea with a decidedly un-Grim Reaper who owns stuffed chickens instead of a scythe.

A few beats pass in silence as he sips the tea. Then: "So...this is it, huh?" he ventures, finally. "I'm in an apartment from here to eternity?"

[locks_it_up]

"This is a stopping point. Until you figure out what to do with you. I don't let people, yanno, stay in my apartment forever. Can you imagine how crowded it would get? Oh, man. This one time, everyone, and I mean everyone in Hell decided to come over to my place to hang out. I think the stains might still be on the sofa. Like, on the other side of the cushions. It was awful."

She fishes out an old glass of ginger peach iced tea from under a few magazines, swishes it around to mix up the layer of water on the top, and sips at it.

It's been a little while since she was able to clean.

"Sorry the place is a mess."

[flybywash]

"Nah, don't worry. It's...." Another small smile as he glances at the dinosaurs. "Kinda like home. Things stay tidy for too long and I get alarmed. Or break out in hives. Sometimes both at once, on the very memorable occasions."

[locks_it_up]

She smiles when he glances at the dinosaurs.

"I think I've got a little one scampering around in the garden. He was so cute, I asked him to stick around for a while. He hasn't left yet..."

[flybywash]

"You do?"

Wash brightens, by a degree.

"That's shiny. I saw some real ones in the bar a couple times; these tiny, tiny things, just babies, running around all over the place. It was rutting amazing. I kept," and he breaks into a chuckle, "I kept trying to convince my wife to let me keep one -- Lilly Kane, you probably know her, she even managed to smuggle one of them on the ship once, this little talking pterodactyl, and Zoe...."

He trails off, wistful, and briefly glances down at his mug again.

"Is it okay if I see him?" he asks her, somewhat hesitant. "The one you've got?"

[locks_it_up]

She smiles.

"If I can get him to come out? Sure."

She walks to the door, opens it. It is light outside, a hazy, golden sort of light, warm and welcoming. She makes some strange trilling sort of call, deep in her throat, and hunkers down.

If Wash looked from the corner of his eye, he might well catch a glimpse of some sleek, dark, almost avian shape crouching where she is crouching.

She repeats the call.

After a few minutes, a small birdlike thing has scampered up to her, and leaps into her lap. She churrs at it, and takes it in her arms, carrying it over to where he is sitting, kicking the door shut.

The dinosaur is small, covered in soft down.

"Among his own people, they call him Shadow-Catcher."

The dinosaur churrups at him, and cocks it's head to the side. "Shadow, this is Wash."

Very carefully, she passes the dinosaur to him. It perches on his knee, sniffs up at him, and very gently, takes his nose in it's mouth.

[flybywash]

Wash makes a quiet noise that's somewhere between a honk and a squeak.

It's reflex. Say sorry.

"Hey, Shadow," he says softly, warm. Just as gentle, he smooths the down along its back, and carefully pulls his nose away. "It's nice to meet you, too.

[locks_it_up]

The small crest of feathers on the top of the dinosaur's head puffs up, and it trills something that might be taken for a greeting.

The amber eyes fixed on Wash are fiercely intelligent.

It rubs up against his fingers, and makes another noise, one that almost sounds like a cat purring. Just for a moment.

Death? Is beaming.

[flybywash]

So is Wash.

Because, well: dinosaur. And not only that, but a dinosaur that's purring at him.

"You like that, huh?" he murmurs, and scritches the top of Shadow's head. "Aren't you a sweetheart."

[locks_it_up]

Shadow nips at his finger. Gently. Doesn't want to hurt the big odd-smelling thing, after all. Hell, he might even be a bit playful.

"He catches bugs and things. And eats carrion. He's like a cute little vulture."

[flybywash]

"He is."

I want one is the immediate thought that follows, and one that sets off a pang of regret. It's quiet, though. Muted.

Kind of useless at this stage to dwell on --

There's a sudden, sharp knock at the door.

[locks_it_up]

She looks up.

Death doesn't get many visitors. Not here, at any rate.

"Wonder who that could be..."

The dinosaur jumps from Wash's lap, scampers behind her feet.

[flybywash]

There's a strange, indistinct buzzing in the back of Wash's mind. Slowly, he stands up, eyes on the door.

Two choices, he assumed. Follow Shepherd Book to wherever he had gone, or return to Milliways by the only door he knew.

"I think it might be for me," he says vaguely.

It didn't occur to him that there might be a third one.

[locks_it_up]

She might well know.

She's not saying anything.

"Go ahead and answer it, then."

She's smiling.

[flybywash]

Wash walks over, opens the door.

It's dark beyond the threshold. Not in the way the black's dark, either. This is unending, unchanging, and lightless: what will happen the day the 'verse itself dies. He has a crazy urge to fling himself backwards and slam the door before he topples into it.

But there's some kind of haze out there, illuminated in the light of Death's apartment, that's sweeping itself into a familiar shape. And a voice, too, harsh and melodic and very, very old. Kind of like a raven's caw.

He listens to it, and inhales audibly as a sudden, fierce joy breaks across his face.

Until you decide what to do with you.

Yeah. He thinks he's decided.

A final glance over his shoulder at Death; a small, silent smile in thanks. Then Wash turns back to the door, closes his eyes, and breathes deep as he crosses into the space-between.

The door swings shut with a quiet click.