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Fic: Advances in Thermodynamics (5/6)
Title: Advances in Thermodynamics (5/6)
Fandom: Firefly/Iron Man (movie)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tony Stark/Kaylee Frye
Summary: Kaylee doesn't think anything's ever going to be the same.
Necessary explanation: I asked for prompts, and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
agonistes told me to write Tony/Kaylee. I said 'MWAHAHA' at the time and happily started writing in things designed to make Sweeney twitch, but I think that she officially gets the last laugh, because this is eating my brain alive. Part 1 can be found here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, and Part 4 here.
Extras: Shenanigans set sometime between parts 4 & 5. Other people have also been writing things set in this universe, which makes me shriek every time.agonistes wrote Laws of Conservation, which she is probably going to kill me a little for linking but that I consider part of canon (between parts 3 & 4) because it is fabulous, and then copinggoggles and I went back and forth on a theme that isn't quite canonical thanks to the inclusion of some Good Omens, but that I love anyway. Did I miss anything? It's been so long since I updated this story that I can't remember now. *shameface*
Thirteen months.
“I don’t know,” Kaylee says doubtfully, frowning. A red flower is tucked behind one ear, and she has a whole bouquet of red and orange and pink blossoming out of one bag. She sets her hand on her hip, shopping bags dangling from her elbow. “That’s a whole lotta cred.” She shakes her head; starts to walk away from the stand.
“Duìbùqĭ, duìbùqĭ duìbùqĭ,” the seller calls after her, and Kaylee allows herself a tiny, satisfied smile before she turns around. “I can see that you’re a woman of discerning taste.”
“So I been told,” Kaylee allows cheerfully, easing through the crowd to stand in front of the brightly-decorated stall. Scarves, flags, and signs flutter in the breeze through the narrow marketplace, along with the smells of baozi, chǎo nián gāo, lemon squares, and other unidentifiable but mouth-watering foods. It’s all thoroughly dirty and disreputable; the market pops up once a week in this alley six blocks east of Ehrrman Square. Kaylee only discovered it a couple months ago, but she’s already in love.
“I could maybe take it down to…” The seller folds his brawny arms over his chest; looks down at his table of wares, then up at Kaylee. He eyes her beadily. “Twenty.”
Kaylee raises her eyebrows and pretends to consider it, and then she shakes her head, regretful. “I’m sorry,” she says, apologetic and at her very sweetest, “you been real helpful, but that just ain’t a price I can pay.”
He rests his hand on the crate in question – and he sighs. “Fifteen, and that’s my final offer. That’s it; tiān kōng ain’t the limit.”
“Done!” Kaylee chirps, beaming, and she slips a hand into her aquamarine jacket and plucks the necessary bills from her inner pocket, and hands them over. The seller eyes her enthusiasm (and then the bills), but he accepts both and nudges the crate in her direction.
Kaylee stoops, hands on her knees, and peers through the grate. “Hi, mĕilì,” she murmurs, smiling with all her might, and the gray tabby kitten stares back at her with huge green eyes.
Later, Kaylee hums to herself as she slips home through side streets. It’s a nice night, warm, with the buds starting up again on trees; waiters are putting out chairs and tables, setting tables and lighting candles. Kaylee’s new scarf, shimmering in various shades of purple, keeps her neck and chin covered against the occasional breeze.
Kaylee balances bags of market treasures in one hand and the crate under the other arm, and she thinks of the fairy lights waiting to be lit and the fine dinner that she’s going to cook with these fresh ingredients; the basket that she’s going to make up for the kitten to sleep in, and where she left off in a silly-but-addictive drama series starring pink-haired girls who fight evil with sparkles.
Carrying a carton of strawberries, Kaylee smiles at the dusk sky.
Fourteen months.
“Hey,” says Tony’s voice, sudden and amplified over the workshop speakers; “Frye.”
Kaylee starts; whacks the back of her head on the pipe. “Gaīsĭ!” She doesn’t have to look up, sitting on her knees and rubbing her head, to know that Tony’s jogging down the steps, taking them three at a time. The keypad beeps and the door slides open.
“Ouch,” says Tony, all too cheerful. “That looks like it–” His footsteps slow. “—Hurt. Frye. Why is there a purse filled with cat hair on the table in my workshop.” There is, indeed, a large purse sitting on Kaylee’s table. Tony obviously recognizes it thanks to the small hatch made of netting for the cat to look through.
Kaylee straightens up. “Maybe ‘cause there’s a cat in your workshop,” she says, matter-of-fact and shooting him a look. “Thought that was obvious.”
“And why is there a cat in my workshop?”
“ ‘Cause my roof’s gettin’ fixed and Sparkplug’s got to come somewhere, and I figured Tony Stark, he don’t turn no cute, furry animals out in the cold.” Kaylee looks very cute at him, with big eyes.
Tony shoots her a wary stare. “Have you met me?”
“C’mon, Tony,” Kaylee says. “He’s real cute and real quiet; he’s been sleepin’ on the couch since I got here.”
“It’s on my couch. It’s on my couch? You aren’t making a good case for yourself.”
“You’re a mean old man,” Kaylee says cheerfully, flicking excess oil off her fingers in Tony’s general direction. She ducks back down under the system of pipes and wiring once again. “What were you yellin’ at me for when you came down? Sounded like a yowling herd of cats.”
“A herd of cats,” Tony repeats, shooting her a bemused look. “I just got a wave from Wilmer, so—” He pulls one of those expressive Tony Stark faces.
“Uh-uh,” says Kaylee, without looking up. “Whatever she wants you to do, I ain’t doin’ it.”
“Come on. Give me a little more credit than that, huh, Frye? No, but I do have a request to make. A favor, if you will.”
For all their talk, for all Tony’s inappropriate behavior and what a pain in the pìgu he can be – he’s never asked a favor of her, not once, not even facetiously. And Kaylee, well – she’s curious, and she owes Tony one, she figures, after how good he was when her nephew was real sick a couple months ago; how he pulled every string he had to get Zackery and Kaylee’s sister to Osiris, into the specialty pediatrics ward at St. Luke’s. Kaylee remembers how her family only met Tony once, just briefly, with her sister exhausted and starstruck and twangy, and how Tony was the most gracious Kaylee has ever seen him, and not even a little mean.
Kaylee doesn’t figure she can ever really pay him back for that, as much as he brushed it off.
She sticks her head out from under the panel, and she says, wary, “Yeah?”
“I find myself in need of a partner,” Tony says.
Immediately: “Rhodey.” Kaylee hates to throw Rhodey under the bus, but he makes a better partner for Tony’s shenanigans. Always has.
“Well, I’m looking for somebody who can charm the pants off potential investors and who’s got the legs for a dress, so I’m going to have to pass on James. As dress-worthy as his legs are.”
Kaylee stares at him blankly. “Why’re you tellin’ me you’re callin’ the Guild for Inara?”
“I’m not—” He rolls his eyes. “You, Kaylee, I’m asking you.”
“—Me?” Kaylee’s so startled she almost stutters. “It’s a real nice compliment, Tony, but…” There’s something girlish, young, in the terribly wary way that she’s watching him; cautious and unsure. “I ain’t a Companion. Nowhere near. Rae or Beth could do better’n I could, too.”
“I’m not looking for a Companion or a Rae or a Beth. They’re not Stark Enterprises employees overflowing with homegrown cheerful charm and an encyclopedic working knowledge of the transray emitter that I’m trying to sell Roxxon.”
“…You mean it?”
“I mean it.”
“You forgot about this thing, huh?” Kaylee says, after a second. “Miss Wilmer just waved to remind you, an’ now Rae, Beth, and Inara are all busy or’ve already got dates.”
“Yep,” says Tony without skipping a beat, shameless to the end. “You in?”
Kaylee eyes him beadily, and then she smiles. “What’s in it for me?”
“Anything you want,” Tony says immediately. “You name it, you got it.”
Somewhere in the workshop, Sparkplug miaows. Kaylee’s grin broadens, and she points at the cat-carrying purse on the table.
Tony Stark sighs sharply.
“Don’t worry about it. Would you quit – she’s worrying about it,” Tony tells Happy Hogan, over Kaylee’s head as she bustles between the two taller men.
“Yes, sir,” Happy says, one side of his mouth tilted upward.
“Rae’s great with this—” Lord knows what Tony’s hand gesture is supposed to signify. “Stuff. She’ll take you shopping, I’ll foot the bill for whatever debauched frippery is in style these days – piece of cake.”
Kaylee pushes between them again, going back to stir the pot on the stove. “I can pay for my own frippery, y’know. I don’t wanna be beholden.”
“She thinks she’s going to be beholden; isn’t that cute?” Tony says to Happy, who clears his throat but can’t stop that twitch of his mouth.
“You need anything else, Mr. Stark?” Happy says.
“No, Hogan, I’m done. Run free. Nobody’s beholden; you’re doing me a favor.” Tony swings from one employee to the other without skipping a beat, leaning against the countertop and folding his arms. Shaking his head, Happy Hogan nods to Kaylee – who waves with a drippy wooden spoon – as he ducks out the kitchen door.
“A favor, huh?” Kaylee says, shooting Tony a doubtful sideways look.
Tony’s in grease-stained casual clothes, sleeves rolled up and a stylus still perched precariously behind his ear. He stands silhouetted in front of the kitchen’s enormous plate windows; the bay can’t hardly be seen at night, though the lights of the capital city shine bright in the distance across all that dark water. The kitchen’s all sleek shine and low lighting, the pot bubbling away on the cooktop – there’s almost something homey about the scene, Kaylee thinks.
Tony spreads his hands disarmingly. “A favor.”
“Well,” says Kaylee. “Maybe I could see my way to a favor.”
“Half favor, half deal. After all, you drove a hard bargain.”
“It wasn’t that hard. Ain’t gonna kill you havin’ a cute fuzzy thing in the house, once in a while. Kittens never hurt nobody.” She glances away, checking the pan of slowly sauteéing vegetables, and she misses the delicate balance of timing on the pot; water hisses loudly as it slaps against the hot cooktop, boiling over, and Kaylee whirls back—
Tony’s right there, close as you please, and Kaylee barely brings herself up short quickly enough to avoid smacking right into him. She wonders dimly just how he got so close so fast without her noticing. Seemingly unconcerned, Tony clicks the heat down a level, stirring the contents of the pot, and the water subsides.
“That’s what you think,” he says, mouth quirked into a tiny half-smile, suffused with warmth and humor. He’s smiling right at her.
He smells real good, like engine oil and machinery and something else she can’t place, something that’s just Tony and is probably some stupid-expensive cologne or aftershave, and she ought to step back, but she doesn’t.
It takes Kaylee a second to remember what they’re talking about.
“That’s what I know,” she corrects, her voice low, and there’s a real fondness between them; Kaylee can feel it.
“That’s because you’ve never encountered a squadron of ninja death kittens,” Tony deadpans, and while Kaylee immediately breaks into genuine, ‘you’re so weird’ laughter and takes a step back, she knows: they’re toying with the edges of dangerous territory.
"…Wow," says Tony Stark. "Wŏ de mā hé tā de fēngkuáng de wàisheng dōu--" For all his usual posturing -- he looks genuinely stunned. He looks like Kaylee hit him in the gut with a pry bar, and then maybe whacked him over the head with a spanner for good measure.
"It that bad?" asks Kaylee from the top of the stairs, a little wry and a little unsure.
"Ignore him, honey," says Rae, leaning over the rail behind her. "Just go on down; the man will pick his jaw up off the floor eventually." Kaylee hesitates; Rae counsels kindly: "Skirts in one hand, railing in the other."
Kaylee does as instructed, running a hand along the banister as she comes down the steps. The dress trails behind her, pink train whispering along the marble. Her shoes click quietly (and she's a little wobbly, but she's worn shoes with heels in her lifetime, and Rae gave her a couple quick tips).
The dress is technically a gown. It's deep pink and satiny underneath sheer layers (that are hiked up a bit so that the pink shows at the bottom) with silvery embellishments arranged in tiers of shimmer. The fabric wraps just below the bust; the elaborate silver scrollwork crawls across the square neckline and the cap sleeves. Mechanic's hands are hidden under long white gloves that go way up above Kaylee's elbows. Her hair is up in soft curls (and that's courtesy of Rae, too; she owns a beauty salon, after all, and she insisted that Kaylee's hair was free of charge) and she's wearing lipstick and there's something silver on her eyelids.
For all the shiny, it's an elegant look; it ain't Kaylee's first choice (hers involved more ruffles and frippery, and bright colors on these nán wàng de skirts), but she loves the pink and the sparkly bits on this one, and how pretty it is. She's cognizant of the fact that she's going in on Tony Stark's arm, too, and that this is the kind of dress a self-respecting woman on Tony Stark's arm oughta wear.
(And Kaylee sparkles when she walks, and that delights her to no end.)
Kaylee's dead sure she's never worn so much money in her life. It makes her nervous as all get out.
So does the look on Tony's face as she arrives at the bottom of the steps.
He finally closes his mouth. "Why, Frye," he says, and he comes forward in time to extend a hand. "You clean up very nicely."
Kaylee takes the offered hand and carefully steps down the last few stairs. "You don't do bad yourself," she tells him, and she can't help it -- nerves or not, she beams like the sun.
"If this is how it's going to be, I need to buy dresses for you more often," Tony tells her. "Tī wŏ de pìgu but you are huá lì de. Good God." He raises her gloved hand and kisses her knuckles, and Kaylee tries not to let her heart flutter, she really tries, but she doesn't do so great at stopping it.
Tony just called her gorgeous.
Granted, he also said "kick me in the ass," but that part reassures Kaylee; that part sounds more like the man she works with on a daily basis. It reminds her that this isn't some stranger with perfect hair and a snazzy suit. It's Tony.
"Well," she says, and one thing she doesn't try to hide is her huge smile, "that's right nice of you to say, Tony." She drops a passable curtsey. "Xièxie nĭ."
"You're welcome," says Tony without looking away from her for so much as a second, and Kaylee is almost grateful to hear Rae descending the stairs. "And where's your date, Ms. Lacoste?" Tony inquires, absently. “You’d think he’d at least have the stones to show his face, stealing you right out from under my nose like this.”
“I’m nobody’s to steal, Tony,” Rae tells him, matter of fact and fond. “You took so long to remember this thing that I just had to take matters into my own hands. My date’s meeting me elsewhere, because the entire ‘verse doesn’t revolve around you.” She manages her grand dress without a problem, but Kaylee can't find it in her to be jealous of it; Rae's Rae, and she seems to take everything in her life in the same steady, confidant stride. Her dress is ivory and gold, with a cowl neck and delicate filigreed sleeves, and heavy skirts. It's a hell of a standout.
Rae pats Tony's arm in passing. "See you at the party, qin ài de. Kaylee—" she bends to kiss Kaylee's cheek, "you look beautiful. Tony’ll be chasing the boys off with a stick."
Kaylee flushes; she knows she does. " Xièxie."
She wonders what that trauma surgeon she dated for a couple months when she first arrived on Osiris would think of her now, looking like this, with these fine people.
She finds that she doesn't really care all that much.
"It ain't too late for you to back outta this," Kaylee stage-whispers. "Bet you could get Inara over here real quick."
"Inara – hi there, how are you, thanks for comin’ out – is already here with somebody, I'm sure," says Tony, flashing a charming smile (at a portly gentleman wearing a red sash) in the middle of his sentence. "You're gonna do just fine, Kaylee." He steers her toward the stairs with a hand on her elbow. The guard checking for weapons shoots the two of them a questioning look, recognizing his boss, but Tony waves him off. They're only two pairs back. "Just stick by me; all you've gotta do is smile, look pretty, and be polite, and you've already got the second part down," he mutters in her ear, and Kaylee clutches at his arm a little harder.
"What if I ain't – not, what if I'm not polite enough for these people?" she hisses, a little hysterical.
"Then they can go hang, because it's my party and you're polite enough for me," he tells her, and then they bypass the weapons detector completely (them's the breaks when you're the boss, Kaylee figures). "Just remember how to breathe and hold onto my arm, and you'll be just fine."
"Mr. Tony Stark and escort, Miss Kaywinnit Lee Frye," the announcer says loudly, and then they're suddenly at the top of the grand flight of stairs, and Kaylee doesn't even care that Tony told them her full name, because she's looking down at the scene in front of them and beaming.
"Look at 'em," she says, delighted. "Whirlin' around like – like bits of colored paper!"
"They're certainly flimsy," Tony agrees, and he's smiling easily, secure in the knowledge that none of the dancers on the grand floor can hear. Out of the corner of his mouth: "Can we maybe go down the stairs now, Kaylee?"
"—Oh!" Kaylee swiftly pulls her skirts into her hand, like Rae taught her, and she starts down the steps at Tony's side. "Duìbùqĭ, I didn't—" She sucks a breath in sharply, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. If both her hands weren't occupied, at least one of them would currently be covering her open mouth. "Shénshèng de gāowán — s'at the 'verse on the ceiling?"
"What, that? Yeah," he says. "I think Danna Sawyer put that little number together a couple years ago."
“Āiyā!” Kaylee mutters, and Tony’s grinning as they sweep onto the floor.
Kaylee can’t keep track of how many people she gets introduced to. She starts forgetting names after the first five. Everyone in the damn room wants to shake Tony Stark’s hand, which means they shake hers, too, ‘cause even on the occasion or two when somebody pretends she isn’t there, Tony stops the presses to say, “And this is Miss Frye, one of Stark Enterprises’s finest,” and maybe at first she flushed and nodded demurely, but after a while, Kaylee beams right at these beautiful people and firmly shakes their hands. Kaylee likes meeting people.
When they’ve got a minute to themselves, Tony snags two glasses off a passing waiter’s tray, smooth as anything, and hands one off to Kaylee. The shimmerwine is pink and bubbly, and pretty tasty to boot; there’s somethin’ sweet and almost sparkly on her tongue. Kaylee’s face is flushed (was flushed before the shimmerwine, too), and her eyes are bright and she’s trying to look everywhere at once.
“You like this, huh?” Tony asks, one side of his mouth quirked.
Kaylee’s attention snaps back to him. “Shì a,” she says. “Ain’t exactly how I usually spend my days.”
“More’s the pity. You’re pretty good at all this gladhanding, especially for a rookie.”
“You think?”
“I know. Which is why I’m going to temporarily abandon you,” he says. “Just briefly. I’ve got a few matters to discuss with Andronicus over there; think you can keep up that smile in the meantime?”
Kaylee turns that sunshine smile on him, and salutes with the hand not holding a wine glass.
“Demonstration’s worth a thousand words. Wish me luck.” He steps away, brushing her elbow with a hand and draining his glass in one long drink as he goes, without giving Kaylee the chance to say a word.
Kaylee pulls a cheerful, slightly unsure face at his back, then drifts toward the buffet table, beaming to hear her skirts go swish-swish on the marble floor behind her.
“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind, and Kaylee turns to find Jim Rhodes bearing down on her, Rae’s hand tucked into his elbow. They make a hell of a couple, even in this room; Rhodey’s in an Alliance dress uniform, pressed and polished to the nines, and Rae looks even prettier than she did at the mansion. For two people as hardly know each other, they seem real at ease with each other. It makes Kaylee smile.
“Kaylee Frye,” Rhodey says. “Look at you.”
“Look at you,” Kaylee retorts, smoothing her gloved hands across her skirts, but her pleased smile gives her away. “Pretty shiny yourself, Colonel. Real handsome.”
“Xièxie,” says Rhodey, grinning. “You look great, Kaylee; no kidding.”
Rae smiles at Kaylee, warm. “I did tell you,” she reminds Rhodey.
“You did.” He looks back to Kaylee again. “Where’s your date? If he abandoned you, I can throw this in the next time I gotta lecture him about something.”
“You ain’t even gonna offer to kick his pìgu for me?” Kaylee grins.
“He doesn’t need to.” Rae pats Rhodey’s arm even as he shoots her a bemused, quizzical look. To Kaylee, she finishes, “If Tony left you here all by yourself, I’ll be giving him a swift kick in the ass before James even considers the possibility.”
“…Hey,” Rhodey protests, and maybe it’s the shimmerwine and maybe it’s just how bubbly Kaylee feels (and maybe it’s the indignant face Rhodey turns on Rae), but whatever it is, Kaylee can’t keep from giggling.
“No kickin’ necessary,” she says. “He had to talk to somebody ‘bout a business deal; he’s comin’ right b—”
“Rae!” a woman calls from across the room, sticking a manicured hand up from a knot of well-dressed people. “Rae Lacoste, darling! Where have you been all my life?”
Rhodey raises his eyebrows; smiles, practiced, as Rae waves at the woman, and he mutters, “You know her?”
Smiling back at the woman, Rae says under her breath, “Nope. Time to pretend.” She glances at Kaylee. “Kaylee, you want to—?” She gestures toward the little gathering.
Grinning, Kaylee waves her off. “You go on an’ make like you know those pretty people. I got someplace to be.”
“You sure?” Rhodey asks dubiously, looking like he could use a second wingman, but Rae tugs him away before he can get out of it.
Eyeing the buffet table, Kaylee sidles that way and sets her wine glass down so she can tuck a couple gorgeous, perfect strawberries and apple slices into a napkin. Mission accomplished, highly satisfied, she takes up her shimmerwine and fruit and sashays deeper into the ballroom.
Kaylee ain’t the follower of gossip feeds that her sister is, but these people are famous enough that she knows some of their faces. The kid in the violet scarf and the smug expression is almost definitely too young for the glass in his hand; he’s chatting up two girls who look like models, and Kaylee’s pretty sure she recognizes him as the son of a real famous businessman daddy. One of the girls spinning across the floor with a handsome partner is from a popular serialized drama vid; her character’s “twin sister” just died last week, Kaylee thinks, and she watches the actress’s red dress flare out as she moves. The actress is laughing, a real contrast from that dead-eyed white-faced dramatic death scene.
“Real pretty, ain’t it?” Kaylee asks of the woman beside her, who’s all decked out in a confection of tan folds with a complicated bustier and an even more complicated hairdo. Kaylee pops the last strawberry into her mouth.
“What?” The girl’s voice is smooth and well bred, as she looks at Kaylee – and as her three friends also look at her – and she sounds a little blank, like she’s confused.
“The dancers; it’s an awful pretty picture,” Kaylee clarifies. “Huá lì de.”
One of the girls in the back, the brunette, murmurs something behind her fluttering fan; one blonde giggles, and the other starts to smile then frowns ever-so-slightly.
“Oh,” says the lead girl. “The party.”
“Yep,” Kaylee says, her heart beginning to sink, and before she can stop herself: “An’ I never seen strawberries so mĕilì.”
“They are lovely, aren’t they?” The woman clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Poor thing; you must not have seen many of those, wherever it is that you’re from.” She inclines her head and leans in, earnest and sickly sweet, and she says, “Go ahead; keep collecting. After some time, you may even have enough to send the surplus home to everybody on the farm!” Several muffled giggles break out from the three girls behind her.
Kaylee stares for a second, stricken (everyone’s been so nice; it threw her off guard, she thinks, left her unprepared to deal with this), and just as something mad settles into the way that she clenches her jaw—
“Why, if it isn’t Georgina Hayes,” says a new voice, and Tony Stark steps up beside Kaylee and lays a light hand on her elbow. “Ladies.” He nods to the other three; they and Georgina curtsey. Georgina draws herself up taller and – if Kaylee don’t mistake her irritated guess – sticks her chest out farther. “Looking good tonight, Georgie; that’s some dress you poured yourself into.”
Georgina smiles; ducks her chin and flutters her eyelashes, and Kaylee’s jaw sets harder. “Always gracious, Tony,” Georgina simpers. “Thank you.”
Wondering furiously if Tony caught any of their earlier exchange, Kaylee takes a glance to the side – and she sees the look on his face. She recognizes it from the business-deal-gone-bad or two that she has witnessed pieces of. It’s cold and satisfied and very, very controlled; outwardly polite and inwardly about to rip somebody’s throat out.
“Seriously, it’s great to see that the creatively-challenged still follow the peacock with the gaudiest feathers and the loudest squawk.” Georgina’s face falls out of its pretty mask, shocked and ugly. Tony barrels merrily onward. “By all means, ladies, carry on. Party always needs somebody to watch while everybody else is dancing.” All four of the women are glaring by now, Tony apparently having struck a nerve. He smiles unpleasantly at the three women flanking Georgina. “Miss Blaire, Miss Henrickson, Miss–” He waves it off. “—Whoever your father actually is.”
Kaylee, meanwhile, has been bursting to say something ever since he started talking. Now that he's finally stopped, she opens her mouth, glaring mulishly at the lead woman. She gets as far as, “You don--” before Tony grabs her upper arm in a move designed to appear solicitous to outsiders, and hauls her off.
She momentarily considers kicking his shin in with her pointy shoe and going back to give the girls a piece of her mind, but in the end, she takes a couple deep breaths as they move farther away, and then she mutters under her breath: “I coulda taken care of that myself, Tony Stark. I don't need no knight in armor.”
“Oh, I know,” Tony says lightly, steering her toward the balcony. “I just got there first, and gorram, was it fun.” His smile is flashy and tight, all teeth.
“They were real charmin',” she says sourly. “Friends a' yours?”
Tony scoffs. “No, thank you. I prefer friends who have something other than three dried beans and some cotton wool rattling around between their ears.
She shoots a slow, considering look at him. A little wondering: “You're mad.”
He glances at her. “They were yī dà tuó dàbiàn,” he says, as if it's obvious.
“You are mad.” She pats his arm, some good humor returning. “That's real sweet, Tony, bein' all pissy on my behalf. Maybe I'll even let you buy me another drink.”
He snorts softly. “You're condescending. See if I ever insult somebody for you again.” They step through the double doors onto the balcony and Kaylee draws in a quiet breath as it hits home just how high they are. It's quiet out on the balcony – it's because they're 22 stories above the worst of the traffic, Kaylee figures; only specially registered craft come up this high, and there ain't so many of those – despite being surrounded by the lights of the city on all sides. It's gorgeous and strange, like something out of a cosmopolitan dream; the kind of place Kaylee never could have pictured herself standing, just a year and a half ago.
“So. What're we doin' out here?” she asks, uncomfortably shaking her arm out of his hand and turning to face him.
“Making sure you don't kill anybody.” Tony steps to the rail and leans on it, as comfortable 22 floors up as he is on the ground. He glances back at her, amusement writ large in his expression. “You looked ready to jump at Hayes.”
“She was bein' nasty,” Kaylee says, matter-of-fact. She rustles over and, after a brief peer over the side, rests her weight on her forearms, on the rail, beside him. “It was a real nice night til she opened her big fat mouth.”
He chuckles. The breeze picks up enough to set artfully loose tendrils of Kaylee's updo to swinging; it's enough to drive her just a little closer to Tony, who's a pretty effective windbreak. “Still worth getting your cat in my workshop?” 'Cat' sounds like a four-letter word.
It drags a tiny, warm smile out of her; some satisfaction. “Yep.” She knocks back a little more of her shimmerwine, which is still in her hand after all this time. She tilts the glass toward Tony. He glances at her, then gently plucks the offered crystal out of her hand – fingers brushing hers, but not in a way that feels calculated – and takes a drink.
“Tony,” Kaylee says, after another companionable pass back and forth. She shifts her feet and squares her shoulders; she means business.
He blinks at her, then drains the last of the shimmerwine and balances the glass on the rail, and turns to face her. Gamely: “Kaylee.”
“Why'd you ask me to come?” she asks. “Don't tell me it was 'cause it was last minute; you coulda asked any one of those girls out there, even the ones as already had dates.” Tony opens his mouth; she doggedly barrels onward and he is stopped dead in his tracks. “And don't tell me it's 'cause I know the company's product offerings; nobody's expected me to talk to 'em all night.”
“Can I tell you anything at all?” he asks, bemused, and she folds her arms and looks very, very unimpressed.
“Okay, okay okay.” He lifts his hands in the universal signal for don't shoot. “None of those girls,” he points at the door to the ballroom with his entire arm, “would have stood out here and shared their shimmerwine.”
“And that's a good thing?” she asks, a little doubtfully, and the step in that he takes, the one that puts him well within her personal space, answers that question.
They've been going back and forth like this for months now, and always, neither of them makes the final necessary move. They stop just short and they go on with what they were doing; it's almost become something of a game, albeit a loaded one.
Kaylee's tired of the game.
She fists the lapels of Tony’s jacket. He looks down at her fingers for a moment, then half-smiles, the sort of look that she’s had directed at her a million times, but never like this, never this close. In heels, she's just about his height; there's something comforting in it.
She watches him, steady, suppressed excitement setting her eyes shining, and then she thinks, Hell with it, and leans in even as she gives his jacket a good yank.
Tony tastes like whiskey and the hint of some spice; he kisses like she’s always thought he would, strong and thorough and swift. He's obviously been waiting for this, too, because there's no pause for surprise; he grabs her immediately and pulls her close. She throws her arms around his neck. His hand presses flat against the small of her back then slides to her hip – both hands are always on her and always moving, like he can't decide where to touch her first so he's going with as much as he can at once – and Kaylee wasn't shivering in the cold before (and she isn't cold now), but she shivers, her fingers making a wreck of his hair. He cups her face in his hands, which are every bit as callused and sure as she's always thought; she presses harder against him and he makes a low, strangled sort of noise into her mouth--
Then there are loud voices coming their way, and they both realize it in the same moment. Tony doesn't seem to care about their oncoming audience, but Kaylee scrambles and shoves him hard enough that he gets the message.
By the time the drunk couple stumbles around the corner and out onto the balcony, Tony and Kaylee are leaning on the railing, side by side.
“Gorram, honey; we gotta go someplace else,” says the man's voice.
Kaylee doesn't dare turn around; she surreptitiously looks at Tony. He's out of breath, she's gratified to see, and he's silently laughing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Footsteps clatter away behind them, and Kaylee bursts out laughing; covers her mouth with her hand and glances at Tony.
“So.” He's looking right back at her. “Would it be terribly presumptuous of me to ask you to come home with me?”
Kaylee considers the question. “Yep.”
Beat.
She says, “Do it.”
Tony grins one of those wild grins; the kind Kaylee doesn't usually find herself on the business end of. “Miss Frye—”
“Kaylee,” she corrects.
“Kaylee, would you do me the honor of escorting me home?”
“Well, since you asked all pretty,” she says, grinning, and she takes his arm.
“Hogan, shuttle,” Tony says into his sleeve. “Now.”
“I gotta ask you somethin’,” Kaylee says. Her gloves are off and her dress has been unsnapped and unhooked, but she has her arms clasped over her chest, holding up the gown (at least in the front).
“I’m clean, I take every precaution, and I get tested regularly,” Tony recites, sprawled across his giant bed (and it is huge; Kaylee laughed for what felt like ten minutes when she first saw how needlessly big it was) in a similar state of half-undress.
“Good to know, but nope. All – this— S’it just ‘cause I prettied up?” He regularly has thousand-credit ballgowns lying on his bedroom floor, and they both know it.
He looks at her for half a second like he can't believe she's asking that question. Then he sits up, perches on the edge of the bed, and says, “Frye, I have never wanted you more than I did two days ago, when I came downstairs and you were wearing a tank top and six layers of dirt and machine oil, wielding a blow torch.” He holds out his hand to her. “Would you come here already?”
Kaylee beams, and she lifts her arms. The gown drops with an almost silent whisper of silk.
In the morning, Kaylee wakes up alone.
“You know,” she says furiously, wearing nothing but a blanket, “it makes it real hard for you to avoid me the mornin’ after like all those other girls when I got the access codes to your workshop.”
Tony Stark looks up from the robotic arm that he's tinkering with, with the help of Dummy, and finds himself confronted with a so-mad-she’s-shaking Kaylee Frye. He blinks. “You’re right,” he says, after a second. “That would be really hard. If I was trying to avoid you.”
“And anoth—” Beat. “What?”
He gets up off the stool, abandoning the simulation that he was running. It keeps running in the background, throwing blue-purple light across his bare shoulders as he comes toward her “Couldn’t sleep, so I came down to get a headstart on that shield thing for the Alliance. I figured,” and she sees, as he picks it up, that there’s a second steaming mug of coffee on the table, “you’d know I was down here.” He hands her the coffee.
“…Oh,” she says, letting her hands close around the mug, and she feels an ass. Her mouth opens and closes a couple times.
Tony laughs and pats her head; she shoots him a disgruntled look. He sobers. “Maybe I should have been clearer about it last night, but I can’t make you any promises, Kaylee.”
“I’m not askin’ for promises. All I’m askin’ is you treat me right.”
Tony’s looking at her the way she’s seen him look at particularly confusing pieces of machinery; trying to figure out the inner workings. “And your definition of ‘right’ is…?”
“I don’t wanna wake up with Miss Wilmer standin’ over me, tellin’ me there’s a shuttle waitin’ to take me anywhere I wanna go.”
“Okay,” he says. “That can probably be arranged.”
“I’m serious, Tony,” she says. “I wanna keep workin’ here, ‘cause I like my job, and I don’t want anything to be weird. You keep doin’ what you’re doin’, and I keep doin’ what I was doin’. Only thing I’m expectin’ of you is you treat me with respect.”
“I can do that,” he says, and there’s something a little less wary, a little more warm in his face now.
“Okay,” she says fiercely, and it feels a little anticlimactic, because he’s not actually fighting her on any of this. “Good.”
“So – would it be disrespectful,” he sets his mug of coffee on the table, and she lets him take hers next, “if I kissed you right now? Is that not treating you right?”
“You,” Kaylee tells him, as he puts his hands on her hips and draws her in, “are kinda a pain.”
“I’m gonna go ahead and assume that’s encouragement,” he says, chuckling low, and Kaylee goes up on her toes to meet him halfway.
“It’s a bad idea,” says Jim Rhodes’ voice later that day, loud and clear, and Kaylee’s smile starts to slip, but it’s too late to turn around and go back up the stairs. She hovers outside the workshop door, uncertain. Rhodey has squared off in the middle of the room; Tony's up to his elbows in the shield generator, seemingly unconcerned. Neither of them notices her.
“It's showmanship,” Tony corrects blithely. “It’ll be bang, wow, in, out, done. Shock and awe. Simple as that.”
“This is an active war zone, Tony. It's not a game.”
Kaylee propels herself around the corner. Rhodey doesn't skip a beat. “Tell him it's not a game,” he says.
An apple hangs forgotten in her hand. “What're you doin' going to a war zone?” she asks Tony, slow and hesitant and very, very wary.
“You know,” he points at her with a tool, “I really appreciate that you don't try to pretend you weren't eavesdropping when you were.” He cranks the generator's intake valve; he uses some force, because Kaylee can hear it from where she's standing, but to all intents and purposes, he seems laid-back otherwise. “Very honest of you; I've always liked that.”
“Tony,” Rhodey and Kaylee say at once, with varying degrees of annoyance and worry, and he rolls his eyes mightily.
“This is dangerous,” Rhodey insists. “You could get killed.”
“Well, same to you, sweet cheeks.”
“Yeah? Yeah? You know what the difference between me and you is?” Kaylee hasn't seen Rhodey this worked up in a while. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
“No,” says Tony, in a tone that he must have learned as a teenager.
“I'm trained for this gŏushĭ.” He's glaring. “I've been in combat before.”
“Guess you'll just have to protect me with your big strong colonel-y ways,” Tony says absently. “Pass me that spanner.”
It's Kaylee who steps forward and slaps the tool into his palm. “The hell's all this about, boys?”
“He wants to run a field demonstration of the SA1380. He says,” Rhodey shoots a look at Tony, “it won't have the 'right sexy effect' if it isn't tested someplace that's seen fighting recently.”
She folds her arms. “Well, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
He sighs sharply and finally sets down the spanner. “Okay, Mom,” he says; “Moms. The big front's Persephone right now; nobody's paying attention to Hera. It's nice and quiet. No fighting, the Browncoats all dead or hiding in their little holes.” He starts ticking off on his fingers. “There hasn't been a major altercation in seven months, there are only three Browncoat brigades left in the entire area, and I'll be surrounded by the might of sixteen brigades of the Alliance's finest.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I'll be safer there than I am in the back of a personal craft at rush hour when Hogan's flying.”
Kaylee's lips are still pursed. Rhodey still looks like he swallowed something sour.
“What? It's already been cleared by General Willkins. You wouldn't want to disappoint General Willkins, would you?”
“Unbelievable,” Rhodey mutters, shaking his head and going right out the door and up the stairs.
“Tomorrow!” Tony calls after him. “Five o'clock sharp, bright and early! Serenity Valley!”
“You're gonna be late,” Rhodes hollers back, and a door slams upstairs.
On the bright side, Kaylee thinks, this kept Jim from figuring out that something's different between her and Tony. Not that you'd ever know it, watching Tony. It's been a weird day. But this is what she wanted, right? Nothing changing; doing her job while Tony does his.
She finds Tony looking at her.
“What,” he says, “no lecture?”
“You already know my opinion,” she says tartly, coming around to the opposite side of the generator, “and you ain't payin' it any mind.”
“I'm paying it plenty of mind,” Tony counters, handing her the spanner so she can tighten the loose bolt on the casing. “I just happen to disagree with it. I'll be back in two days tops; try not to miss me too much.”
“I ain't gonna miss you at all,” Kaylee says.
Twenty-four hours later, as she crosses in front of the vid player, the news headline catches her eye.
Her coffee mug shatters when it hits the floor.
Chinese translations [primarily from here]:
Duìbùqĭ - I'm sorry; excuse me
Baozi - A type of steamed, filled bun or bread-like (i.e. made with yeast) item in various Chinese cuisines.
Chǎo nián gāo - Rice cake, Year cake or Chinese new year's cake is a food prepared from glutinous rice and consumed in Chinese cuisine.
Tiān kōng - Sky
Mĕilì - Beautiful; pretty
Gaīsĭ - Go to Hell!; damn it!
Pìgu - Ass
Wŏ de mā hé tā de fēngkuáng de wàisheng dōu - Holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews
Xin gan - Sweetheart; darling
Nán wàng de - Unforgettable
Tī wŏ de pìgu - Kick me in the ass
Huá lì de - Gorgeous
Xièxie nĭ - Thank you (formal)
Qin ài de - Dear; darling
Xièxie - Thanks (informal)
Shénshèng de gāowán - Holy testicle Tuesday
Āiyā! - Damn!
Shì a - Affirmative
Yī dà tuó dàbiàn - A big pile of shit
Interlude
Fandom: Firefly/Iron Man (movie)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tony Stark/Kaylee Frye
Summary: Kaylee doesn't think anything's ever going to be the same.
Necessary explanation: I asked for prompts, and
agonistes told me to write Tony/Kaylee. I said 'MWAHAHA' at the time and happily started writing in things designed to make Sweeney twitch, but I think that she officially gets the last laugh, because this is eating my brain alive. Part 1 can be found here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, and Part 4 here.Extras: Shenanigans set sometime between parts 4 & 5. Other people have also been writing things set in this universe, which makes me shriek every time.
agonistes wrote Laws of Conservation, which she is probably going to kill me a little for linking but that I consider part of canon (between parts 3 & 4) because it is fabulous, and then copinggoggles and I went back and forth on a theme that isn't quite canonical thanks to the inclusion of some Good Omens, but that I love anyway. Did I miss anything? It's been so long since I updated this story that I can't remember now. *shameface*Thirteen months.
“I don’t know,” Kaylee says doubtfully, frowning. A red flower is tucked behind one ear, and she has a whole bouquet of red and orange and pink blossoming out of one bag. She sets her hand on her hip, shopping bags dangling from her elbow. “That’s a whole lotta cred.” She shakes her head; starts to walk away from the stand.
“Duìbùqĭ, duìbùqĭ duìbùqĭ,” the seller calls after her, and Kaylee allows herself a tiny, satisfied smile before she turns around. “I can see that you’re a woman of discerning taste.”
“So I been told,” Kaylee allows cheerfully, easing through the crowd to stand in front of the brightly-decorated stall. Scarves, flags, and signs flutter in the breeze through the narrow marketplace, along with the smells of baozi, chǎo nián gāo, lemon squares, and other unidentifiable but mouth-watering foods. It’s all thoroughly dirty and disreputable; the market pops up once a week in this alley six blocks east of Ehrrman Square. Kaylee only discovered it a couple months ago, but she’s already in love.
“I could maybe take it down to…” The seller folds his brawny arms over his chest; looks down at his table of wares, then up at Kaylee. He eyes her beadily. “Twenty.”
Kaylee raises her eyebrows and pretends to consider it, and then she shakes her head, regretful. “I’m sorry,” she says, apologetic and at her very sweetest, “you been real helpful, but that just ain’t a price I can pay.”
He rests his hand on the crate in question – and he sighs. “Fifteen, and that’s my final offer. That’s it; tiān kōng ain’t the limit.”
“Done!” Kaylee chirps, beaming, and she slips a hand into her aquamarine jacket and plucks the necessary bills from her inner pocket, and hands them over. The seller eyes her enthusiasm (and then the bills), but he accepts both and nudges the crate in her direction.
Kaylee stoops, hands on her knees, and peers through the grate. “Hi, mĕilì,” she murmurs, smiling with all her might, and the gray tabby kitten stares back at her with huge green eyes.
Later, Kaylee hums to herself as she slips home through side streets. It’s a nice night, warm, with the buds starting up again on trees; waiters are putting out chairs and tables, setting tables and lighting candles. Kaylee’s new scarf, shimmering in various shades of purple, keeps her neck and chin covered against the occasional breeze.
Kaylee balances bags of market treasures in one hand and the crate under the other arm, and she thinks of the fairy lights waiting to be lit and the fine dinner that she’s going to cook with these fresh ingredients; the basket that she’s going to make up for the kitten to sleep in, and where she left off in a silly-but-addictive drama series starring pink-haired girls who fight evil with sparkles.
Carrying a carton of strawberries, Kaylee smiles at the dusk sky.
Fourteen months.
“Hey,” says Tony’s voice, sudden and amplified over the workshop speakers; “Frye.”
Kaylee starts; whacks the back of her head on the pipe. “Gaīsĭ!” She doesn’t have to look up, sitting on her knees and rubbing her head, to know that Tony’s jogging down the steps, taking them three at a time. The keypad beeps and the door slides open.
“Ouch,” says Tony, all too cheerful. “That looks like it–” His footsteps slow. “—Hurt. Frye. Why is there a purse filled with cat hair on the table in my workshop.” There is, indeed, a large purse sitting on Kaylee’s table. Tony obviously recognizes it thanks to the small hatch made of netting for the cat to look through.
Kaylee straightens up. “Maybe ‘cause there’s a cat in your workshop,” she says, matter-of-fact and shooting him a look. “Thought that was obvious.”
“And why is there a cat in my workshop?”
“ ‘Cause my roof’s gettin’ fixed and Sparkplug’s got to come somewhere, and I figured Tony Stark, he don’t turn no cute, furry animals out in the cold.” Kaylee looks very cute at him, with big eyes.
Tony shoots her a wary stare. “Have you met me?”
“C’mon, Tony,” Kaylee says. “He’s real cute and real quiet; he’s been sleepin’ on the couch since I got here.”
“It’s on my couch. It’s on my couch? You aren’t making a good case for yourself.”
“You’re a mean old man,” Kaylee says cheerfully, flicking excess oil off her fingers in Tony’s general direction. She ducks back down under the system of pipes and wiring once again. “What were you yellin’ at me for when you came down? Sounded like a yowling herd of cats.”
“A herd of cats,” Tony repeats, shooting her a bemused look. “I just got a wave from Wilmer, so—” He pulls one of those expressive Tony Stark faces.
“Uh-uh,” says Kaylee, without looking up. “Whatever she wants you to do, I ain’t doin’ it.”
“Come on. Give me a little more credit than that, huh, Frye? No, but I do have a request to make. A favor, if you will.”
For all their talk, for all Tony’s inappropriate behavior and what a pain in the pìgu he can be – he’s never asked a favor of her, not once, not even facetiously. And Kaylee, well – she’s curious, and she owes Tony one, she figures, after how good he was when her nephew was real sick a couple months ago; how he pulled every string he had to get Zackery and Kaylee’s sister to Osiris, into the specialty pediatrics ward at St. Luke’s. Kaylee remembers how her family only met Tony once, just briefly, with her sister exhausted and starstruck and twangy, and how Tony was the most gracious Kaylee has ever seen him, and not even a little mean.
Kaylee doesn’t figure she can ever really pay him back for that, as much as he brushed it off.
She sticks her head out from under the panel, and she says, wary, “Yeah?”
“I find myself in need of a partner,” Tony says.
Immediately: “Rhodey.” Kaylee hates to throw Rhodey under the bus, but he makes a better partner for Tony’s shenanigans. Always has.
“Well, I’m looking for somebody who can charm the pants off potential investors and who’s got the legs for a dress, so I’m going to have to pass on James. As dress-worthy as his legs are.”
Kaylee stares at him blankly. “Why’re you tellin’ me you’re callin’ the Guild for Inara?”
“I’m not—” He rolls his eyes. “You, Kaylee, I’m asking you.”
“—Me?” Kaylee’s so startled she almost stutters. “It’s a real nice compliment, Tony, but…” There’s something girlish, young, in the terribly wary way that she’s watching him; cautious and unsure. “I ain’t a Companion. Nowhere near. Rae or Beth could do better’n I could, too.”
“I’m not looking for a Companion or a Rae or a Beth. They’re not Stark Enterprises employees overflowing with homegrown cheerful charm and an encyclopedic working knowledge of the transray emitter that I’m trying to sell Roxxon.”
“…You mean it?”
“I mean it.”
“You forgot about this thing, huh?” Kaylee says, after a second. “Miss Wilmer just waved to remind you, an’ now Rae, Beth, and Inara are all busy or’ve already got dates.”
“Yep,” says Tony without skipping a beat, shameless to the end. “You in?”
Kaylee eyes him beadily, and then she smiles. “What’s in it for me?”
“Anything you want,” Tony says immediately. “You name it, you got it.”
Somewhere in the workshop, Sparkplug miaows. Kaylee’s grin broadens, and she points at the cat-carrying purse on the table.
Tony Stark sighs sharply.
“Don’t worry about it. Would you quit – she’s worrying about it,” Tony tells Happy Hogan, over Kaylee’s head as she bustles between the two taller men.
“Yes, sir,” Happy says, one side of his mouth tilted upward.
“Rae’s great with this—” Lord knows what Tony’s hand gesture is supposed to signify. “Stuff. She’ll take you shopping, I’ll foot the bill for whatever debauched frippery is in style these days – piece of cake.”
Kaylee pushes between them again, going back to stir the pot on the stove. “I can pay for my own frippery, y’know. I don’t wanna be beholden.”
“She thinks she’s going to be beholden; isn’t that cute?” Tony says to Happy, who clears his throat but can’t stop that twitch of his mouth.
“You need anything else, Mr. Stark?” Happy says.
“No, Hogan, I’m done. Run free. Nobody’s beholden; you’re doing me a favor.” Tony swings from one employee to the other without skipping a beat, leaning against the countertop and folding his arms. Shaking his head, Happy Hogan nods to Kaylee – who waves with a drippy wooden spoon – as he ducks out the kitchen door.
“A favor, huh?” Kaylee says, shooting Tony a doubtful sideways look.
Tony’s in grease-stained casual clothes, sleeves rolled up and a stylus still perched precariously behind his ear. He stands silhouetted in front of the kitchen’s enormous plate windows; the bay can’t hardly be seen at night, though the lights of the capital city shine bright in the distance across all that dark water. The kitchen’s all sleek shine and low lighting, the pot bubbling away on the cooktop – there’s almost something homey about the scene, Kaylee thinks.
Tony spreads his hands disarmingly. “A favor.”
“Well,” says Kaylee. “Maybe I could see my way to a favor.”
“Half favor, half deal. After all, you drove a hard bargain.”
“It wasn’t that hard. Ain’t gonna kill you havin’ a cute fuzzy thing in the house, once in a while. Kittens never hurt nobody.” She glances away, checking the pan of slowly sauteéing vegetables, and she misses the delicate balance of timing on the pot; water hisses loudly as it slaps against the hot cooktop, boiling over, and Kaylee whirls back—
Tony’s right there, close as you please, and Kaylee barely brings herself up short quickly enough to avoid smacking right into him. She wonders dimly just how he got so close so fast without her noticing. Seemingly unconcerned, Tony clicks the heat down a level, stirring the contents of the pot, and the water subsides.
“That’s what you think,” he says, mouth quirked into a tiny half-smile, suffused with warmth and humor. He’s smiling right at her.
He smells real good, like engine oil and machinery and something else she can’t place, something that’s just Tony and is probably some stupid-expensive cologne or aftershave, and she ought to step back, but she doesn’t.
It takes Kaylee a second to remember what they’re talking about.
“That’s what I know,” she corrects, her voice low, and there’s a real fondness between them; Kaylee can feel it.
“That’s because you’ve never encountered a squadron of ninja death kittens,” Tony deadpans, and while Kaylee immediately breaks into genuine, ‘you’re so weird’ laughter and takes a step back, she knows: they’re toying with the edges of dangerous territory.
"…Wow," says Tony Stark. "Wŏ de mā hé tā de fēngkuáng de wàisheng dōu--" For all his usual posturing -- he looks genuinely stunned. He looks like Kaylee hit him in the gut with a pry bar, and then maybe whacked him over the head with a spanner for good measure.
"It that bad?" asks Kaylee from the top of the stairs, a little wry and a little unsure.
"Ignore him, honey," says Rae, leaning over the rail behind her. "Just go on down; the man will pick his jaw up off the floor eventually." Kaylee hesitates; Rae counsels kindly: "Skirts in one hand, railing in the other."
Kaylee does as instructed, running a hand along the banister as she comes down the steps. The dress trails behind her, pink train whispering along the marble. Her shoes click quietly (and she's a little wobbly, but she's worn shoes with heels in her lifetime, and Rae gave her a couple quick tips).
The dress is technically a gown. It's deep pink and satiny underneath sheer layers (that are hiked up a bit so that the pink shows at the bottom) with silvery embellishments arranged in tiers of shimmer. The fabric wraps just below the bust; the elaborate silver scrollwork crawls across the square neckline and the cap sleeves. Mechanic's hands are hidden under long white gloves that go way up above Kaylee's elbows. Her hair is up in soft curls (and that's courtesy of Rae, too; she owns a beauty salon, after all, and she insisted that Kaylee's hair was free of charge) and she's wearing lipstick and there's something silver on her eyelids.
For all the shiny, it's an elegant look; it ain't Kaylee's first choice (hers involved more ruffles and frippery, and bright colors on these nán wàng de skirts), but she loves the pink and the sparkly bits on this one, and how pretty it is. She's cognizant of the fact that she's going in on Tony Stark's arm, too, and that this is the kind of dress a self-respecting woman on Tony Stark's arm oughta wear.
(And Kaylee sparkles when she walks, and that delights her to no end.)
Kaylee's dead sure she's never worn so much money in her life. It makes her nervous as all get out.
So does the look on Tony's face as she arrives at the bottom of the steps.
He finally closes his mouth. "Why, Frye," he says, and he comes forward in time to extend a hand. "You clean up very nicely."
Kaylee takes the offered hand and carefully steps down the last few stairs. "You don't do bad yourself," she tells him, and she can't help it -- nerves or not, she beams like the sun.
"If this is how it's going to be, I need to buy dresses for you more often," Tony tells her. "Tī wŏ de pìgu but you are huá lì de. Good God." He raises her gloved hand and kisses her knuckles, and Kaylee tries not to let her heart flutter, she really tries, but she doesn't do so great at stopping it.
Tony just called her gorgeous.
Granted, he also said "kick me in the ass," but that part reassures Kaylee; that part sounds more like the man she works with on a daily basis. It reminds her that this isn't some stranger with perfect hair and a snazzy suit. It's Tony.
"Well," she says, and one thing she doesn't try to hide is her huge smile, "that's right nice of you to say, Tony." She drops a passable curtsey. "Xièxie nĭ."
"You're welcome," says Tony without looking away from her for so much as a second, and Kaylee is almost grateful to hear Rae descending the stairs. "And where's your date, Ms. Lacoste?" Tony inquires, absently. “You’d think he’d at least have the stones to show his face, stealing you right out from under my nose like this.”
“I’m nobody’s to steal, Tony,” Rae tells him, matter of fact and fond. “You took so long to remember this thing that I just had to take matters into my own hands. My date’s meeting me elsewhere, because the entire ‘verse doesn’t revolve around you.” She manages her grand dress without a problem, but Kaylee can't find it in her to be jealous of it; Rae's Rae, and she seems to take everything in her life in the same steady, confidant stride. Her dress is ivory and gold, with a cowl neck and delicate filigreed sleeves, and heavy skirts. It's a hell of a standout.
Rae pats Tony's arm in passing. "See you at the party, qin ài de. Kaylee—" she bends to kiss Kaylee's cheek, "you look beautiful. Tony’ll be chasing the boys off with a stick."
Kaylee flushes; she knows she does. " Xièxie."
She wonders what that trauma surgeon she dated for a couple months when she first arrived on Osiris would think of her now, looking like this, with these fine people.
She finds that she doesn't really care all that much.
"It ain't too late for you to back outta this," Kaylee stage-whispers. "Bet you could get Inara over here real quick."
"Inara – hi there, how are you, thanks for comin’ out – is already here with somebody, I'm sure," says Tony, flashing a charming smile (at a portly gentleman wearing a red sash) in the middle of his sentence. "You're gonna do just fine, Kaylee." He steers her toward the stairs with a hand on her elbow. The guard checking for weapons shoots the two of them a questioning look, recognizing his boss, but Tony waves him off. They're only two pairs back. "Just stick by me; all you've gotta do is smile, look pretty, and be polite, and you've already got the second part down," he mutters in her ear, and Kaylee clutches at his arm a little harder.
"What if I ain't – not, what if I'm not polite enough for these people?" she hisses, a little hysterical.
"Then they can go hang, because it's my party and you're polite enough for me," he tells her, and then they bypass the weapons detector completely (them's the breaks when you're the boss, Kaylee figures). "Just remember how to breathe and hold onto my arm, and you'll be just fine."
"Mr. Tony Stark and escort, Miss Kaywinnit Lee Frye," the announcer says loudly, and then they're suddenly at the top of the grand flight of stairs, and Kaylee doesn't even care that Tony told them her full name, because she's looking down at the scene in front of them and beaming.
"Look at 'em," she says, delighted. "Whirlin' around like – like bits of colored paper!"
"They're certainly flimsy," Tony agrees, and he's smiling easily, secure in the knowledge that none of the dancers on the grand floor can hear. Out of the corner of his mouth: "Can we maybe go down the stairs now, Kaylee?"
"—Oh!" Kaylee swiftly pulls her skirts into her hand, like Rae taught her, and she starts down the steps at Tony's side. "Duìbùqĭ, I didn't—" She sucks a breath in sharply, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. If both her hands weren't occupied, at least one of them would currently be covering her open mouth. "Shénshèng de gāowán — s'at the 'verse on the ceiling?"
"What, that? Yeah," he says. "I think Danna Sawyer put that little number together a couple years ago."
“Āiyā!” Kaylee mutters, and Tony’s grinning as they sweep onto the floor.
Kaylee can’t keep track of how many people she gets introduced to. She starts forgetting names after the first five. Everyone in the damn room wants to shake Tony Stark’s hand, which means they shake hers, too, ‘cause even on the occasion or two when somebody pretends she isn’t there, Tony stops the presses to say, “And this is Miss Frye, one of Stark Enterprises’s finest,” and maybe at first she flushed and nodded demurely, but after a while, Kaylee beams right at these beautiful people and firmly shakes their hands. Kaylee likes meeting people.
When they’ve got a minute to themselves, Tony snags two glasses off a passing waiter’s tray, smooth as anything, and hands one off to Kaylee. The shimmerwine is pink and bubbly, and pretty tasty to boot; there’s somethin’ sweet and almost sparkly on her tongue. Kaylee’s face is flushed (was flushed before the shimmerwine, too), and her eyes are bright and she’s trying to look everywhere at once.
“You like this, huh?” Tony asks, one side of his mouth quirked.
Kaylee’s attention snaps back to him. “Shì a,” she says. “Ain’t exactly how I usually spend my days.”
“More’s the pity. You’re pretty good at all this gladhanding, especially for a rookie.”
“You think?”
“I know. Which is why I’m going to temporarily abandon you,” he says. “Just briefly. I’ve got a few matters to discuss with Andronicus over there; think you can keep up that smile in the meantime?”
Kaylee turns that sunshine smile on him, and salutes with the hand not holding a wine glass.
“Demonstration’s worth a thousand words. Wish me luck.” He steps away, brushing her elbow with a hand and draining his glass in one long drink as he goes, without giving Kaylee the chance to say a word.
Kaylee pulls a cheerful, slightly unsure face at his back, then drifts toward the buffet table, beaming to hear her skirts go swish-swish on the marble floor behind her.
“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind, and Kaylee turns to find Jim Rhodes bearing down on her, Rae’s hand tucked into his elbow. They make a hell of a couple, even in this room; Rhodey’s in an Alliance dress uniform, pressed and polished to the nines, and Rae looks even prettier than she did at the mansion. For two people as hardly know each other, they seem real at ease with each other. It makes Kaylee smile.
“Kaylee Frye,” Rhodey says. “Look at you.”
“Look at you,” Kaylee retorts, smoothing her gloved hands across her skirts, but her pleased smile gives her away. “Pretty shiny yourself, Colonel. Real handsome.”
“Xièxie,” says Rhodey, grinning. “You look great, Kaylee; no kidding.”
Rae smiles at Kaylee, warm. “I did tell you,” she reminds Rhodey.
“You did.” He looks back to Kaylee again. “Where’s your date? If he abandoned you, I can throw this in the next time I gotta lecture him about something.”
“You ain’t even gonna offer to kick his pìgu for me?” Kaylee grins.
“He doesn’t need to.” Rae pats Rhodey’s arm even as he shoots her a bemused, quizzical look. To Kaylee, she finishes, “If Tony left you here all by yourself, I’ll be giving him a swift kick in the ass before James even considers the possibility.”
“…Hey,” Rhodey protests, and maybe it’s the shimmerwine and maybe it’s just how bubbly Kaylee feels (and maybe it’s the indignant face Rhodey turns on Rae), but whatever it is, Kaylee can’t keep from giggling.
“No kickin’ necessary,” she says. “He had to talk to somebody ‘bout a business deal; he’s comin’ right b—”
“Rae!” a woman calls from across the room, sticking a manicured hand up from a knot of well-dressed people. “Rae Lacoste, darling! Where have you been all my life?”
Rhodey raises his eyebrows; smiles, practiced, as Rae waves at the woman, and he mutters, “You know her?”
Smiling back at the woman, Rae says under her breath, “Nope. Time to pretend.” She glances at Kaylee. “Kaylee, you want to—?” She gestures toward the little gathering.
Grinning, Kaylee waves her off. “You go on an’ make like you know those pretty people. I got someplace to be.”
“You sure?” Rhodey asks dubiously, looking like he could use a second wingman, but Rae tugs him away before he can get out of it.
Eyeing the buffet table, Kaylee sidles that way and sets her wine glass down so she can tuck a couple gorgeous, perfect strawberries and apple slices into a napkin. Mission accomplished, highly satisfied, she takes up her shimmerwine and fruit and sashays deeper into the ballroom.
Kaylee ain’t the follower of gossip feeds that her sister is, but these people are famous enough that she knows some of their faces. The kid in the violet scarf and the smug expression is almost definitely too young for the glass in his hand; he’s chatting up two girls who look like models, and Kaylee’s pretty sure she recognizes him as the son of a real famous businessman daddy. One of the girls spinning across the floor with a handsome partner is from a popular serialized drama vid; her character’s “twin sister” just died last week, Kaylee thinks, and she watches the actress’s red dress flare out as she moves. The actress is laughing, a real contrast from that dead-eyed white-faced dramatic death scene.
“Real pretty, ain’t it?” Kaylee asks of the woman beside her, who’s all decked out in a confection of tan folds with a complicated bustier and an even more complicated hairdo. Kaylee pops the last strawberry into her mouth.
“What?” The girl’s voice is smooth and well bred, as she looks at Kaylee – and as her three friends also look at her – and she sounds a little blank, like she’s confused.
“The dancers; it’s an awful pretty picture,” Kaylee clarifies. “Huá lì de.”
One of the girls in the back, the brunette, murmurs something behind her fluttering fan; one blonde giggles, and the other starts to smile then frowns ever-so-slightly.
“Oh,” says the lead girl. “The party.”
“Yep,” Kaylee says, her heart beginning to sink, and before she can stop herself: “An’ I never seen strawberries so mĕilì.”
“They are lovely, aren’t they?” The woman clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Poor thing; you must not have seen many of those, wherever it is that you’re from.” She inclines her head and leans in, earnest and sickly sweet, and she says, “Go ahead; keep collecting. After some time, you may even have enough to send the surplus home to everybody on the farm!” Several muffled giggles break out from the three girls behind her.
Kaylee stares for a second, stricken (everyone’s been so nice; it threw her off guard, she thinks, left her unprepared to deal with this), and just as something mad settles into the way that she clenches her jaw—
“Why, if it isn’t Georgina Hayes,” says a new voice, and Tony Stark steps up beside Kaylee and lays a light hand on her elbow. “Ladies.” He nods to the other three; they and Georgina curtsey. Georgina draws herself up taller and – if Kaylee don’t mistake her irritated guess – sticks her chest out farther. “Looking good tonight, Georgie; that’s some dress you poured yourself into.”
Georgina smiles; ducks her chin and flutters her eyelashes, and Kaylee’s jaw sets harder. “Always gracious, Tony,” Georgina simpers. “Thank you.”
Wondering furiously if Tony caught any of their earlier exchange, Kaylee takes a glance to the side – and she sees the look on his face. She recognizes it from the business-deal-gone-bad or two that she has witnessed pieces of. It’s cold and satisfied and very, very controlled; outwardly polite and inwardly about to rip somebody’s throat out.
“Seriously, it’s great to see that the creatively-challenged still follow the peacock with the gaudiest feathers and the loudest squawk.” Georgina’s face falls out of its pretty mask, shocked and ugly. Tony barrels merrily onward. “By all means, ladies, carry on. Party always needs somebody to watch while everybody else is dancing.” All four of the women are glaring by now, Tony apparently having struck a nerve. He smiles unpleasantly at the three women flanking Georgina. “Miss Blaire, Miss Henrickson, Miss–” He waves it off. “—Whoever your father actually is.”
Kaylee, meanwhile, has been bursting to say something ever since he started talking. Now that he's finally stopped, she opens her mouth, glaring mulishly at the lead woman. She gets as far as, “You don--” before Tony grabs her upper arm in a move designed to appear solicitous to outsiders, and hauls her off.
She momentarily considers kicking his shin in with her pointy shoe and going back to give the girls a piece of her mind, but in the end, she takes a couple deep breaths as they move farther away, and then she mutters under her breath: “I coulda taken care of that myself, Tony Stark. I don't need no knight in armor.”
“Oh, I know,” Tony says lightly, steering her toward the balcony. “I just got there first, and gorram, was it fun.” His smile is flashy and tight, all teeth.
“They were real charmin',” she says sourly. “Friends a' yours?”
Tony scoffs. “No, thank you. I prefer friends who have something other than three dried beans and some cotton wool rattling around between their ears.
She shoots a slow, considering look at him. A little wondering: “You're mad.”
He glances at her. “They were yī dà tuó dàbiàn,” he says, as if it's obvious.
“You are mad.” She pats his arm, some good humor returning. “That's real sweet, Tony, bein' all pissy on my behalf. Maybe I'll even let you buy me another drink.”
He snorts softly. “You're condescending. See if I ever insult somebody for you again.” They step through the double doors onto the balcony and Kaylee draws in a quiet breath as it hits home just how high they are. It's quiet out on the balcony – it's because they're 22 stories above the worst of the traffic, Kaylee figures; only specially registered craft come up this high, and there ain't so many of those – despite being surrounded by the lights of the city on all sides. It's gorgeous and strange, like something out of a cosmopolitan dream; the kind of place Kaylee never could have pictured herself standing, just a year and a half ago.
“So. What're we doin' out here?” she asks, uncomfortably shaking her arm out of his hand and turning to face him.
“Making sure you don't kill anybody.” Tony steps to the rail and leans on it, as comfortable 22 floors up as he is on the ground. He glances back at her, amusement writ large in his expression. “You looked ready to jump at Hayes.”
“She was bein' nasty,” Kaylee says, matter-of-fact. She rustles over and, after a brief peer over the side, rests her weight on her forearms, on the rail, beside him. “It was a real nice night til she opened her big fat mouth.”
He chuckles. The breeze picks up enough to set artfully loose tendrils of Kaylee's updo to swinging; it's enough to drive her just a little closer to Tony, who's a pretty effective windbreak. “Still worth getting your cat in my workshop?” 'Cat' sounds like a four-letter word.
It drags a tiny, warm smile out of her; some satisfaction. “Yep.” She knocks back a little more of her shimmerwine, which is still in her hand after all this time. She tilts the glass toward Tony. He glances at her, then gently plucks the offered crystal out of her hand – fingers brushing hers, but not in a way that feels calculated – and takes a drink.
“Tony,” Kaylee says, after another companionable pass back and forth. She shifts her feet and squares her shoulders; she means business.
He blinks at her, then drains the last of the shimmerwine and balances the glass on the rail, and turns to face her. Gamely: “Kaylee.”
“Why'd you ask me to come?” she asks. “Don't tell me it was 'cause it was last minute; you coulda asked any one of those girls out there, even the ones as already had dates.” Tony opens his mouth; she doggedly barrels onward and he is stopped dead in his tracks. “And don't tell me it's 'cause I know the company's product offerings; nobody's expected me to talk to 'em all night.”
“Can I tell you anything at all?” he asks, bemused, and she folds her arms and looks very, very unimpressed.
“Okay, okay okay.” He lifts his hands in the universal signal for don't shoot. “None of those girls,” he points at the door to the ballroom with his entire arm, “would have stood out here and shared their shimmerwine.”
“And that's a good thing?” she asks, a little doubtfully, and the step in that he takes, the one that puts him well within her personal space, answers that question.
They've been going back and forth like this for months now, and always, neither of them makes the final necessary move. They stop just short and they go on with what they were doing; it's almost become something of a game, albeit a loaded one.
Kaylee's tired of the game.
She fists the lapels of Tony’s jacket. He looks down at her fingers for a moment, then half-smiles, the sort of look that she’s had directed at her a million times, but never like this, never this close. In heels, she's just about his height; there's something comforting in it.
She watches him, steady, suppressed excitement setting her eyes shining, and then she thinks, Hell with it, and leans in even as she gives his jacket a good yank.
Tony tastes like whiskey and the hint of some spice; he kisses like she’s always thought he would, strong and thorough and swift. He's obviously been waiting for this, too, because there's no pause for surprise; he grabs her immediately and pulls her close. She throws her arms around his neck. His hand presses flat against the small of her back then slides to her hip – both hands are always on her and always moving, like he can't decide where to touch her first so he's going with as much as he can at once – and Kaylee wasn't shivering in the cold before (and she isn't cold now), but she shivers, her fingers making a wreck of his hair. He cups her face in his hands, which are every bit as callused and sure as she's always thought; she presses harder against him and he makes a low, strangled sort of noise into her mouth--
Then there are loud voices coming their way, and they both realize it in the same moment. Tony doesn't seem to care about their oncoming audience, but Kaylee scrambles and shoves him hard enough that he gets the message.
By the time the drunk couple stumbles around the corner and out onto the balcony, Tony and Kaylee are leaning on the railing, side by side.
“Gorram, honey; we gotta go someplace else,” says the man's voice.
Kaylee doesn't dare turn around; she surreptitiously looks at Tony. He's out of breath, she's gratified to see, and he's silently laughing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Footsteps clatter away behind them, and Kaylee bursts out laughing; covers her mouth with her hand and glances at Tony.
“So.” He's looking right back at her. “Would it be terribly presumptuous of me to ask you to come home with me?”
Kaylee considers the question. “Yep.”
Beat.
She says, “Do it.”
Tony grins one of those wild grins; the kind Kaylee doesn't usually find herself on the business end of. “Miss Frye—”
“Kaylee,” she corrects.
“Kaylee, would you do me the honor of escorting me home?”
“Well, since you asked all pretty,” she says, grinning, and she takes his arm.
“Hogan, shuttle,” Tony says into his sleeve. “Now.”
“I gotta ask you somethin’,” Kaylee says. Her gloves are off and her dress has been unsnapped and unhooked, but she has her arms clasped over her chest, holding up the gown (at least in the front).
“I’m clean, I take every precaution, and I get tested regularly,” Tony recites, sprawled across his giant bed (and it is huge; Kaylee laughed for what felt like ten minutes when she first saw how needlessly big it was) in a similar state of half-undress.
“Good to know, but nope. All – this— S’it just ‘cause I prettied up?” He regularly has thousand-credit ballgowns lying on his bedroom floor, and they both know it.
He looks at her for half a second like he can't believe she's asking that question. Then he sits up, perches on the edge of the bed, and says, “Frye, I have never wanted you more than I did two days ago, when I came downstairs and you were wearing a tank top and six layers of dirt and machine oil, wielding a blow torch.” He holds out his hand to her. “Would you come here already?”
Kaylee beams, and she lifts her arms. The gown drops with an almost silent whisper of silk.
In the morning, Kaylee wakes up alone.
“You know,” she says furiously, wearing nothing but a blanket, “it makes it real hard for you to avoid me the mornin’ after like all those other girls when I got the access codes to your workshop.”
Tony Stark looks up from the robotic arm that he's tinkering with, with the help of Dummy, and finds himself confronted with a so-mad-she’s-shaking Kaylee Frye. He blinks. “You’re right,” he says, after a second. “That would be really hard. If I was trying to avoid you.”
“And anoth—” Beat. “What?”
He gets up off the stool, abandoning the simulation that he was running. It keeps running in the background, throwing blue-purple light across his bare shoulders as he comes toward her “Couldn’t sleep, so I came down to get a headstart on that shield thing for the Alliance. I figured,” and she sees, as he picks it up, that there’s a second steaming mug of coffee on the table, “you’d know I was down here.” He hands her the coffee.
“…Oh,” she says, letting her hands close around the mug, and she feels an ass. Her mouth opens and closes a couple times.
Tony laughs and pats her head; she shoots him a disgruntled look. He sobers. “Maybe I should have been clearer about it last night, but I can’t make you any promises, Kaylee.”
“I’m not askin’ for promises. All I’m askin’ is you treat me right.”
Tony’s looking at her the way she’s seen him look at particularly confusing pieces of machinery; trying to figure out the inner workings. “And your definition of ‘right’ is…?”
“I don’t wanna wake up with Miss Wilmer standin’ over me, tellin’ me there’s a shuttle waitin’ to take me anywhere I wanna go.”
“Okay,” he says. “That can probably be arranged.”
“I’m serious, Tony,” she says. “I wanna keep workin’ here, ‘cause I like my job, and I don’t want anything to be weird. You keep doin’ what you’re doin’, and I keep doin’ what I was doin’. Only thing I’m expectin’ of you is you treat me with respect.”
“I can do that,” he says, and there’s something a little less wary, a little more warm in his face now.
“Okay,” she says fiercely, and it feels a little anticlimactic, because he’s not actually fighting her on any of this. “Good.”
“So – would it be disrespectful,” he sets his mug of coffee on the table, and she lets him take hers next, “if I kissed you right now? Is that not treating you right?”
“You,” Kaylee tells him, as he puts his hands on her hips and draws her in, “are kinda a pain.”
“I’m gonna go ahead and assume that’s encouragement,” he says, chuckling low, and Kaylee goes up on her toes to meet him halfway.
“It’s a bad idea,” says Jim Rhodes’ voice later that day, loud and clear, and Kaylee’s smile starts to slip, but it’s too late to turn around and go back up the stairs. She hovers outside the workshop door, uncertain. Rhodey has squared off in the middle of the room; Tony's up to his elbows in the shield generator, seemingly unconcerned. Neither of them notices her.
“It's showmanship,” Tony corrects blithely. “It’ll be bang, wow, in, out, done. Shock and awe. Simple as that.”
“This is an active war zone, Tony. It's not a game.”
Kaylee propels herself around the corner. Rhodey doesn't skip a beat. “Tell him it's not a game,” he says.
An apple hangs forgotten in her hand. “What're you doin' going to a war zone?” she asks Tony, slow and hesitant and very, very wary.
“You know,” he points at her with a tool, “I really appreciate that you don't try to pretend you weren't eavesdropping when you were.” He cranks the generator's intake valve; he uses some force, because Kaylee can hear it from where she's standing, but to all intents and purposes, he seems laid-back otherwise. “Very honest of you; I've always liked that.”
“Tony,” Rhodey and Kaylee say at once, with varying degrees of annoyance and worry, and he rolls his eyes mightily.
“This is dangerous,” Rhodey insists. “You could get killed.”
“Well, same to you, sweet cheeks.”
“Yeah? Yeah? You know what the difference between me and you is?” Kaylee hasn't seen Rhodey this worked up in a while. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
“No,” says Tony, in a tone that he must have learned as a teenager.
“I'm trained for this gŏushĭ.” He's glaring. “I've been in combat before.”
“Guess you'll just have to protect me with your big strong colonel-y ways,” Tony says absently. “Pass me that spanner.”
It's Kaylee who steps forward and slaps the tool into his palm. “The hell's all this about, boys?”
“He wants to run a field demonstration of the SA1380. He says,” Rhodey shoots a look at Tony, “it won't have the 'right sexy effect' if it isn't tested someplace that's seen fighting recently.”
She folds her arms. “Well, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
He sighs sharply and finally sets down the spanner. “Okay, Mom,” he says; “Moms. The big front's Persephone right now; nobody's paying attention to Hera. It's nice and quiet. No fighting, the Browncoats all dead or hiding in their little holes.” He starts ticking off on his fingers. “There hasn't been a major altercation in seven months, there are only three Browncoat brigades left in the entire area, and I'll be surrounded by the might of sixteen brigades of the Alliance's finest.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I'll be safer there than I am in the back of a personal craft at rush hour when Hogan's flying.”
Kaylee's lips are still pursed. Rhodey still looks like he swallowed something sour.
“What? It's already been cleared by General Willkins. You wouldn't want to disappoint General Willkins, would you?”
“Unbelievable,” Rhodey mutters, shaking his head and going right out the door and up the stairs.
“Tomorrow!” Tony calls after him. “Five o'clock sharp, bright and early! Serenity Valley!”
“You're gonna be late,” Rhodes hollers back, and a door slams upstairs.
On the bright side, Kaylee thinks, this kept Jim from figuring out that something's different between her and Tony. Not that you'd ever know it, watching Tony. It's been a weird day. But this is what she wanted, right? Nothing changing; doing her job while Tony does his.
She finds Tony looking at her.
“What,” he says, “no lecture?”
“You already know my opinion,” she says tartly, coming around to the opposite side of the generator, “and you ain't payin' it any mind.”
“I'm paying it plenty of mind,” Tony counters, handing her the spanner so she can tighten the loose bolt on the casing. “I just happen to disagree with it. I'll be back in two days tops; try not to miss me too much.”
“I ain't gonna miss you at all,” Kaylee says.
Twenty-four hours later, as she crosses in front of the vid player, the news headline catches her eye.
Her coffee mug shatters when it hits the floor.
Chinese translations [primarily from here]:
Duìbùqĭ - I'm sorry; excuse me
Baozi - A type of steamed, filled bun or bread-like (i.e. made with yeast) item in various Chinese cuisines.
Chǎo nián gāo - Rice cake, Year cake or Chinese new year's cake is a food prepared from glutinous rice and consumed in Chinese cuisine.
Tiān kōng - Sky
Mĕilì - Beautiful; pretty
Gaīsĭ - Go to Hell!; damn it!
Pìgu - Ass
Wŏ de mā hé tā de fēngkuáng de wàisheng dōu - Holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews
Xin gan - Sweetheart; darling
Nán wàng de - Unforgettable
Tī wŏ de pìgu - Kick me in the ass
Huá lì de - Gorgeous
Xièxie nĭ - Thank you (formal)
Qin ài de - Dear; darling
Xièxie - Thanks (informal)
Shénshèng de gāowán - Holy testicle Tuesday
Āiyā! - Damn!
Shì a - Affirmative
Yī dà tuó dàbiàn - A big pile of shit
Interlude