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He couldn't say Zoe returned to normal, exactly. In what world was this normal, spiralling into the black and leaving a grave behind? But she bore up under her grief.
At least he could slide the bottle of Blue Sun across the table, late in the second shift with River at the helm and neither of them able to get a lick of sleep, and she wouldn't even raise an eyebrow, just pour herself a slug to match his.
First time she told a Wash story he expected her voice to break. All he could do was raise his glass.