“Firefly,” Wash said easily and without hesitation. He followed that answer with a happy, proud smile.

Connie looked at him from across the table, confused. “What? I always called them lightning-bugs.”

“No, the show. Firefly.” He paused, dramatically, and leaned over the table in his most serious voice. “Have you never seen Firefly, Connecticut?”

She laughed and playfully, gently slapped his face away and back until he was sitting down in his chair again. “I told you, if you want me to call you Wash, then you have to call me Connie.”

He grinned at her, slowly, letting the smile stretch as his eyes took in her face. She looked at him and ignored the warning flag a look like that would usually send up. They were flirting. Nothing wrong with flirting.

“I haven’t seen Firefly, by the way. But I bet you haven’t seen Mythbusters.”

“Nope, never heard of it!” Wash said happily.

She leaned an elbow on the table and pointed at him with a grin, closing one eye as if she was keeping him in her imaginary sights. “Alright, then, Wash. We’ll do a trade. I’ll show you my show, and you’ll show me yours.”

“Sure, Connie,” he said, and she pretended not to smile at how he said her name. “How many seasons are there of Mythsmashers anyway?”

“Mythbusters,” she corrected. “Seventeen total. Not counting the specials. And Firefly?”

“Only five,” Wash said with a slight frown. “I could probably find something else to watch to make up for the remaining twelve seasons of difference.”

“I’m sure we can find a way to fill the time,” Connie said with a smirk that made Wash’s ears turn pink. He was going to respond with something clever (at least he hoped it would be clever), but South walked into the room and she started talking to Connie, so Wash just sat there and smiled to himself, counting how many hours he’d just signed away to be in the company of this strange girl with odd hair and a dislike for helmets.