Eidolon Postings

Curious whether I should post the old chapters here. Might seem like a spotlight hog. For now, link to first chapter here. http://www.fireflyfans.net/bluesun.aspx?bid=23432

first off; i guess it's charlie's call but i'd be grateful if you uploaded the previous chapters,. i like it up here just fine.

second; i was gonna comment about your characterisation of Inara, shades of 'Impossible Saints'
http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/r/michele-roberts/impossible-saints.htm
and proof that River's fairy story was no random choice; oh and that your character speech is dead-on authentic.

third; i was gonna mention the clear narrative, rich but not over done, all the action very clear and very Serenity.

four; but scratch that.

Spoiler:

*you hooked me*

Huh. That's actually pretty accurate. No dismembering, but in my story Inara had a very frosty relationship with her "honoured father" when she was little, due to relationship trouble between him and her mother spilling over.

I also wanted to give her a chance to do something really cool and unexpected to contribute to their escaping. Not just a pretty face.

This is twice now I've dropped a cliffhanger where it looks like Mal may have died. He's kind of a character who's prone to this.

Argh, I posted an old version, and it's not the first time today. Where does that keep coming from? So annoying.

Bytemite wrote:Argh, I posted an old version, and it's not the first time today. Where does that keep coming from? So annoying.

my sympathies - i do that all the time, there are always so many (and similarly named) drafts for any one finished piece. it's easy done.
not to fret, just gives another reason for us luckies to re-read.

The thing that's weird is that I work on my stories pretty much in draft emails so I don't ever lose them in a computer crash. So I had SAVED OVER the old version, and copied the new version into a word doc to upload onto fanfiction dot net, and somehow the ghost of the old version STILL ended up here.

I don't even know.

Can't sit around reading stuff online where I am right now, so I've copied this to my thumb drive and will read off-line tonight. I'll get back to you with comments later.

Yes post the rest!

I loved it. The interchange between Inara and Kaylee was so poignant and understated, and the end....holy hell!

Mal isn't having a good night. : (

Multi-chapter work in progress, mostly action adventure, with hefty Mal/Inara undertones and some Simon/Kaylee and Zoe/Wash on the side. Post-movie, so spoiler warnings.

This prologue chapter is a little bit fluffy in places and may not be representative of the rest of the story.

Thanks to Platonist, Aliasse, GillianRose, Riona, and Anja, and EBFiddler for betaing on various chapters.

=======================
Prologue
Fourteen years ago, the great Alliance pacified an entire planet on accident, called it a terraforming failure, and decided they would prove just as capable stewards for the rest of the seventy or so worlds. Independent forces that rallied when governors were appointed to Shadow, Persephone, and Hera; didn't appreciate the core's high-handed manner. The resistance that was supposed last six months, if that, went on for five years of brutal combat before it was crushed, and only after Shadow was rendered uninhabitable.

After the war, bureaucracy and resentment from the Alliance-supporting core worlds towards the rebellious border and rim resulted in Parliament repeatedly denying settlers even the most basic humanitarian aid, regardless of whether they had supported Unification or not. Megacorporations such as Blue Sun stepped in to fill the demand, and where that was too expensive, the people turned to local traders and transport, who were quickly labeled smugglers, scavengers, thieves, and pirates by corporate interests.

The resulting slew of Alliance laws were generally ignored by these individuals, many of whom were veterans of the war, many of whom had never stopped wearing the eponymous brown coats of the Independents' faction.

Two such browncoats had tried to move on from the horrors of the war, from Serenity Valley, where the forces of the Independents had been decimated in one desperate last stand. They'd had mixed success - the ship they'd fixed up they had named after that final battle - but they joined those ranks of new criminals and began trying to rebuild. Homeless and drifting before, they gained a family; a wisecracking pilot, a cheerful mechanic, a crude mercenary, a wise and worldly preacher, even an elegant companion, and a doctor who had rescued his genius sister from government scientists.

An Operative of Parliament was sent after them, and they ran, and in running they stumbled upon the Alliance's dirtiest secret: Miranda, and the experimental drug Pax the planet was dosed with. The Alliance got the more compliant population they wanted; thirty million people just lost their will to live. Several tens of thousands more suffered a far worse fate. The resulting hyperviolent subhuman Reavers still raid nearby worlds, carrying the tainted version of Pax in the air processors of their scavenged ships, turning anyone unlucky enough to be dragged off and not eaten into Reavers themselves.

The crew made sure Miranda would not be forgotten again. Half of the verse saw their broadwave, and tension on the border towards the Alliance began to rise again, seven years of dismissive attitude coming to a head.

In doing so, however, the crew lost two of their own, and dozens of friends and contacts in the Alliance's pre-emptive strike. They threw themselves into repairing their ship Serenity and their lives, tried to return to business-as-usual and eke out day to day survival.

- - - -
Against all odds, after so long, things had seemed to be going well. At least, comparatively, they were. For months, all any of them could do was to repair the broken shell of their home, thinking that maybe they might mend with it. Always in the back of their minds was that all the help and compensation they received was coming from the government that had tried to kill them, with some success. Always in the back of their minds were those who had been lost.

It had been a moment of triumph, to see their ship Serenity with her wings restored, a swan among geese with her fine, graceful lines and her newly cleaned shining hull.

But when they had taken to the sky again, there had been no more distractions. No more ignoring the awful truth, when they had no other course of action than for a traumatized, emotionally unstable young girl to take the pilot's seat. Weeks of drifting through the lonely, unsympathetic black, no job offers because of the political turmoil they had stirred up and the Alliance's strike against their best contacts and closest friends. Watching Zoë patrol the length of the ship or sequester herself in the bridge and the quarters she used to share, her lean bronze features as stoic as ever but her eyes haunted.

They'd all had a turn or two, talking to the newly made widow, acting as though nothing had happened out of respect for her wishes, her determination to keep going. But there were moments they all saw when Zoë had to stop and struggle to hold back the grief. She always pulled herself back together, but they all wondered, and all worried, missing more than ever their funny former pilot and the comforting words of their preacher.

Then finally, finally, they'd had cargo, and if they had all complained about the cattle and the mess almost a year before, poultry had been something else again. The egg laying hens had provided a much appreciated non-canned-protein source of real food to their diets, but the talons, beaks, general ill-temperament, occasional escapes, and the refusal of their feathered guests to acknowledge gun threats had them all glad to be done with the chicken job.

Still, it had been better than smuggling drugs or slaves (their only other options), and they now had food, coin, and fuel. The excuse of the engine "bein' sticky" had allowed the captain an opportunity to stand at the head of the dinner table as they split up their take, hands on his gunbelt in a casually commanding stance, and announce they would get some shore leave when they next touched down.

The table had been gloomy of late, amplifying their grief and troubles despite the efforts of the warm cheery yellow and stenciled vines on the wall of the galley. But tonight the dimness felt like candlelight, and an air of celebration followed his words. Zoe accepted Jayne's offer to spot her at weight lifting; River set Serenity to dancing, saying she would find a new path amid the stars as she replotted their course; Kaylee headed for the engine room, Doctor Tam tagging along to help with any "adjustments" that needed to be made.

And that left the two of them. The captain, amused by the quick dispersal of his crew, shook his head in a way that made Inara want to get up from her seat at the opposite end of the table and run her hands through his brown hair. "Gratitude," he observed wryly, smirking in a self depreciating way as he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. But he was satisfied seeing everyone under his command in a good mood, and that had put him into one of his own, his blue eyes twinkling.

She smiled back at him, an honest one without lipstick or wiles, her black curls down and relaxed around her shoulders, her lavender dress the simple elegance she preferred wearing around the ship when she wasn't performing. He hadn't quite deciphered the message she was trying to send him, that this was herself, not the mask he thought she wore, but never-the-less she could see something slightly nervous creep into his expression.

This was something else that they had been distracted from, and she would never have believed it could be as strong as ever, after all their history, all their fights over their respective careers, after necessity had forced her to leave and she'd broken both their hearts. She should have known that his feelings, like the rest of him, would be stubborn. He'd been bitter and volatile the entire time she had been gone, never to forgive her, never to forgive himself. Yet he'd practically jumped at the opportunity to rush off to her rescue, directly into an ambush he knew would be waiting for him. He didn't actually remember he was supposed to be angry with her until she'd been back on the ship for an hour, and for that short period of time his disposition was drastically improved, if insufferably smug.

But since that short but sweet conversation they'd had, repairs completed and just before River's first take off, when he had not-quite-almost asked her to stay aboard, and she had not-quite-almost agreed to, nothing had happened. She had years of training in how to be alluringly beautiful and how to seduce men, and none of it could help her. Not just because of what his reaction would be to being 'companionized,' and not just because her training was not at all what she wanted to give him.

Hope had been excised from his life in a firestorm of bombardment and a hailstorm of bullets. She didn't know how to proceed, he couldn't even imagine the possibility. The longer they knew each other the more they ached, especially now, as they gazed at each other over the table between them like it was a chasm separating them.

Eventually the tension stretched and snapped, and he swallowed hard and broke eye contact with her, started to scoop the remaining platinum into the small leather pouch their payment had come in. The money wasn't much, not near enough to justify giving everyone a day off, but they all needed a vacation. He considered the weight in his hands, counted out about two dozen pieces, then slid the rest of it over to her. She frowned at it, confused, then looked up at him. "Middleman's fees run about twenty percent," he explained. "Couldn't have gotten that last job without you."

"This is for you and Serenity," she demurred, about to slide it back to him.

He crossed his arms stubbornly, but she could see a bit of hurt at her rejection, a bit of defensiveness. "And right now, Serenity an' I owe you," he insisted, trying to act like twenty percent of their earnings was mere pocket money, even freeing one hand to wave dismissively at the satchel. "Keep it." He fidgeted. "Get yourself, you know, somethin' nice. Can't help but feel we're the reason all your pretties got burnt up."

Another side effect of the Miranda broadwave: threats of violence had the guild recalling every able companion and apprentice back to the core. "They're only things," she replied, shrugging self-consciously, "I'm just grateful that everyone was evacuated from the training house safely."

But she took his gift now for what it was, not missing how pleased he was by her acceptance. Perhaps she might try to purchase some fabrics they could offload on some rim world, and, she conceded, possibly buy a dress he might like. She smiled again. "Thank you." He merely shrugged at her, feigning nonchalance and missing the invitation in her voice. She cast around for a topic of conversation, something to keep him from leaving. "Mal? How do you think you'll spend your free time?"

She sounded like a little girl on a schoolyard asking a boy she liked what he'd be doing over recess. He stared at her, genuinely surprised by her interest, and she fought back a blush, trying to look at ease with her back perfectly straight and hands clasped in her lap. "Well," he mused uncertainly, "since that business with Badger over Sturges, Persephone ain't much for jobs. But the Traders got some presence there, hear tell they like me, might point me a nav set." His voice turned pensive. "Thought maybe I'd take Zoë out for few drinks after. Get her mind off things."

They shared a moment of silence for their two crewmates. "Do you think it will help?" she asked softly. Mal understood Zoë better than anyone alive; two and a half years in the trenches together as sergeant and his corporal had mixed their blood so much that they were practically siblings.

He snorted humourlessly. "Sure as hell got to try." He planted his hands on the table, voice low, looking anywhere but across the table. His face seemed almost hidden in shadow. "I hate seein' her like this. She's walkin' around like she's half dead. Like we buried her with Wash…" he could barely choke out the words, fingers clenching into fists.

What a stunning success this conversation had been. She knew how to talk to people, put them at ease, but rather than building on his cheerfulness, all she had managed to do was to make him nervous and upset. "It wasn't your fault," she soothed earnestly, feeling a rush of sympathy, a tightening in her chest and throat, and dismay at the self-blame she heard. "None of us think so."

"Yeah?" he spat out bitterly, "Whose was it, then? You hear anyone else givin' orders? 'Cause I'd like to beat the guǐ outta the dà dài zi dà biàn zi de bù láng bù yŏu who was."

He pushed away from the table, stomped a few paces towards the crew quarters, then slowed to a stop. A moment, like a rolling peal of thunder, like one time when she'd watched from the loading ramp under the awning of the airlocks as he stood out in a storm, his face turned up to the falling rain while River quoted King Lear beside her. He took a deep breath, then turned back to her, his expression braced for her anger, hers serenely indifferent.

"You're tired," she recognized simply, and he ran a hand over his face in agreement like he had just remembered. Hurting too, she reminded herself, and her expression softened into concern. "Have you been sleeping well?"

"Good as can be expected," he muttered evasively. She understood. She'd had her share of nightmares as well, and every time, he had been there to hold her as she cried for both of them. Thirty million people on Miranda had just had fallen asleep, never to wake up, because the Alliance had wanted to create a more compliant population. After seeing all those people, she had realized that a life devoid of feeling wasn't any life at all. Whether she died first or he did, she wanted to be with him, to feel, for as long as possible.

One last try for something pleasant to discuss, maybe she could still salvage this. "Would you like some company? Not as a companion, I mean, but…" At his blank stare, it occurred to her how her offer might sound and she felt her cheeks heat up. "For drinks. With Zoë," she amended.

"Right," he nodded quickly.

For some reason, she felt compelled to continue, as though she hadn't said anything mortifying enough yet. "If it were the three of us" - he was still nodding - "maybe Zoë wouldn't feel so…"

"Uneasy," he finished for her. "I'm wise to your meaning."

She sighed, intentionally dramatic and long-suffering, but marred by an affectionately amused smile. "Just promise me you won't start any bar fights."

"So long as none find me," he agreed. A beat. He started to back away. "Well, like you said…"

"You're tired," she repeated. Another nod, more like a jerk of his head, then he looked at her, really looked, something lingering in his eyes that drew her in, made her feel like she was rising to her feet, drifting closer.

"G'night," he said abruptly, and turned sharply on his heel.

- - - - -
Their sentinel silently watched their interactions, alarmingly entertained, and Inara realized she may have outthought herself this time. Zoë was distracted from her troubles, yes, in that she had interpreted their outing as some kind of attempt at courtship to chaperone.

They had talked about their upcoming itinerary, and now business, raising questions Inara was far from ready to be able to answer. And, of course, judging by Mal's grin over catching her wrong footed and uncertain, he had taken things entirely the wrong way. She frowned at him, perfect condescending dignity, and he cheekily raised his glass to her, thoroughly enjoying her flustered reaction.

After another round of drinks, she was relieved when the subject turned to amusing stories about their shipmates, such as the time Jayne picked up the lovely blonde tourist with the disturbing tastes, or how River had begun a quiet campaign of sabotage against her brother's clothing.

"Little pink hearts!" The captain guffawed, hand up, swearing he was telling the truth. "And Jayne is just roarin'…"

"Just Jayne?" his first mate asked shrewdly.

He wiped his thumb at the corners of his eyes, trying to catch his breath. His attempt to reassert control didn't last long. "Kaylee figured it was all for her! Thought it was sweet!" His palm slapped the table in his mirth.

Inara felt her heart warm as she studied him, then caught the eyebrow Zoë had raised in her direction. She rolled her eyes at herself and simpered, acknowledging, yes, she knew she was pathetic.

The other woman's lips curled up in approval, then she returned her attention to the captain, who had settled down enough to observe their exchange with a growing curiosity. "Womanly things, sir," Zoë answered his unspoken question, and he looked slightly wary, decided not to ask.

She couldn't help it, she was facing an unfair combination of alcohol and his so very masculine expression of female-induced mystified worry. She giggled, raising one manicured hand in a futile attempt to hide it.

Then everything became chaos, a disjointed mess of sensation, images, and sounds she couldn't sort out if she tried. Mal shouting, falling into her arms. The bark of Zoe's sawn off. Then they were moving, and he was yelling in the com for Simon to prep the infirmary. Carrying her, but blood was spreading over his shirt. Holding her, like those times her comforted her, or maybe she'd been comforting him, but she wasn't crying. Everything was hazy, she felt detached, shocked. Mal was hurt. The Eavesdown Docks blurred by from the back of the mule.

Voices hid danger, the black vial could save lives but the pieces would scatter. River was running towards them, down the ramp from Serenity, her long strands flying behind her like ravens; they moved past the tiny girl, ignoring her steady stream of prophecies. Inara struggled a bit as the crew put her up on the infirmary bed under that cold light, no, Mal first, he's hurt, but she was fighting the black creeping over her vision.

Sometime later, Inara realized she was awake. She followed the metal pole before her eyes up, to the bag hanging above her head like a red balloon, down the line to her hand, resting by her cheek. She was curled on her side, covered by several blankets to stave off the cold, one Kaylee's quilt, with flowers sewn into it, another a battered army blanket. She started to wriggle deeper into the covers, trying to find some more warmth, then she saw him.

She was barely able to see him through infirmary windows between them, but there he was, guarding her, protecting her. There was some cotton and a bandage on his upper arm, just below a rolled up sleeve, the wound almost laughably small compared to the stain on his shirt. She brightened, his injury hadn't been as serious as she thought. "Mal," she called, weak with relief.

He heard. The captain hit the ship intercom en route and ordered Simon to the infirmary, making his way over to the metal chair at the side of the bed, propping his elbows on his knees, clasping his fingers at his chin. He didn't look at her, or rather, glanced once, then looked away, eyes shut tightly when he saw she was looking back. Beginning to sense something amiss, she reached for him, but he stood and took a few steps away, restless, wanting to pace but not having enough room.

Before she could ask, he spoke, still turned away from her, stoic. "What you said before," a moment to gather his courage, "the strength of love does more than just bind you. It becomes you." She felt her heart jump up into her throat, fluttering, hopeful, he sounded wistful. "When that power fills you, you feel like impossible ain't so, like nothin' in the 'verse can touch you." He titled his head slightly, studying the hand she had moved towards him. "Like maybe things'll be all right now."

With some effort, she kept herself quiet so he might continue. "What you feel, or not, don't make no nevermind," he told her. "We're your family, 'Nara, will be long as we breathe."

She nodded, he didn't see it. "Yes," she added, agreeing. "Family." Even when she had left. Especially when she had left.

"Can't break away," he repeated her own words back to her.

"And I don't want to," she finished for him.

He looked at her then, blue eyes keen, considering for a long time. "Maybe you should."

Chapter 1
Establishing battle lines wasn't unfamiliar territory. Push a man too far, and he pushes back. Sometimes you had nice electronic maps in a cushy command center, sometimes you had a stick and some sand drenched in blood. End result was the same. You drew a line, then you dared the universe to cross it. Oftentimes the universe was all too eager to oblige.

Back at the start of the war, Ezra had been administered by a council of the richest landowners, and unlike the armies mustering elsewhere, they had welcomed their new governor as a liaison to the more developed core worlds. He had died unexpectedly just before the war ended, and the resulting power vacuum and influx of refugees sent the planet into a downward spiral.

In the midst of increasing lawlessness, Adelai Niska retired from his position on the council to move in to the former governor's brand new orbiting skyplex and become a full time crimelord, ruling over the planet below while the Alliance bureaucracy dragged its feet trying to find a replacement appointee. As it turned out, none of their candidates would take the job, and Niska remained uncontested: the kindly looking old man in round spectacles had a reputation for ruthlessness. He considered the Chinese poet and statesman Shan Yu a mentor of sorts, inspired by legends of a warlord who had purged corruption and complacency from his homeland by terrorizing his fellow countrymen, starting World War III, and precipitating the Exodus from Earth-That-Was.

Most honest rimward smugglers and traders tried to stay clear of Niska, but Captain Malcolm Reynolds had the misfortune of having crossed the sadist three times, who was currently detailing each separate incidence: firstly returning some stolen medicine to some ailing folk in Paradiso, then being rescued from Niska's wrath by his crew, and now, apparently, just breathing.

The crimelord rose from his swivel chair, striding impressively out from behind the real cherry wood desk between them and smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his business suit. He lingered a moment to look out the view from his office towards the station reactor core. Big moment, building suspense, Mal supposed, as the four guards in black armour currently training semi-automatics his way tensed for action. "So I am surprised," Niska continued, turning back towards his prisoner. "This visit, your ship landing on my world, most unexpected! And now, you come by yourself. Truly, there is no fear in you?"

He shrugged, blue eyes intent on his adversary, a brown leather duster shifting over his shoulders as he finally worked the bindings on his wrists open behind his back. "Score of your men says I got no reason for it." Twenty men whose families, according to Niska, had been killed, simply because the hun dan saw failure in his service as a betrayal.

Niska shook his head with a small smile, not without some admiration. "Zajímavýjší. It is shame you cross me. Good business we once could make." He waved to his minions, the two who grabbed him by the arms and he had to force himself not to fight off (too many right now, bide your time, the strategic part of his brain warned), and two more standing who slid open the panel to the adjacent torture room and closed it behind them.

"Stay away!" a frightened voice shouted from within, chock full of determination all the same, "Say all the scary you want, I ain't gonna… Cap'n!" The girl brightened to something more like her usual upbeat setting, her shoulder length chestnut hair bouncing as she sat up hopeful. Niska hadn't even bothered to restrain her. Her expression changed to one of horror as she realized what was going on, and she shrank back against the polymer splash guard spread over the austere space-station grey wall. "Cap'n, no, no, you can't…"

"Kaylee," he answered, curtly, taking in the dust on her pink sweater and her cover-alls, the obvious signs of a scuffle from her abduction. Seemed like they hadn't done more than intimidate her just yet, but best to be sure. "You hurt?"

The crimelord chuckled as he stepped among them, and the little mechanic shot the man a look of fear and anger. "Fine, she is fine! What would be said, that Niska, he tortures harmless little girls? What scorn!" He smiled at her, looking like someone's grandpa, and she recoiled. "No, is much better that she is witness. When Malcolm Reynolds is dead, they will know what she says is truth."

- - - - -
The mood on the bridge was somber, and Jayne Cobb was engaged in an activity most who knew him wouldn't credit him for: thinking hard. Only three things could reasonably be expected of a man his size in his line of work, which were being big, being strong, and looking out for himself. But here he was, just sitting, tapping meaty fingers against one of his guns, and the expression in his blue eyes, and the other hand passing over the goatee on his chin were thoughtful.

He blamed the captain, that was for gorramn sure. Scrimping again on repairs, so they'd had to go planetside for parts, and all the heroics was why they were bad with Niska. Made him ask why in the hell they were going to get Mal and get all killed.

But they were going towards their other crewmate too, and if Jayne was honest (which didn't happen often), the one good thing about Mal was he'd do just about anything for his crew. Kaylee being who she was it made some kind of sense why Mal had taken Shuttle Two and gone after her. The mercenary might have considered it himself, if the scenery were different. Maybe.

Besides, he thought, remembering the reasoning he'd used to justify the last time he'd helped save Mal's sorry pi gu, dying by torture was a sight more manly way to go than getting blown out an airlock, and Zoë wasn't ever gonna hesitate.

"We dress ourselves for darkness," Crazy Girl whispered from the pilot seat. She stared at him, all unsettling shadowy eyes, her little hands moving with a will of their own as she began firing thrusters in sequence. "Your turn."

Jayne bristled. Partially because he'd never taken well to threats, perceived or otherwise, and when Moonbrain started talking eerie was when things went wrong. But also partially because ever since that jīng shén cuò luán on Miranda, he kept thinking maybe he was safe here, and that was dangerous thinking. If he didn't catch himself, sometimes he felt like a guard dog, proudly chasing off squirrels, and Jayne Cobb was nobody's guard dog. Hell, even the gorramn prissy Doc and his nutty sis actually were seeming more and more like could stand sharing space with them, and that was proof he'd stuck around too long with the same crew.

So he was working on something to snap at her, maybe about her keeping her turn 'cause she had all the supply on crazy around here, but then there was Zoë, silent as a cat looking between them with that soldier's caution of hers. "Jayne," the first mate spoke, cutting into the tension with her no-nonsense attitude, "get suited up for EVA." She was pulling her curly chocolate hair into a pony-tail and looked troubled. Like as not because this was her sergeant from the war that Niska had his grubby paws on, and there was a relationship Jayne couldn't figure for the life of him.

Crazy was looking smug. "Ruttin' know-it-all," he grumbled, getting up to follow as Zoë then turned briskly on her heel to go oversee other preparations.

- - - - -
One of the guards kept a gun pointed at Mal's head, while the other rolled the heavy table out to the center of the room. Ominous, right down to the sheet covering the surface and that one incessant squeaking wheel liable to drive a person crazy all on its own. The harsh interrogation light shining down from the ceiling over the suggestive drain in the floor had been extinguished, the room dimmer without it.

The sadist oversaw the changes with a scholarly sort of pleasure, like some Paquin stage director. "I think the table looked better where it was," Mal opined, "better feng shui. And where are the candles?"

Kaylee was openly staring at him, begging him to be quiet. Antagonizing people who wanted to torture you generally wasn't the smartest plan ever, just the same he'd always figured he might as well. They often didn't expect it, might make things go quicker, and in the very least, he'd have one last bit of satisfaction before he went.

Niska merely sighed, already acquainted with his particular brand of shuă zuǐ pí. The crimelord gestured, and the sheet was removed with a flourish. A man was still strapped to it, or what passed for one before all the bruising and missing pieces.

His little mechanic had gasped, her hands clamped over her mouth and her eyes wide, fixed on the mutilated corpse. He called her name, took a couple of times but she looked at him again. "Gonna be okay, Kaylee," he told her, or tried to, then he was slammed hard by the butt of an assault rifle and forced to be quiet. Hardly calmed by this, she curled into a ball on the floor and closed her hazel eyes tight.

"You are speaking of the inevitable arrival of your crew, yes?" Niska asked. "They will not be in time to interrupt, I think." He snapped his fingers at his current gofer, pointed towards some electrical wires hanging from a sharp looking hook.

"Mr. Niska?" The employee started, sounding confused as he reached for the cables, "These look tampered…"

After the lights stopped flickering and the crackle of electricity faded, three of the remaining people in the room stared blankly at the still twitching victim of electrocution, while Kaylee was somewhere on the verge of tears.

Then the captain smashed a fist into the other guard's jaw and knocked the thug's head against the torture table. Niska was already almost to the door, shouting for guards in some unpronounceable language before the former sergeant tackled the old man and pinned him to the wall.

The sentries posted outside were sliding open the panel, there was the whine of charging weapons from them, then a two handed pair of machine guns and a sawn off shotgun made several good arguments against their inclinations.

Mal dragged Niska back into his office, past Jayne, who had stowed one of his guns in a holster behind his back to search the dead. Zoë handed him his Independent's issue service pistol and he slung the crimelord to the ground, looming over him. Niska's courage wasn't much improved with a firearm leveled at him. "Don't you come after us again. Don't you send anyone after us. And don't you EVER abduct any of my crew."

"Yes!" the cowering man begged, "yes, yes, please! Anything!"

The spark of gunpowder sealed the promise.

"Gorrammit Mal, the hell's takin' ya so long?" the mercenary asked, frowning in confusion as his employer crouched down beside the older man. "Whole station's gonna come down on us like stink on mă féi!"

The pulse under his hand faded as the red pool on the floor grew. The immediate danger dealt with, the captain began trying to coax Kaylee out of the torture chamber. Her first steps were hesitant, then she came running, and he pulled her into a hug as she buried her tear-streaked face into his coat.

"I knew you was gonna come 'n get me." Her voice was tremulous and filled with interjected sobs and hiccups. She hugged her captain tighter, a few more tears spilling down her cheeks. "Was scared you was…"

He was stroking her hair and tried to shush her gently as he could, which he knew wasn't much, not him, not after the war. But she calmed some, and was listening to his reassurances. "You did good, Kaylee-girl. Kept your head, and it was right smart you tinkerin' with the wiring."

The girl sniffled. "Lost the replacement actuator when I got took, so Serenity ain't gonna get so quick," she confessed, sounding guilty.

"Only but a thing. Don't matter s'long as we can still get," he told her, stepping back, his hands on her shoulders to anchor her to the here and now. "Now stay close, and don't get hit. Serenity don't run at all without her mechanic." She nodded, bravely uncertain, and he pulled her by her pink sweater over to his first mate and mercenary, who were covering them from either side of the open blast doors. "Zoë?"

"Came in through a maintenance hatch from the outside, dropped our suits there. Won't be able to get out the same way," the soldier woman reported, chambering a cartridge into one of her back-up 9mms with an emphatic click-clack. "Gonna have to get to the shuttle as brought you, sir." Jayne laid down some cover fire as she slipped out into the hallway and took up a position at the next chokepoint.

He exchanged nods with his mercenary, and they pivoted out into the hallway at the same time, firing. Jayne took cover from a crate, and Kaylee squeaked a little, shaking, as he tugged her behind a prominent metal rib, two rounds coming slightly too close to his head.

Battle paralysis. The former Independent sergeant knew it well enough, had seen it plenty of times in the trenches during the war; only way to fight it was to fight for the poor soul until they felt safe enough to get themselves back together. He hated to see it in Kaylee. Hated himself a little more for her being involved at all.

Jayne smeared one against the wall; two more were running for their position, Mal's target jerked backwards, and Zoë clotheslined hers, finishing them off with a few bullets on the way down. The amazon waved them in, stepped around her cover, and fired point blank into the guard that had been trying to sneak up on her.

Two more sentries guarding the bay, and they were there, right at the threshold of their berth. The captain fired a few times through the window at dock control, taking out the operator, which seemed to attract the attention of every guard that had been posted by his shuttle. He covered Kaylee as the glass above their heads shattered outward on top of them.

"Hell with this," grunted his merc, pulling out a couple of grenades. Too late, the projectiles were already in the air, sailing towards the airlock, and he threw a couple of flashbangs for good measure.

When the smoke cleared, Zoë was standing over the big man, looking particularly fierce. "We lob explosives towards ventable parts of a skyplex now, Jayne?" Her eyes flashed dangerously as she seethed.

"You do since you run with Jayne Cobb," he muttered as she began checking for survivors.

The captain was helping his mechanic into the breached control room now that they were in the clear. Obligingly, with a little prompting, she got to work on the docking control systems. "Kaylee? How's it look?"

Alarms began blaring. "Oops. Well, got us ready to disengage," she chirped sheepishly.

They boarded and detached with all due haste. And in the long minutes they would spend hurrying back for Serenity, he thought about just why recently he liked to avoid the shuttle.

Now and then, when the ache got unbearable, he lit a stick of incense as to a shrine, just to remember, like he'd ever forget. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her unique scent still, that sweet spice underneath all her expensive delicate perfumes that men might cross a desert for, all of her things back in the shuttle where they rightfully belonged. Sometimes it even seemed like he'd turn around, and there she would be, wrapped in her silks and annoyed by his intrusion.

And then he would turn around, and the shuttle walls would be bare and grey instead of pretending to be the lavish bedchambers of some Sihonese princess, and she would still be gone. And that ache would start to feel more like a black hole.

So when they finally docked, River guiding them in with an eerie chant of 'Lady bug, lady bug, fly away home,' he couldn't get out of there fast enough, and almost bowled Simon over as the doctor stood waiting outside. "Captain," the younger man greeted formally, frowning at the near collision then immediately going to Kaylee.

The captain tried not to feel too irritated that his mechanic had just abandoned every thought of the ship for the dark haired, blue eyed medic, who had himself just abandoned every thought of checking the rest of the crew for injuries. "All right people, not out of this yet," he cautioned, and almost in agreement, their proximity alarm answered him. He bit out a curse. "Simon, you can examine her later. And don't forget the disinfectant," he called, clomping up the scaffolds and metal stairway, past the crew quarters and onto the bridge, Zoë right behind him.

"Buzzards," their pilot explained cryptically, without preamble. He took one glance at their sensors and knew just what she meant: Niska had beefed up defenses since last time with a couple of short range fighters. They chose that moment to introduce themselves, and the ship rocked from the explosion, River twisting just so in a corkscrew that the missiles that had locked onto their trajectory ran together.

He gave her a proud smile, that she returned, when he felt the shudder from the engines, and the gut sinking sensation of his feet lifting off from the deck. "Captains worry too much," River murmured, pointing a thin finger to the ceiling as they made a pass underneath the skyplex. "Timing is everything."

"Then it better be quick," he retorted, "because both of 'em got two more shots and you can't out-manuever a floatin' rock without grav." He managed to push off from the console over to the com, explaining the situation (apart from the obvious g-field failure, even Jayne could figure that one out) to the rest of the crew.

His psychic just sighed at him, sounding very much like the petulant girl just out of her teens that she was.

Above them, the skyplex opened up and emptied its garbage and waste onto their hapless pursuit. He returned to their sensors, puzzled out what had just happened. "We get them?" Zoë asked.

Another explosion, and for the first time since they'd gotten there, River looked nervous. "No. They're angry now."

- - - - - -
As Simon watched his sister ran her hands along the bulkheads, her dark sundress billowing behind her with each dainty dancer's step, he surprised himself with the regret he felt. He had risked so much for her, to save her from the government scientists who had been cutting into her brain, only to find the safest place for them was hardly safe at all. And yet, as frustrated as he had become by that fact, as angry as he was sometimes at the captain, at Jayne the man ape, at being top three at MedAcad and still being unable to help River, at his situation, and at all he had given up, this old junkpile of a ship had at some point become home.

If he thought about it, he knew he could pinpoint the exact moment when; the entire crew, gathered around the table, having taken up his cause, deciding to send out one last message to tell all the worlds what the Alliance had done. Or maybe, he thought, as Kaylee made her own last goodbyes, almost a mirror image of River, the two girls sharing heartbroken looks, maybe Serenity first became home when Kaylee had first smiled at him, and he just kept forgetting.

His sister patted his arm as he passed, looking sympathetic, then Zoë joined them, a blank expression on her face like she was just holding together, but ready to protect them. Like the entire crew had, months before, not about to let their sacrifices be for nothing. Kaylee gave him a long look over her shoulder as she crossed over to the twin shuttle on the other side of the cargo bay, watching each other and the increasing distance between them.

She looked around for a moment, and he heard her ask Jayne where the captain was, not quite willing yet to let go of the hope, to realize he wasn't coming. Zoë's silence was even louder than it had been before. Jayne, to his credit, didn't burst Kaylee's bubble, but grumbled and told her to get in the shuttle already.

The doctor nodded at the big man, and Jayne shrugged in return. Coming from very different backgrounds, where Simon might have five different spoons at the dinner table and Jayne just licked everything off a knife, they hadn't gotten along from the very beginning. Those were the only pleasantries required between them.

He turned away as Kaylee disappeared into the other shuttle, and followed his sister, the shuttle doors sliding shut after him, hissing as they created an airtight seal.

- - - - -
They hit atmo hard as the shuttles flew away. With grav screening gone, there was nothing to keep him in the air but lift, drag, and the thrusters mounted on the wings. All of which were less than useful to deal with the fully-functional and much faster interceptors tailing them, who would be dropping EMP charges on his fleeing crew as soon as they'd dealt with him.

He wasn't about to give the liú máng the chance.

A flick of a few switches, and glowing hot plasma leaked out the main bulb engine on the backside of the ship in the manner that gave the Firefly-class its name. The super-heated material ignited the air and spilled over the viewscreens of the fighters, playing merry havoc with their sensors.

Meanwhile, as the force of acceleration began crushing him into his seat and black began eating into his vision, he was learning the yǐn jiǔ bù xiān xià fá jù way why no one went to hard-burn when grav was down, ever.

"Y'know," Wash said casually, leaning against the mainframe and entirely unaffected, all fuzzy blond hair and eye bleeding tropical shirts, "My wife's gonna be a bit upset if you get yourself all splattered, so you might want to consider pulling up."

Behind him, he was vaguely aware of the impact of the ships chasing him as they plowed into the ground. "O Lord my God, if I have done this; if there is iniquity in my hands; If I have rewarded evil to him that was at peace with me; Let the enemy persecute my soul, and take it; yes, let him tread down my life upon the earth, and lay my honor in the dust," Book intoned, calm as ever, his bible open to the psalms.

"Soon-ish?" Now maybe?" Wash began to implore.

"It ain't your time, son," the elderly shepherd agreed kindly, warmly, rough old hands the color of deep wood steady on his shoulder.

A pair of dark eyes stared into him, defiant and spirited as ever in her eternally young face. "You don't stop fighting, Malcolm, you hear? Don't you ever stop 'til you come back to us."

"Please, Mal…" whispered a pair of red, red lips, right next to his ear.

And then the world ended in fire, like twice before.

Chapter 2
The hush of rain as it whispered down onto the long grass muffled the sounds of the cattle shifting, ruminating, the water running sheets off their black coats as they laid low in the field. His white speckled chestnut mare made no complaints either; he'd first found her in a blizzard. Compared to that, this weather was calm, contemplative.

Behind him on Snowy's back, his passenger was pondering, deep thoughtful eyes peering up from underneath her parasol. She was swinging her little legs, riding sidesaddle, her faded denim skirt and two long black braids getting soaked.

"Ever looked real long up through the droplets?" she wondered. "Like as the water forms a pillar 'round you. Like as you look long enough, maybe you get sucked up to heaven."

"More so when the thunder comes down and strikes us dead on account a that rig you're carryin'," he agreed.

She shrugged, her umbrella bobbing with the motion. "Can't be helped. And lightning." He gave her a questioning glance. "Lightning strikes," she clarified, "not thunder."

The air was sweet and fresh, the mist splashing over them, running down the back of his neck from his bedraggled hair, cool and welcome after nearly being broiled earlier in the day. He missed this, he realized: the wild untamed storms that rushed over the land as often as sunlight, the company while he watched the herd. He missed how when there wasn't rain, he was able to see past the fenceposts in the far distance to the horizon, the sky open and seeming endless above him.

"What'd you bring that for, anyway?" he asked, sounding younger than he had in a long time. Like a boy, maybe around fourteen. "Ain't doin' you much good."

"Don't want my book to get wet." As if to punctuate the statement, he heard her refresh the page with a couple beeps, and he smiled. Ever since she learned how to read she loved to quote passages to him, and as his chores gradually began to take up more and more of his time, she started to accompany him to the fields.

"But neither breath of morn when she ascends, with charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun, on this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, glist'ring with dew; nor fragrance after showers; nor grateful ev'ning mild, nor silent night with this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon or glittering starlight; nothing without thee is sweet."

He made a face. "Could you maybe pick somethin' else to read?"

- - - - -
Dismay wasn't at all the word for Kaylee's feelings, not one bit.

When Jayne had been flying the shuttle none too steady – maybe he was lying when he said he'd flown one before – that had been dismay. When they lost Serenity's beacon and had to follow the scattered debris and the scar gouged into the dunes like the tracks of some awful sidewinder, that had been dismay. Seeing her ship, her home, lying there on its side like a broken toy, wings ripped off from rolling, windows built to withstand breaking atmo and meteoroid impacts shattered, that had been dismay.

She rushed out and fell to her knees, letting out a little cry at the sight, the wind and dust whipping around her. And she thought that she was going to give the captain such a yelling at, and then remembered that the captain was still in there.

Then River was kneeling next to her, patting down her hair. "Slipped under the water, hard to breathe," she explained, standing again, her attention already focused elsewhere. "Must hurry." The wraith of a girl passed like smoke over the sand, like her bare feet shouldn't leave footprints.

"Kaylee," Zoë called as she followed River with about the same speed, "Need your eyes. Jayne, stay and guard the shuttles."

The mercenary set her up on her feet again like she weighed nothing at all, surveying the wreck himself. "Weren't like I'm all fired to cook my balls over a plasma leak anyhow," he grumbled at the orders.

"No, that would be such a tragedy," Simon remarked dryly as he stepped in beside her. The bigger man scowled instinctively at the mockery but didn't bristle for a fight like he might have before. "Aren't all your clothes still on the ship?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah. Gonna want those, less'n you like your air on the unfresh side," Jayne told them dismissively, pointedly beginning to scan the distant sands for scavengers, but glancing and frowning at the ship now and then. "Bring my guns out too."

She'd been hoping it wouldn't be so bad as she got closer. Outside was okay, really; body was sturdy, only the hull panels had been crumpled some and the engine had been knocked around. She bucked up, peered inside.

Everything was strewn every which way, and part of the scaffolds that had been lining the cargo bay had been shorn from the wall during the tumble. One lone electric light flickered and sparked, losing power. Zoë was the closest to frantic Kaylee had ever seen her except when they were facing down the Reavers, the way she was hollering. And so was Simon; River had somehow managed to get up onto the unstable scaffolds, a long thick rope used to tie down goods coiled around one of her narrow shoulders.

The little dancer firmly ignored her brother's requests, arms out, dainty-stepping across the metal railing of the overturned catwalks like the tightrope walkers Kaylee'd seen at a wandering circus that came to the Kowlonshi harvest fair back home. Zoë started watching too, and River climbed up into the stairwell, disappeared into the front hallway, and let down the rope shortly after with a little curtsy and a cat-caught-the-canary smile.

Kaylee distracted herself looking over the hovermule that had snapped its tethers, stepping over the metal wall trusses, assessing and cataloguing the repairs to be made as Zoë, Simon, and River headed for the bridge.

"He's alive!" Zoë shouted down, crouching in the stairwell above like some kind of panther, and Kaylee let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Simon's saying the infirmary ain't going to be in any condition, have to get 'im to a shuttle."

She considered the likely state of the captain, judging by the state of Serenity, then the twenty foot drop from the stairwell to the ground, then winced. "Won't be easy," she called back. "You'd need a stretcher, but could rig up some pulleys to the top hatch ladder…"

"That'd work," Zoë agreed, "Got anything we could use?"

After a quick look around she spotted just the perfect thing. She tied some rope around the middles of some old cable spools and tossed the loose ends on up, watching Zoë haul them up hand over hand like they were nothing. "Gonna be awhile," the warrior woman said, securing the system. "Might wanna go sit with Jayne, case we get company."

What Kaylee wanted was to be around if she was needed, but she nodded reluctantly at the second in command and waved, heading back out into the wind.

She closed up the shuttle doors against the rising dust storms, gave the mercenary a brief update. Jayne shrugged like he didn't care. "Stubborn sumbitch," he muttered, all grudging admiration that wasn't.

Conversation spent, they both just watched out the windshield. Life on Serenity had been harder than usual for the last several months, and she wondered what would be next for everyone. People had been hurt when they sent out the Miranda broadwave, like the Alliance soldiers. She'd never been too fond of the Purplebellies after their taxes had nearly put her folks off their land, but they were people, same as her. Just like those Reavers once were. And she shot at them, might've killed some, she wasn't looking too closely. Just like she might've killed that man on Niska's skyplex.

She shivered and hugged her knees tighter. When she'd first joined up with the crew, traveling was looking like a big shiny adventure. And even after she'd found out the sort of jobs they often did, she'd stayed, because heck, lots of people did what they did on the rim, you couldn't blame folks for just trying to keep living. And because she knew, they were all good people, Zoë, Cap'n... Wash. They weren't trying to hurt anybody, even picked their targets rather than preyed on the less fortunate, which was better than some tried for. Bullets and such just seemed to happen.

Well, bullets had found them, this time, and all those poor people on Haven... And she'd found bullets, and she wasn't too sure of much anymore.

The dust had choked the sky, couldn't see a thing when someone knocked on the shuttle hatch. Kaylee jumped up grateful to answer, but Jayne grabbed her arm and pulled her back, opened up just a tiny crack and stuck Vera's muzzle through to say howdy-do to their guests.

He jumped back all of a sudden, cursing and spitting, and their younger crew member danced in. She twirled to the rhythm of the sand on the outside and blew another handful of dust around. "It's raining," she declared, dropping cross legged to a random spot on the floor.

Jayne's lip curled, confounded and angry, and mostly angry. "Yeah, crazy girl tears next time you skulk up 'n I got a gun." River just stared at him, and he growled in annoyance at another knock after Kaylee just shut the doors again.

Zoë and Simon carried in what looked like a mummy from an old horror vid on a surplus cot between them. She settled herself back down real quick though, all that blood on his face, that was just from a gash on his head, and he was still breathing, long and slow if a bit unconscious.

"We thought it was a flood," River explained, in that funny bug-eyed way she had sometimes that made her brother try to edge her away from the annoyed Jayne. "But they all swam to safety, and the rain washed everything clean." Zoë gave the girl a long look, then took over the shuttle controls.

The engine shuddered and protested in a way that told Kaylee she'd be spending some time soon cleaning sand out of the housing, but apart from that, their flight was silent. Spots of desert scrub began to pepper the landscape as they flashed by, then grass. A town several miles off to their port side looked welcoming, and they banked a broad circle before landing.

Already the sunlight was feeling like the home she'd left for Serenity just as soon as they stepped out, the first mate saying something about scouting out the town. "See, won't be so bad," she told herself, "might even wave Pa once the Cortex's up and working again." She took a deep breath of fresh summer air, and felt herself start to smile again.

That's probably enough for today.

Chapter 3
Here, on the thirteenth floor, the only light was from the cold dim glow of machines. Officially, none of it existed. None of them existed. But they weren't as invisible as they thought. They, all of them, had names, doctors promoted to their positions and test subjects stolen from the lower wards alike.

Someone had been watching this time. And he, nameless, darkness within darkness, remained unnoticed among them until metal sang from scabbard.

They looked up from their helpless victims as one; from their monitors, their syringes, their charts, from silver wires running through flesh and skull. They looked at him, these butchers, or maybe at his unsheathed steel, and blanched.

Not so long ago, he had respected ones such as them, the good works they were doing, making improvements in the lives of citizens in exchange for the glorious sacrifices of the few. Now, he saw only atrocity, felt only shame and pity for these unknown martyrs of relentless control, for those whose lives had been destroyed in the name of progress. "Ariel," he mused, his voice soft and his eyes traveling over shadows and blinking lights, "who watched over Miranda. This is where it began."

One of the researchers approached nervously, the rest continued to watch, frightened. Did they know then? Did they know what retribution looked like? This one was young, pretty, a blonde with green eyes. She might have family, he realized sadly. "Sir? Sir, you can't be here. This is a restricted area."

The arc of a blade was art, a loathsome skill he had learned for viler purpose. They scattered like mice before she even hit the floor, blood staining her white coat. The alarms they ran for never sounded; he had disabled them. No cameras caught the massacre; no one wanted recorded what went on in these rooms.

Worse than this was the mercy he dealt afterward with the same instrument. Revenge would not be long coming, the tiny white and blue clues left for him revealed his next target. But, he supposed, returning the katana to his side, he had time for a brief detour.

- - - - -
Awareness and unease were coming gradual. Even figuring out he was drugged was slow, but the main clue was the creeping wakefulness as the sedatives gave him up; he was a light sleeper by necessity. He couldn't hear that electric hum, ever present even when the engine wasn't running. Serenity's song had settled his life and raw nerves many times, a lullaby that made the dreams go away. It told him he knew who he was still, knew where he was, and if he was unsettled, he needed only to feel it through the metal against his hand to ground himself.

He had to find her again. Tensing for action, he prepared to roll off the mattress and either get his gun or come up swinging, but his plan ended up more of a surprised jolt. Dark hair and intense staring eyes were inches away from his face, and it took his brain several moments to catch up to the present. River.

When she finally came into focus, she was wearing one of her frocks in purple, the one Inara gave her before leaving. Her eyelids drifted shut. "They're all asleep. There's a briar patch, all around them, but they can't see, they can't wake up, not until she does."

Couldn't process that, still too hazy even if her words weren't like fog. "Who?"

"Sleeping beauty," she murmured, like from far away, then her eyes shot open again. "No, resist the spell!" She wasn't looking at him, more off into some distance or future. He couldn't tell whether she was talking to him or to herself. "You have to save the princess."

Maybe he was dreaming. Reality usually made some amount of sense by now. He sat up, pulling the blankets around himself and slowly took in his surroundings, looking for someone he wouldn't find. A slab counter covered in medical supplies running along the opposite dusty earthen wall, daylight and a breeze from an inlaid arch and firing slit on his left. Like a tomb, he realized.

River patted the top of his head sympathetically. "The ivory tower has stairs and she waits in the heart. You mustn't be scared, the thorns will flower and open the way for you. But ask nicely."

He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair, then stopped and frowned at the girl. "What've I told you...?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't touch," she repeated teasingly, reaching out and mussing it up again, "Captainly pride to think of." After a few entertaining moments of batting at each other's hands, the reader stiffened on the little bedside tuffet, listening to something only she could hear. She broke into a bright smile, the likes of which were rare to see on her troubled features but increasingly common. "They're back!" she declared, bounding out of the room.

They'd gotten the hovermule patched up enough that his mechanic didn't think they'd have a breakdown, and Zoë, Jayne, and Kaylee had gone into the capital city. Couldn't remember the specifics, but he had a pretty good idea why he wasn't with them. He scowled, spotting his clothes. Nowhere was completely safe in the post-Niska tumult, even with Council control and private security forces.

He was just shrugging on his coat when his medic came in, who stood holding open the curtain that served for a door, frowning and furrowing his aristocratic brow in disapproval. "I realize you have difficulty sitting still for more than an hour, but I really have to recommend that you lay back down."

To give credit where it was due, there'd been no explanation about the necessities of bed rest, or mending broken bones, or stitches, or bandages again. Still. He tugged on the lapels one last time, keeping Simon in the corner of his eye. "Dope me again, son, and you're spendin' a few weeks on that bed yourself."

The doctor gave that sigh, the one that members of the medical persuasion reserved for particularly stubborn patients. He'd had that annoyance directed at him plenty in his life, and more times than he cared for from someone under his protection. "Where are we going then?" the boy asked, turning sideways to let him by, or maybe so as not to get pushed over, then falling into step at a pace leisurely enough to accommodate his injuries. Gorramn ship crash harnesses. The ribs had healed, but the fractured shoulder was going slower, mostly because Simon claimed he kept moving too much. This was going to get aggravating, quick.

"Crew's back from getting supplies." The captain winced at the sound of a backfiring engine outside the dingy hallway and rough beige walls that confirmed it, wondering if they had a functioning mule after all.

Simon considered this, blue eyes and expression skeptical. "I'm sorry, but doesn't that normally require money?"

One of the surest bits of proof that someone was Corebred: boy was with a bunch of crooks, and never once thought of the obvious first. He almost smiled at that. But, no, not this time, and not ever little Kaylee. "Don't need coin. Mechanic shops'll trade parts for skill, big port like that can always use some extra hands."

The younger man had stopped, he continued on a step or so before he realized and glanced back, finding an unreadable expression as the doctor studied him. "Do you think that will really be enough?"

He turned fully. "Speak plain."

Simon debated for a few moments more, then his blue eyes blazed, determined. "Inara. She could help." The boy's voice hardened with accusation. "She should be here."

He closed his own eyes against the pain and covered with annoyance. "Well, she ain't," he retorted, with clear warning. Storming off wasn't exactly possible, but he made the attempt anyway, done with the conversation.

There was respect between them; leaving a posh life in the core for a sister who sometimes didn't recognize her own brother couldn't have been too easy, and while Simon didn't understand Mal, he understood Simon. And Simon at least appreciated the choice the captain made, risking the Alliance by taking him and his sister back on after they had taken their leave once. Sometimes they even almost got along. Didn't make the boy any less of an uptight self-righteous yă pí shì all other times.

The genius made the mistake of continuing. "And why is that?" Ignored the growl from behind gritted teeth, the white knuckled fists he was making as he tried to march away. "Something happened to her, didn't it."

Couldn't hide his reaction that time, the way his pace slowed completely, the way he had to turn to the rough wall for support, head down because his shoulders couldn't support the weight of his emotions anymore. Just for a second, he gathered himself.

And then he spun and advanced, dangerous. "You'd know, wouldn't you." The two of them, always with their gorramn secrets. He tried to hold onto that, onto the anger, but his voice was sounding hoarse.

"No," his medic replied, calming, "because you never told us." A pause. "Were you ever going to?"

Something broke again inside, something not a rib, but he buried the vulnerability before it showed and refused to look away. When he spoke, it came out low and quiet. "Would you've wanted me to?" he countered. Didn't appease. "Look, I know you were…" he groped around for the right words; truth be told, he didn't know what they had been, and it'd been no small source of hurt for him. "You were something," he settled on, "and if I had the words to say, they would've been said."

Simon slowly nodded, accepting that as the best apology he was going to get. "If you see my sister, could you tell her I've been looking for her?" he asked, back to business, swallowing some kind of unwelcome pity. "I need to administer her injections."

All of the crew had some sport with Simon now and then; there was never a more honest and more gullible person born in all the worlds, and if River enjoyed worrying her brother, it was hard to deny her that fun. "Depends on if she wants you to find her."

He left the boy to prepare his sister's medications, cutting off the objections, and stepped out onto the dusty road leading away from the little makeshift hospital. The overgrown shrub to the right of him rustled. She would pick up on it, take it into her fragile soul, and he rode down on the ache. "Doc's looking for you."

Time once was, he'd have found talking to vegetation more than a little odd, but then River stepped out from her hiding spot and made a face at him, twigs in her hair, and skipped off ahead of him.

A small collection of similar bullet-ridden hardened mud-sand igloos laid before them, poor but decorated in hand made crafts and flowerboxes, with clotheslines strung up from eyelets and vegetable gardens out front. Block script was carved into two boulders at the town entrance, and beyond, a sea of grass waved underneath dry hills in the far distance. Jordan.

Few people were out in the midday at high summer; a woman draped in oppressively heavy looking fabric, arm wrapped around a vase of water she'd obviously carried some distance; another woman, older, resting under some shade of an awning on some kind of cushion, a veil over her head. Three giggling children and a dog were watching Jayne stomp around the hovermule through a shroud of unwholesome smelling smoke and Chinese swearing. Zoë was kneeling by Kaylee's side, holding a bundle of wires while the girl was shoulder deep inside an open panel. Both of them were dripping from the heat, Zoë's normally curly sienna mane almost straight.

River scrambled around to the back to climb up onto a couple crates they had towed behind them as he checked in with his mechanic. "I think the xiăo láng-zi cān liáng hú xiāng dòu bandits maybe heard that. Don't want your arm in there if the mule explodes, mèi mèi."

"Just babyin' her, is all. She don't like the ground trailer we're haulin'," Kaylee sighed, wiping her free hand across her brow, then giving her usual megawatt smile. "Simon letcha out?"

"Sort of," the captain answered gruffly, distracted by their swag. He stepped around to the back of the mule, running his hands over the boxes. "You earned all this in one day?" Jayne snatched one of the packages away from the pile protectively, and climbed out of reach onto the back of the mule to open it.

"Nope, just the mail, got most of the parts I need already. Just waitin' on that replacement actuator I needed in the first place," Kaylee explained, rummaging through yet more wires deep within the machine. "Mama sent us some goodies after I waved Pa, and we had some other stuff redirected to us." She paused, a bit of worry creeping into her hazel eyes as she looked up at him. "You didn't hurt Simon none, did you?"

"I only threatened a little," he defended himself loudly, and grimaced, reflexively grabbing at his side. "Left him in the same condition you did," he continued, more carefully. Kaylee gave him a funny look, bit her lip, then went back to mothering her machine. Zoë raised an eyebrow at her then at him as Kaylee started asking for more of her tools. He just shook his head, wordlessly exasperated.

Jayne was already munching on some homemade cookies that seemed tiny in his paws, slowly reading a new letter from his mother. Considering how skittish Amnon had been about his postal service after the corrupt Fed had visited, the captain could only imagine how stale Jayne's post was. He looked over the boxes again, and pushed the lid off one of the larger ones that River wasn't sitting on with his good arm.

Stunned surprise slowly turned grim. "Sir?" Zoë questioned, standing, brushing the dirt off her pant legs.

He slammed the crate shut, startling all of them. "Who sent this? Kaylee? Any note?"

Kaylee climbed to her feet as well, looking confused. "It was with the other mail," she answered, "Figgered it was just more foodstuffs my folks sent." She joined Zoë curiously, standing by. "Why? What's in it?"

"She'll sleep for one hundred years before she wakes, but the spell can be broken before then," River intoned, smiling mischievously and kicking her feet off the side.

He narrowed his eyes at the psychic for a long moment, then pulled the lid off again.

The twin monitor displays of a cyrochamber blinked up at them.

Zoë and Kaylee blinked back, eyes wide, the mechanic's mouth a little open, as Jayne craned his head at the crate from above, trying for a better look. "Oh hell no," the mercenary exploded when he saw, swinging down from the back of the mule with a stream of profanity. "Folks in boxes is bad luck, Mal!" Jayne argued, giving the crate an unfriendly sneer. "I say we drop 'er in the desert from a couple hunnert feet an' let the fall sort out the rest."

Watching Kaylee pout angrily and swat at Jayne's bulky arm was like watching a puppy shame a bear. "Not even!" She put her hand out on the container, eyes filling with nigh irresistible Kaylee tears like whenever she tried to get him to take on some sorry mangy critter for a shipboard pet. "Poor thing, all lonely and helpless…"

The captain sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose to stem off a headache, then crossed his arms to give out orders. "Zoë, go get Simon to open up this pān duō lā mó hé." His first mate turned her wary eye from their newest surprise to him as he warded off both approbation from his soft-hearted little optimist and protests from his hired gun. "Someone knew where to direct all this to us. I want to know who, and I want to know how."

"Oh, yeah," Jayne quickly came around at that explanation, cradling one of his guns with an unsavoury grin. "My interest is particular as to the who."

Chapter 4
Having grown up vessel side, her family militia-for-hire, Zoë hadn't ever really figured out the way some took to staring out into the black. The stars were always there, permanent and unchanging, wasn't like they were apt to disappear. Her husband had been appalled by her attitude, and had done a fair bit of teaching her appreciation through long, smoldering sessions of pure sensation. The two of them, on the bridge or in their bunk, wrapped in each other's arms, and stars like she had never seen them.

She thought maybe she understood now, wondered if the captain sought out the eyes of his mother in those distant lights, if Wash looked for his father's, same as she looked for Wash. Took her a while to retake the bridge, but during repairs she'd eventually picked up the job of repairing the front viewscreen, and she'd started falling asleep up there, just looking, waking up next morning tucked into a brown leather coat.

Never could find her mister out there, but maybe, as the gold faded and the first few specks shone from the deepening sky, maybe he was watching. And laughing, enjoying the village's music, the bonfire, the festive air.

He'd tell a joke – 'So who's Mal gonna drunk-marry tonight? My bet's on the seventy-year-old. She looks sprightly' – and she would smile, he would make her feel like smiling. And then, she thought, spotting Simon and Kaylee, they'd watch the fire together, him holding her, and he'd whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Man could talk better nonsense than River if he put his mind to it.

It was going to be one of those nights. She looked up at the stars again, asked them for strength. If you're there, baby, I need you. She braced herself as she walked through the crowd to the spread of food. Nodded to the young couple as she passed, torn between warning them of the religiosity of the townsfolk and the pang as their hands sprung apart. Simon distracted himself with River, drawing her away from the fire where she was arguing with Jayne over the meat he was turning.

She'd held grown men that way, rocked them to sleep wondering if they'd wake up. Her only brothers, and only one of them left.

"It's just lamb!" Jayne yelled after the girl, offended by her reaction to his cooking, "Ain't like ya never had dog 'fore now!" River paused long enough in ranting into Simon's shirt to stick her tongue out at the man. Zoë's expression was hardly an invitation, but Jayne wasn't the sort to pick up on cues like that. "Didn't even hafta poach this'n from the flock hereabouts, an' no tellin' when we'll have fresh agin. She keeps fussin' an' she don't get any when she wants some."

The man'd been sullen and ornery ever since they'd opened their mail, only mustering enthusiasm at having meat for dinner. Didn't feel like arguing. "Takin' some to the captain," she told him, putting together something resembling two plates and an appetite and ignoring how he shouted at River that see, Zoëy'll eat it.

The captain was about as she expected to find him: at the edge of the merriment, deep in discussion with the village patriarch, a calm, older man named Omar who looked like he'd let someone flatten his face as a boy. Most likely explaining how their new guest wasn't going to delay their departure, what with the Mal seeing the wide open plains of his lost homeworld everywhere and wanting to get a move on in the morning. The downtime had been good for them, but she could feel it, the restlessness that kept her watching the horizon. Wasn't safe, even when it was. They'd both taken that away from the war. Keep moving, keep breathing. Hold together as best could be and carry on through the pain.

Most of Ezra were nomads, caravans living off the herds they drove across the vast grasslands, only riding to outposts of the capital like Jordan to trade with kinsfolk. Even so, with the wanderlust in his own veins, Omar welcomed them to stay as long as they liked, keenly concerned about their salvation. Whenever the captain insisted the patriarch should worry for his own, that they were dangerous just being around, the patriarch would smile knowingly, stroke his grizzled beard, and talk about family and community.

The crew had been all but adopted by the villagers. Even this wedding reception was supposedly thanks to them, the groom a slave who had escaped after Niska's death.

The captain finally excused himself and made his way through the crowd, stopping now and then to exchange a few words but alone even when surrounded by people. A few boys trailed after him, staring and whispering and fighting over who got to wear an oversized brown robe for their play acting before they scurried off to invent their own adventures.

When she caught up, he was brooding against the side of the guesthouse the village put them up in, seated, glaring over his knees at the cryobox like it was ticking down. He'd been unusually withdrawn lately, and after Kaylee's rescue, she had a inkling what was troubling him. Seen it herself in the mirror. So she held his eyes when he started to refuse the plate she was offering until he relented, and then settled into her old place at his side. "You ever having the talk with Simon?" she asked, "He's gettin' jumpy."

The captain's mouth quirked up despite himself. "You mean about him an' Kaylee? Nah. It's funnier to keep him guessing. I'll spring it on him with the contraceptive talk." He shrugged, suddenly awkward. "It's tradition."

She felt a flash of gratitude for the topic, both because of the direction she wanted this talk to go, and because everyone was walking on eggshells with her about Wash. She was afraid she was forgetting him, impossible as it seemed. The smell of cheap cinnamon gum was fading from her bed, and she didn't know if it'd been real anymore. "And how long," she demanded, "did you string my man along with that zhì qì é zuò jù?"

"Three months," he admitted shamelessly. He popped another strip of roast into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. The air between them sobered, and he swallowed. The captain set his plate aside, finally looked at her for the first time since they started talking, eyes full of apology. "Zoë, you an' Wash, you were special together. Took me too long to see."

She drew a breath through her too tight throat into her too tight chest. "Don't think you've seen yet, sir." Surprised him with that one, and she pressed the advantage. "The next time you get that lovesick, you could tell us before you run off and try to get yourself killed," she suggested, blunt and severe.

His expression darkened, and he gave a humourless laugh. "I let Kaylee die, and you can shoot me yourself." The captain surged to his feet, grimacing against the pain.

That was a dodge, his defensive brush-off. "May just take you up on that, sir," she replied, unruffled. "Wasn't talkin' on Kaylee." He'd been about to stalk away, but her words stopped him. She got up as well in case he decided to follow through on that impulse anyway.

She'd been by him through some of the worst hell ever conjured, through darkness like to drown them. They'd clung together, fought together, thought together, bled together, but always they'd been kicking for some light at the surface, or they'd have pulled each other under. "Who were you really tryin' to die for?" Zoë asked, "Because I don't remember you half so alive as when you were heading into a sure ambush for Inara."

"Zoë." Back turned to her, voice threatening. Dangerous territory, but there was grief there, hamstringing the both of them.

She stood tall, shoulders squared; they were soldiers, they would face this. "I miss him," she confessed. "Miss him so damn much, an' I know I shouldn't, not what I've seen." Her voice choked a little, but she pulled herself together, purged the emotion from her voice. He was watching now, and if she sagged, he'd catch her and not hear. "Ain't no stranger to death. Not even the first I've ever wondered how to go on livin'." Fiercely. "But I do. We do. 'Cause we're the only ones left to carry the memories."

His jaw set, stubbornly defiant but also uncertain about what to do in the pain he saw in her. He was saved from having to hear any more or making any kind of response by a chime from the cryobox. "SIMON!" he bellowed, "your gorramn patient is incubated enough!"

- - - - -
The ocean was crying, every silver jewel a tear; they would remember, long after the reflections faded. She heard their silent whispers, so full of sadness, overwhelming her, hard to breathe. When she looked she saw everything with her own eyes, and wished she didn't feel so much that wasn't hers but she held them all close anyway and it confused her because she didn't know who (what) she was.

She hadn't meant for this to happen. She didn't know even if they'd ever shine like they used to, because the lambs had been sacrificed, the laughter and the faith were gone and the blood had seeped into her skin like a condemnation. No daggers had spilt the betrayal but the spots were there and she could not command them, they would not wash away.

But every night will end with a dawn and she felt her, ready to awaken, but long, so long before the morning will warm.

She was trying to explain this to Simon. Not going well. His mind was a list, running through the medications, worrying over combinations, whether he might be the indirect cause of her current distress. Unable to understand, desperate, but trying to comfort, like his arms and wishing could put her mutilated amygdala back together. Her mouth was arguing and rebelling against her insisting neurons, not saying what she meant. Disorganized thoughts cantered around rainbows and stormclouds and dipped their toes in shattered glass, coming out paper snowflakes.

The words weren't tying together with grammatical string, they stumbled over each other and trailed off into uncertainty. Her hair shifted and petted her arm as he cradled her. Wriggle. Not close enough, not to protect her from her own brain. Her nose scrunched up and she tried again. "I'm hungry."

Acceptable.

Kaylee glowed brightly again, no longer wavering, and Simon was basking in the sparkle of her light even as he thought his relief was the momentary coherence of his little sister. Too blind, can't really see yet, but the persistence of pretty eyes and affectionate hearts would change that. Her hopes smiled for them, insisted: no more sacrifice.

Another sunbeam for her, her friend had so many. "Still got my momma's tasties a plenty, if ya want some."

No, couple's time now. She pushed away, the hem of her skirt climbing her legs and needing correction, eyes jumping to each and every mingler around them. "Dessert, from the French, desservir, de-serve, clear the last course from the table, after entrée." Her toes shifted in the dirt as she watched them, then moved towards Jayne. "Need to wash hands."

'Which reminds me, I should prepare some antitoxin,' she didn't hear Simon say, then Kaylee's response, 'Oh, ain't so bad. Jayne burns everythin' too much to get anybody sick.' Eyes still on her feet. Interesting shape, functional. Focus, she reminded herself.

The Neanderthal was hunched over his meat, protecting his food. "Didn't mean it," she told him. A ready snarl was waiting to eat contriteness, teeth already barring at her, terrifying sight by the flickering flame. The explanation hurried. "There were symbols, and they spoke to me, but the cooking was behaving and I shouldn't have listened."

"Yeah, maybe you shouldn've," he grumbled. A dismissal. Still here. Pout. Still pouting. "Aw, don't… năo-cào." He threw some pieces on a plate and pushed the dish at her, then turned away from the firelight. "Here. A woolly for a woolly. Now git."

Caverns of fire gaped their many mouths wide to swallow them, and she was chased to the other side of the fire until the revelers drowned out doom. The night darkened again with the grief of the captain and the first mate as they sailed through their oceans, and she clung to the presence of Simon and Kaylee through the storm, waiting for the inevitable.

- - - - -
He watched her as she apologized to Jayne, as she finally settled down as part of the circle singing about legends around the fire. River, sparks floating so near to her, then up, seeming to disappear among thousands more scattered across the sky, this required some attentiveness.

This had been her first episode since they had crashed, she hadn't even been alarmed like the rest of them by their surprise mail earlier. He had thought that maybe, at last, he had found something for her long term stability, that the fresh air and the peaceful green meadows stretched for miles outside of the tiny village might be the cause of her improvement. But perhaps that had just been his own wishful thinking.

Kaylee had curled up into his side, trying to help keep an eye on his sister but ultimately more of a distraction. The crisis seemingly over, she nuzzled her cheek into his deltoid, sighing at the perfection of the same glittering lights her eyes had captured so well. "Ever seen anythin' so magical?"

The time they shared in her prismatic hammock in between repairs, the room blushing and aglow… The memories were unforgettable. This night was promising that it could fade away the world until it was only the two of them, only this moment.

Opening his mouth could ruin this for her. "No, this is new," he answered, thoughtfully, careful to consider every word. "Osirius is the seventh planet out from the core, so it's a dark world, but the cities make everything twilight. I never really saw the stars much."

"New?" she asked, surprised but still smiling. "Been up in Serenity more'n a year now. Ain'tcha never just looked before?"

"Not really," he admitted, fighting the urge to squirm as he remembered the time they had been boarded by the Alliance, and to remain undetected, he and River had to put on the EVA suits and go outside. "This might come as a shock, but I don't actually do too well with spaceships or space."

No! Why did he say that? Kaylee pulled away a little bit, something pleading in her expression. "But… You do like it now? On Serenity?"

He fumbled desperately for some way to save the conversation, and that was precisely when River inserted her face between theirs, having somehow managed to sneak around behind them. "Time!"

They both startled, then, before Simon could wonder to ask, he heard Mal yell for him, loud enough that a few of the other people nearby turned to look. "The ogre calls," he groaned, rising and brushing dirt from his trousers. Kaylee shrugged and smiled apologetically, at least a smile, and he wordlessly thanked his sister for her insight as she dragged both of them off.

As they approached, Simon noticed the two soldiers were gathered around the cryochamber with guns drawn, and he broke away into a run. "What are you doing?"

Mal acknowledged him with a tense glance before nodding at the green indicator light. "It's done. Unlock it and step back."

"So you can shoot them?" the doctor accused, outraged and incredulous. Unbelievable, just… Not for the first time, Simon asked himself if the man wasn't insane, or just completely barbaric and unfeeling.

The cold hardened glare he received might have frozen him in place, and not for the first time, he concluded it was a little of both. "Believe I gave you an order," the captain warned, low as thunder, and flicked the safety of his sidearm off. "Do it."

Simon almost shook with anger, defiantly holding the gaze of those menacing, icy eyes even as he stepped forward and undid the latches to the chamber. Mal had to push him away when he didn't immediately move; he relaxed, but only barely, still looking daggers, when Zoë gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head and Kaylee, River, and now Jayne joined them.

The quietest sound, an exhalation chasing the depressurized air escaping the opened lid. A breath to follow, lungs and heart reengaging in response. After a few seconds, Zoë raised her shotgun and Mal's arm fell slowly to his side, his pistol dropping, forgotten, from dumb fingers. A few seconds more, and then Mal was sliding his coat off his shoulders, laying it reverently over the sleeping figure within, then reaching, almost diving in, and lifting Inara out.

Cliffhanger surprise!

There will be a lot of these.

Bytemite wrote:Cliffhanger surprise!

There will be a lot of these.

i can take it.

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keep 'em coming!

ebfiddler987 wrote:Can't sit around reading stuff online where I am right now, so I've copied this to my thumb drive and will read off-line tonight. I'll get back to you with comments later.

Okay, so here's my extended commentary on your new chapter. (I edited this for fanfictiondotnet because I didn't want to post too many spoilers by mistake.)


Inara is finding relevance in those dreams (or visions, perhaps) that River showed her – and that’s frightening prospect (for me, the reader) given the nature of those dreams. It saddens me to think that Inara really believes she has nothing to offer her friends except a sacrifice – a negative thinking that surely has to do with the illness she’s undergone, and perhaps lack of hope that anything can be done about it. The images of gates and passageways are effectively used, and given the amount of foreshadowing you’ve put about such into previous chapters, they are definitely foreboding.

I like the Inara/Kaylee moment. Inara has always had some of these surreptitious skills (her seamless concealment of the slaver’s money in the opening scene of “Shindig” illustrates this), and I really like that you’ve made use of them in this scene (as Inara retrieves the tools and palms them off on Kaylee.)

River’s thoughts are very interesting. They think she’s out of it, and under their control, but she’s grown stronger than that.

The Ezrans are taking action, I like that. No longer taking the Alliance’s interference lying down.

Interesting getting inside the Operative’s head. “merely to fall on his sword was too easy, and too painless, for the penance he deserved.” –oh very, very interesting thought. So sad to see Mal in such a state. “There were others who needed to be saved.”---aaack! Given the nature of your foreshadowing in previous chapters, the final moments of this chapter were not entirely unexpected, but they were completely shocking! This is a terrible, terrible cliffhanger to leave us with and I expect you to put your nose to the grindstone and churn out another chapter forthwith.

and that’s frightening prospect (for me, the reader) given the nature of those dreams.

Well, I lack any single coding for originality in my entire genetic sequence, so I'm probably not giving anything away by hinting anything about the classic Hero's Journey story narrative. Hint hint.

With Inara in this story, I looked at how she reacted towards Atherton threatening Mal and what she was willing to do, tossed in a bit of speculation about her secret, and blended until I had a motivation.

No longer taking the Alliance’s interference lying down.

It's not really going well though. For most of the Ezra resistance side-plot, I had Les Miserables firmly in mind.

I think I might try to get into Mal's still delirious head next chapter for extra fun.

Also, GR gave me the idea to have the Operative decide to resolve the problem this way, since she pointed out that he's pretty much done nothing else since he first appeared in this story.

Chapter 5
Wasn't the first man she'd ever mesmerized, he knew. Wouldn't be the last, either. As the glinting ice fog dissipated, his brain had to stop and register her, her sable hair and her peaceful features. She was curled into the cushions, lit up softly and looking like a new day under the night sky, and still, so ominously still.

More than her beauty, her perfection, it was the sacred life of her that captivated him, that shone from her golden skin, was in the rare honest smiles for him under her companion airs, in the flash of her endless eyes that spoke of a forever he could never have. Untouched by the pain and darkness in him but understanding and unafraid, calling to something that stirred in him, underneath all the wrong, something sweet, longing, hopeless, and which felt right.

And then she breathed. And the ache that didn't exist unless he was alone in her shuttle and it was tearing him apart, that feeling he couldn't, wouldn't name, the truth was on his face, in the tenderness of his hands as he covered her.

She looked so vulnerable. He needed to hold her, press her to his heart, to that hole that only she could fill, and feel her own heartbeat answer. She seemed to breathe him in, then shifted against him with a sigh, like she was trying to nestle more snugly against him, into the warmth he offered after the cold.

Someone snorted a laugh. His eyes snapped open and he was inwardly embarrassed that they'd gone and closed. "Jayne, I am two seconds from being armed."

"Oh, don't mind us, Cap'n," Kaylee piped up encouragingly, a big grin in her voice. "Take aaall the time ya need." Gorramn crew! Even Zoë was trying to hide a smile in spite of herself. He was giving them all septic-vat duty when they got back to the ship.

"Actually," the doctor intervened, sounding a little too amused as well, "I need to administer a series of injections to prevent cryogenic shock." The boy cleared his throat. "So if someone could please pry the captain off of Inara and carry her inside…"

Definitely too amused. In response, he wrapped an arm around the back of her knees, scooped her up, careful not to disturb her modesty, and turned, challenging anyone to make any further comments. To his satisfaction, as he strode past, Simon opened his mouth to object, then thought better of it.

"He missed her," he heard River whisper conspiratorially, not even having to read it from him, then heard Kaylee try to smother a giggle.

And now that she was in his arms, she was all manner of distracting; she was resting her hand on his chest, now tangling her fingers gently in the front of his shirt, now nuzzling her cheek into the fabric. The faded scent of her jasmine perfume was like a restorative that made him light-headed at the same time.

Kept his eyes ahead, fixed at some distant point beyond the door at the end of the tunnel-like hallway. He'd had one moment of weakness, so what if they saw? Wasn't like they didn't already know how she was in his head. Even Jayne had figured it out somehow, probably smelled the pheromones or something. But he would master this, even if every cell of him was singing for her, even the ones in his shoulder that were on fire.

Maybe carrying her hadn't been such a good idea, come to think of it. But somehow he managed to lay her onto the patient bed without wrenching anything, and drew the same bedding he had slept under for the past couple weeks up around her. Light fell across her face from an oil lamp as it was lit, and now he'd looked, and he couldn't look away, because her lips had curled into a contented smile.

At some point he'd sunk to kneeling by her bedside and he wasn't sure for how long but the hard floor was starting to hurt. He pulled back abruptly, stood, feeling odd, like a giddy rush of adrenaline gone awry, like he was floating, expanding and his skin was too tight.

Time to assess the situation and take charge. His first victim was rummaging around in the medical supplies, and that he could supervise. Unlike, apparently, making a joke of himself when it came to Inara.

Awful lot of needles being laid out. The worry came back immediately, as well as the protectiveness. "Putting an arsenal together there, doc?"

The boy ignored the vague warning in his voice, focusing entirely on extracting fluid into another syringe, looking particularly villainous in the dim light and shadows and cavernous lair, all pale skin and dark hair. Before he could make some damn fool effort at saving her from Simon of all people, Inara rolled onto her side, the covers rustling, inadvertently distracting him. She looked small. Thin. Was that normal? She might be hungry.

He spotted the rest of his crew, alternately bored, troubled, intent, and excited, huddled in the doorway to watch, the woven hanging pushed aside. "Kaylee, go 'n see if any grub's left out there, scrounge somethin' up." Surprise clouded over the girl's barely restrained eagerness to see her friend, then something pleading started to appear in her hazel eyes.

"That won't be necessary," Simon explained before Kaylee could protest, with a tone of forced patience normally reserved for Jayne. "Cryogenic stasis completely halts the metabolism." The doctor drew out one of Inara's arms, prepared her slender wrist with surgical spirits.

After the third solution, Mal had taken to pacing and couldn't stop fidgeting. "She's not wakin' up."

An irritated huff of air. "That would be for the same reason she doesn't need anything to eat right now, her system hasn't yet broken down the drug that put her out. I'm going to give her a common counter-agent after these other shots, and if you would please let me work, I can administer it that much sooner."

The doctor didn't even have to stop or look his way, the captain quieted instantly. If his silence could help Inara, he'd give that and more. Unfortunately, it also meant he could now hear the whispers, was aware of Zoë quietly turning away and heading back out into the darkness.

The crew's littlest romantic was quietly cooing over his concern. "Aww, jiù mèng chóng wēn!" Kaylee gushed.

"Paunch airin' is what it is, grown man actin' so twitterpated," Jayne scoffed, hands shoved in his pockets and leaning back against the doorframe, "Ain't dignified."

Simon paused, the promised tonic juice hovering uselessly over his slumbering patient. "Do you even know what the word dignified means?" the genius asked doubtfully.

"It's whatcha ain't if'n you don't shaddup and my boot goes up your ass!" the brute snapped, then evenly returned Mal's glower. "Last I checked, pretty women and bygone days don't put coin in my pocket, and coolin' our heels in this spit a nowhere don't neither. You pay me to shoot stuff and don't be forgettin' it." Bad air vented, his mercenary posted off from the post and stomped off down the hall, curtain flapping closed like an afterthought.

Kaylee observed the exchange with alarm, and River something akin to pity. "He's been grumpy all night," the older girl began apologetically.

"Really couldn't care less about Jayne right now, méi méi," he replied, frowning at the doctor and Inara, the former gathering up the used needles. "Simon, you said that'd wake her up. She don't look awake to me."

The younger man sighed, had clearly had enough of his overbearing idiocy. "It will. Gradually. To ease both the physical and emotional shock. Although the threats, questions, and general bouncing off the walls have all been very helpful," Simon informed him testily, brushing past him over to Kaylee's side. "I'd like to check on her when you're done fighting, so I'll be back later."

He sent a scowl after the two of them, and realized with increasing nervousness that there was only one person left now between himself and the woman who could undermine his command of his crew and himself in her sleep, and who would probably not be at all pleased to see him after the way he'd kicked her off his ship before.

River was already at the bedside when he turned back, dropping a welcoming kiss onto Inara's cheek. "You were taking too long," she complained at his befuddled look, and then was gone in a flutter of skirts.

- - - - -
The amaranth seemed in a rush to greet the new year, popping amid the red lanterns hung from the cherry trees like the sparklers of children running through the dormitory gardens. Out beyond the high inner city wall, she could hear the clamor of festivity driving away bad spirits, welcoming the good. A few petals drifted aimlessly around her as she wandered the quiet paths alone, and the world outside faded away. She passed over a stone bridge, the surface of the still pool beneath scattered with floating candles and disturbed only by the occasional goldfish.

How many years had it been? The young face that looked back at her from the water was like a memory, wise and kind and sad. A woman who retired from her career, from riches and glamour, to tell her daughter stories of Camelot, Robin Hood, and Arabian Nights, even though her dreams were crushed and her body was withering away. Xiăo xĭ què, little magpie. Oh mother. Does Shirene ever get to be with Farhad?

Reminiscing as she was, she wasn't surprised to hear a coy voice, teasing her about a surprise. She turned, expecting her friend's sly smile and auburn hair, and found, instead, home.

How could they be here? They couldn't. But the cargo bay was open for her all the same and there they were, waiting to welcome her and they were the same as she remembered. Kaylee's bright joy, Zoë's calm vigilance, Simon's displaced kinship, River's sweet whimsy, and Jayne's simple gruffness. Nothing had changed, not the dimples around his smile or the crinkles around his blue eyes or the splay of his short brown hair, except for this, as he held her, lifting her feet from the ground. She ran her hands up along those inexplicable suspenders to his shoulders and thought she might be flying.

No, that could never be. The fantasy gave way to reality, but for a few minutes, she almost let herself surrender again, keeping her eyes closed, unwilling to let go of the smell of his leather coat. An essence of the Rim, of Serenity, earthly and dusty from the worlds they traveled among, just barely covering the hint of gunpowder and the cheap sage-laced soap he used.

It was silly, she knew, to hold onto these feelings; they were impossible, ridiculous, over before they had even had a chance. And yet they meant so much to her. Even if it was only something for her dreams, she would always be glad she had met him and the family he had built. With some lingering regret and drowsiness, she opened her eyes.

And then her mouth dropped open in shock. "Ai yā, gāisĭ! Tāmā de xiōngxùn!" she exclaimed. Mal startled from the cushion where he'd brooding, and had the gall to momentarily look impressed by her outburst, then offended. "Tell me this is a nightmare," she groaned, pulling the covers over her head.

He yanked them back down to her chin, annoyed. "Well, nĭ hăo and wănshánghăo. Got some questions to ask you, if you don't mind." Not a question, and not negotiable.

Where was she? She deliberately iignored the bristling hún dàn and took in the earthly room, the simple bed she was in, the low light of the lamp in the corner on the stone countertop. Even more alarming, she realized she wasn't wearing any clothes. Her brow furrowed. "Am I in a cave?"

His eyes betrayed a flash of pain that forced him to look away from her. "Serenity crashed."

The emptiness in that statement explained and pardoned him. Fear gripped her for this man who had already lost everything, for the few people in his life keeping him functioning and sane, and she sat up, unconsciously clutching the sheets to herself. "Is anyone…?" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Nah. Had 'em all evacuate in the shuttles." The captain shrugged. She observed the careful stiffness in that movement and almost felt the ripple of dissonant energy associated with his injuries. And you stayed behind, she knew, without even having to ask. "They're outside, they'll get their turn after I've had my say," he told her, then frowned at her. "Why're you here?"

She had forgotten what a minute of conversation with him was like. She mentally recited the first of the five precepts: As the Buddha refrained from killing, so to will I refrain from killing.

"You would know better than I would," she replied with false blitheness, "since you drugged me. Or did you opt for the ever-popular and traditional primitive wooden club?"

Mal stared, not understanding, not wanting to understand. "Wha…?" She immediately pointed at the box of syringes left out on the counter. There was a long pause as he made the connection, and when he turned his eyes back on her, they were like blue lasers. "Maybe," he seethed, "you oughta be careful 'bout the kinds of accusations you throw around."

"I am naked, in a strange place, and I just woke up with no idea how I got here," she sniped. "And you're asking for, no, demanding an explanation? Thank you for your sensitivity."

"Hell, ain't the first time for you, surely!" he shouted back.

Underneath the simmering annoyance, the sting of his insults, part of her was struggling, trying to stop, dismayed that they'd fallen so quickly into the old patterns. What was she doing? She was practiced in self-control and in defusing conversations. She knew him, she knew how to read him, and she trusted him, knew he would never touch her or take advantage. He was concerned about her, about her current state. Yet she'd reacted to him by lashing out at his vulnerabilities, questioned his decency, his worth, his humanity.

But how much did she trust him, really? She never knew what he was thinking, could never predict him. The moment she thought he might finally open up to her, he had broken her heart instead, sent her away. He would never be able to be there for her, never be able to support her unconditionally. Not without destroying himself in the process.

All emotion had retreated behind that hardened mask, and he stood, his anger needing an outlet and finding it in stomping around as much as the tiny room permitted. "Three years now, you've been lying to me. I know, for a fact, that you coulda found a better berth than us. Should be no one knows where we are, yet you make one a your show-stoppin' entrances in a cryochamber sent straight to us." His feet planted, his hands fisted, ready for a fight, he finally looked at her, crossed his arms. "That means someone tracked us down, someone with a whole lotta connections, so I'm goin' to ask one last time. Who are you running from?"

"I'm not running from anyone!" she cried out, exasperated, wanting to throw her arms out and rant at him, and having to content herself with throttling the bedsheets between her hands. "I have never once lied to you, you're just completely paranoid!"

He stared her down, trying to intimidate her into saying what he wanted to hear, that she was in trouble, please save her, but there was nothing, only windmills for him to fight against. The silence stretched, snapped, and he turned on his heel, the curtain thrown violently aside before it eventually stilled as though he had never been there.

- - - - -
Between leaving her and halfway down the hall, Mal realized that he'd just given up his bed for the night, and his mood had grown truly foul by the time he'd stepped out into the now chilly wind.

"Why in hell did I ever want her back?" he grumbled.

It was ever darker than before, could barely make out the next hut only twenty feet away, the bonfire had been extinguished and the villagers had dispersed. Just used to the oil lamp, most like. Zoë was somewhere nearby, couldn't see her but she'd heard him.

"You really want to know, sir?" There was something in her voice he couldn't quite identify, but it was not approving.

No. No, he didn't. He climbed up into the mule, pulled out one of the spare blankets from under the back seat and tried to settle in, but he doubted he'd be getting sleep any time soon.

Chapter 6
Osirius: judge and god of the dead. From the ancient Earth-That-Was civilization that settled on the banks of the Nile.

If he hadn't known better, he might have thought someone at the Blue Sun Corporation had a sense of humour.

When the mega-conglomerate moved its headquarters from Sihnon decades before, it had generated widespread panic. Blue Sun is the Alliance, many argued, and without help from the government, the entire economy might have collapsed. The public never quite realized the extent of the truth. Several unusually honest and astute members of Parliament ended up mysteriously dead, and the scandal they had uncovered, precipitating the exodus, was conveniently forgotten.

Little more than five years ago, a middling to high level Blue Sun manager from the wealthy, respected Tam family found out his employers had a dark side. He was black-mailed into secrecy, generally terrorized, and forced to enroll his daughter into a special school to ensure his compliance.

The family estate on the outskirts of Capital City was vacant, the parents taken into custody. Papers and glass strewn over the imported hardwood. A capture in the master bedroom of a girl, twirling in a pale yellow dress, was eternally frozen behind a broken picture frame. Lives interrupted.

The labs underneath the headquarters were similarly emptied. But he knew where they were now, and he would find them, and all the others who had disappeared just like them, no matter how often they were moved. He would deal their tormentors the fate they deserved.

All he needed was the right weapon.

- - - - -
The silence of his absence was a balm, inevitable and disappointing, but a relief all the same. A few deep breaths and the diffuse light gentle on her eyelids were almost enough to convince Inara through the frustration. Sometimes she longed for indifference, for a day when he could no longer affect her, when they would no longer fight.

Or better yet, the day he was completely dumbstruck by her. That was a cheering thought, the affectionate amusement of imagined friendly banter. In her fantasy, they didn't say hurtful things and there was nothing to hold her back. She would win through teasing, surprise him with flirtation. Then, when he asked, cautious and shy, lonely and wondering, she would surprise him even more.

In any case, he would return, barging in as usual, feigning innocence and pretending like he was just passing by. She sighed; leave it to Mal to find her a room that looked like the adobe chapels in ancient times where crusading knights might come to pray.

The captain would not think to fetch any of the crew to give her a proper welcome and update in the meantime. Which posed another problem: she was not as lacking in clothing as she had thought when she accused Mal of abducting and undressing her. A rare display of chivalry, leaving her his coat was hardly an improvement over just the bedsheets.

Not that there anything chivalrous in how the sleeves had slid almost lovingly down to her lap when she sat up before, too alarmed then by him to notice. Choosing not to acknowledge the mortifying blush across her suddenly burning skin, she kicked the leather garment away from her legs, then held it up, worrying her bottom lip as she considered.

Could she? Should she? The feel around her, indulging in the embrace of his intoxicating scent… But, no, she couldn't give him the satisfaction, couldn't allow him any sort of claim over her. She briskly folded the coat and set it at the foot of the bed, resolving to return it as soon as possible.

Although, if he never found out… Scarcely thirty seconds later, she was having trouble with the last button when a knock on the wall startled her. What to do? She could pull the incriminating evidence over her head and toss it in the corner, be underneath the covers in less than a second.

No. She would receive her visitors with as much dignity as she could muster. She quickly composed herself and crossed two steps over to the bed, settling down onto the mattress.

"Knocking is unnecessary," noted the unmistakable and promisingly lucid voice of a sighing teenaged psychic.

"Hey, 'Nara! It's us!" Kaylee called, effervescent as ever and almost drowning out Simon's attempt to explain to River that announcing oneself was only polite.

Her friend's enthusiasm was as contagious as ever. "Qĭng jìn!"

The girls exploded into her room like a sunburst, and before she'd half-way risen, River took her hands and spun her around, dancing lavender. "You look lovely, méi méi, is that the dress I gave you?" The teenager barely had time to nod before Kaylee pounced, a happy floral print blur hopping up and down in make-up and ballet-laced flats, her russet bouffant brushed to a high gloss; remnants of an interrupted tryst.

The other half of the couple had dressed down, a simple blue pullover and slacks, and the two had met somewhere in the middle. "We've really missed you," the dark haired doctor explained, with a small nod and a smile that was partially for his sister.

"I can see that," Inara answered, laughing with the exuberance of the greeting. She turned in Kaylee's hug to catch River as well, and the three of them fell back together onto the mattress. After a few moments she extricated herself from the giggling tangle, a little breathless herself. "But what happened? Serenity crashed?"

The sunny mechanic waved a hand, quick to confirm what had already been said and observed. "Don't worry none about us, we're all just fine! Zoë an' Jayne are outside, and, well, guess ya saw the captain already." Inara nodded, she didn't really need the reminder. "He got most banged up of alla us on account of him bein' the one to crash 'er. But that was only 'cuz of Niska's people shootin' us down after I got snatched an' Cap'n killed him," Kaylee chirped, finishing with a megawatt smile that belied the story and a lingering trepidation.

All speech abandoned the companion. "You're staring," River informed her, then reversed their usual roles and began playing hairdresser to long black curls.

Eventually, they explained all the details, about how the sadistic crimelord hadn't harmed Kaylee because he wanted the captain to give up without a fight, about how Mal nearly did and had to be rescued by everyone else. It was a joke for them, or at least they had tried to make it one, but it wasn't really funny, how close they'd been to dying.

It was best to not think about, and Inara rubbed a worried crease away from her forehead. "So we're crashed on…"

"Ezra, about twenty miles from the capital," Simon supplied, with a somewhat pained expression. "My condolences."

She shook her head, careful not to dislodge River's work. Nothing to be done about it, she was here now. "You all look well," she commented instead, glad considering all they'd gone through.

"Yes," the doctor agreed melodramatically, "it's taken my every effort." His sister stuck her tongue out at him, then started over on the elaborate twist she had been attempting.

"I doubt it's been too much of a chore," she chided, arching an eyebrow at him and nudging his date, who grinned back mischievously. Simon blushed and busied himself with the box of syringes he'd left out, trying to avoid further inclusion in all the female excitement.

Kaylee jauntily patted down the leather lapels. "Lookin' pretty good yourself," the bubbling girl teased. "I asked around and got some clothes together for ya, but maybe you don't want 'em?"

Inara took a deep breath, steadying herself and trying to remain unaffected. "I do, thank you. Much as I appreciate Mal lending me his coat," a smile, perfectly communicating that she meant 'not at all,' then an airy shrug, "I'm afraid it does nothing for my figure."

"Bet the captain wouldn't think so," Kaylee insisted. Misunderstood, again, the gentle dissuasion, the wordless plea. "Oh, 'Nara," she breathed, "if only you'da seen, way he first looked atcha…" Simon made a choked objection from where he was leaning against the primitive counter, having abandoned all pretense of not listening in. She simpered, gave him an apologetic glance. "Sorry. It was real sweet is all. Guess it didn't last too long."

So they heard. "We always fight," she reminded them, and with not a little admonishment directed at herself. "I said some things that perhaps I shouldn't have, but you know how he is." Distrustful and unwelcoming, and capable of provoking her more than any other person she'd ever met.

Her confidant looked disappointed, but it was River who spoke, her hands stilled mid-styling, her melancholy voice imitating a rustic accent. "He's just umbragey," she murmured, eyes wide and unfocused, "Not your fault. You come from the core lookin' all glamour an' smarts, but out here on the rim it's just us. Sometimes can't see across the distance, why you'd even wanna be out here."

The girl pulled away from outstretched arms, drifting waifishly. "River…?" Simon asked, uncertainly.

"Misery. Hurts. Bad dreams and steel angels. They bombed Lindalino. Lights of ships moved in the fairway, a great stir of lights going up and down. And further west in the upper reaches it was marked ominously on the sky." She straightened, tensed, as though struck, then slumped. "So tired."

"It's withdrawals," the doctor assessed. "You'll sleep better if we wait until tomorrow." River gave her brother one of her looks, not needing the explanation, but her other comment had him too worked up into full protective big brother mode to notice. "Are you having nightmares again?"

Kaylee hopped off the bed, and reached an arm around the smaller girl, who gratefully leaned into the support. "It's okay, I'll sit up with her for a while," she announced, exchanging a look with Simon like she wanted to say more, then helped River off to bed.

Simon watched after them, visibly suppressing the urge to follow, then approached with a penlight and sat on the bedside cushion. "How are you feeling?"

Her lashes flicked away, somewhere outside to a lone soldier keeping vigil against the moon. A half laugh, half sob managed to escape through her fingers. "I don't know, I thought I'd never see any of you again, and now..." Emotional turmoil. Her affection for them struggling with her distress that distance could no longer protect them, with the heartbreak her staying would cause. "I don't know why I'm here."

The doctor shifted awkwardly. "Actually, I meant if you're feeling anything odd, any nausea, or numbness, lingering side effects from waking up." He glanced towards the hall, then lowered his voice, full of sympathy. "You don't recall anything? Not the cryochamber?"

"No," she answered. The light moved back and forth in the usual ritual-like medical examination, and she watched obligingly, trying to distract herself. But she needed to hear. "How long have I been gone?"

"About a month," he told her gently, though it was impossible to soften the blow of the news.

Her eyes misted and she buried her face in her hands. "Everyone is going to know…"

"At least you won't have to tell the captain again," he offered supportively, the pen light clicking off. "I can't even imagine how hard that must have been."

Her chin lifted and she blinked, her tears too alarmed to fall. "A-again?" she coughed.

"Well, yes," Simon sounded uncertain despite the affirmation, as though realizing his error, "He was bad after you left, sulking and snapping at everyone, but he's been more subdued recently." At her stricken expression, he hurried onward. "After the crash, Mal didn't wave you to ask you for help, and when I asked him why… He knew, and he accused me of keeping secrets."

Despair and Mal were an association Inara was well accustomed to. When had he found out? How? As long as he didn't know, she could fight back, and feel alive and strong. Now it would become real. She couldn't bear to face his pity, his emptiness and loss.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered.

Bytemite wrote:so I'm probably not giving anything away by hinting anything about the classic Hero's Journey story narrative. Hint hint.

Hey, it's a good model. Worked for Homer, Shakespeare, Boccaccio, and many, many others.

I looked at how she reacted towards Atherton threatening Mal and what she was willing to do, tossed in a bit of speculation about her secret, and blended until I had a motivation.

Nice recipe.

It's not really going well though. For most of the Ezra resistance side-plot, I had Les Miserables firmly in mind.

Well, most "movements" end up in chaos and bloodshed. Few of them result in changing the world.

I think I might try to get into Mal's still delirious head next chapter for extra fun.

Awesome! Getting in Mal's head is always interesting, and Mal's delirious head ought to be particularly interesting.

GR gave me the idea to have the Operative decide to resolve the problem this way

She's right, and you're right, he needed to do something, and this makes sense. I liked very much how you got into his head. As you know, I'm rather interested in what goes on inside the Operative's head.

Well, it makes Operative sense. I'm not sure that we can describe someone making NORMAL sense if their response to seeing non-enemies captured is that 1) what's happening to them is a fate worse than death and 2) they might blow my cover --> Mercy kill time.

He does have an agenda here, beyond kill everyone though, I'll see how I can work it in.

Bytemite wrote:Chapter 6

Little more than five years ago, a middling to high level Blue Sun manager from the wealthy, respected Tam family found out his employers had a dark side. He was black-mailed into secrecy, generally terrorized, and forced to enroll his daughter into a special school to ensure his compliance.

this is a take i could stand to see more of; painting Gabriel & co. in the role of victim more than villain.
i had the family fall as a result of corporate manoeuvring and power-play.

the parents taken into custody. Papers and glass strewn over the imported hardwood. A capture in the master bedroom of a girl, twirling in a pale yellow dress, was eternally frozen behind a broken picture frame. Lives interrupted.

this image really touched me. nice phrasing. and River was nothing if not a girl interrupted - but i like how you keep the reader aware of the damage to the family as a whole.

He would deal their tormentors the fate they deserved.

All he needed was the right weapon.

the Operative and Mal really are similar in some ways, this could almost be Reynolds in BDM 'wrath-mode'.

i love how you bring the fic much needed light at this point with the girls sunny entrance and the narrative focus going to Inara.
Suns will set though.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered.

*gulp!*

There's a version of the script of Safe that I think shows that the Tam parents are actually very afraid for River, and also worried that Simon will fall into the same kind of trouble and they're trying to protect him.

Inara deserved a nice welcome from the other crew, since Mal's too ornery to act happy when she can actually see it.