In every universe, Shepherd Book was destined to be the first one of the crew to die.
It had been a long time since Death had seen someone of his kind. Taking a book down, skeletal hands ran over the leather cover, carefully cracking it open to a page near the back.
The specter watched as the man was shot, as he sacrificed himself, as he was sacrificed by design over and over again.
Pulling down another book, blazing blue eyes saw the dead, dead, dying shepherd choke on his own breath or blood or the million mistakes and choices he'd made back then and made even now.
An infinite number of universes, an infinite amount of deaths. What a shame.
Death quietly put the books back on the ever growing shelf and pulled a timer out of the folds of His robes.
It was almost time.
As soon as the last few grains of sand fell to the bottom of the lifetimer and Death greeted Book like the old friends they were, a new book appeared, it's red cover welcomed amongst the wall of red already in Death's study.
"Ain't you fault," Zoë said, downing a mug of beer.
Creakingly, He settled on the chair across from her, both of them shrouded in the shadows of the shitty Alliance bar's corner.
Resolutely, she ignored him and downed another mug. At the other end of the room a barfight broke out, Jayne's laughter cutting through upset roars.
NO, IT ISN'T. BUT YOU STILL SEEK SOMEONE TO BLAME.
"Still ain't right to blame you. Was his time. Was Fate." She spat out the word like it was poison on her tongue.
A gunshot rung out, narrowly missing hitting Death in the skull. Fate had always been fickle.
I'M STILL SORRY, He said.
Zoë gave him an appraising look and slid her last mug of beer towards Him just as Mal crashed into the table next to them.
Before she could stand, Death handed her a lifetimer. Tiny dinosaurs were carved into the light wood, the golden sand glinting in the low light.
Imperceptibly, Zoë swallowed. With careful fingers, she wound the ends of her leather necklace around it, the faintly glowing timer shifting to settle over her heart.
"Take care," she muttered.
They both knew it was nothing more than a formality.
As she went to rescue Mal and Jayne, Death walked out of the bar, wordlessly humming.
It was just another formality, like so many other things in life were. Death was everywhere, after all.
Author's note ->
I suddenly have a lot of headcanons surrounding Death and the crew of Serenity.
(Also, would anyone be interested in seeing Wash's lifetimer? I already drew Simon's and Mal's for this fic, and it kind of snowballed from there💀)
Inara held the flower in the palm of her hand, running a careful thumb over a delicate petal.
Did he really have to haunt her like this?
She knew what it meant. She'd read scrolls upon scrolls about it back at the training guild, each one detailing how people died from coughing up flowers, the roots and leaves of their love choking the air from their lungs until they couldn't breathe. Thousands of years of old poetry romanticising the physical manifestation of love and death had been the main focus of their literature class one year.
Even now, she was pouring over the poems, drowning out the thoughts of Serenity and the family that could have been, trying to romanticise one of the things that was slowly killing her. She just had to choose which one she'd allow to take her first.
She hadn't expected to ever fall in love, even less, with a man like him. To be honest, she hadn't even expected to live this long. Her life had been forfeited the day she'd turned 18 and found out about her illness. Destined to die before she reached 35.
Staring at the flower still in her hand, the sticky feeling of congealing blood heavy on her skin, Inara realized something.
For almost all her life, she had been waiting. Waiting to love, waiting to live, waiting to die. It has all been a waiting game, and she was tired of it. She was tired of being a coward, tired of hiding, tired of waiting for Destiny to be satisfied with the narrative it was weaving.
It was time to take her life into her own hands again, make her own choices like she'd done all those months ago when she'd first boarded Serenity.
Taking a deep breath, ignoring the way it caught in her lungs, tangling in the stems of the flower, she gently put the gladiolus flower down (it was so him that it made her heart ache) and walked over to her Cortex.
She was half-dead, her joints aching on the better days and the world spinning like a planet without a sun on the bad ones, but Mal was half-dead, too. Dying was still dying, no matter the form it took or how it happened.
Giving one last glance at the flower, she typed in the all too familiar hailing frequency, feeling alive for the first time since she'd set foot off Serenity.
☆☆☆
Author's note -
This somehow didn't turn out as angsty as the first draft? I honestly don't know what this is anymore. I am super sleep deprived btw
Gladiolus flowers symbolize strength of character, faithfulness, moral integrity, remembrance, struggle, strength victory, and pride. Its Latin name means "little sword".
I tried to go with a flower that matches Mal's personality, and I hope I got it right.
