A/N: It's back. As promised. Revamped, and better this time around. A slight AU fic that's been on my mind for some time now. Rating is M due to the natural darkness of the story; beware of triggering content, violence, gore, and sex. There will be some similarities to the 'verse, of course, with much of the same character dynamics from the show. Still enough of a twist though to perhaps make it more alternate universe than anything. Pairings include eventual Mal/Inara and eventual Simon/Kaylee. Wash/Zoe will always be together, even in an AU, so long as both are alive, because not only are they awesome, but also because it is Joss' vision that they would have. Also, yes everyone is alive. :) Enjoy.

Anything But Love

"Home is not where you are from,
it is where you belong.
Some of us travel the whole world to find it.
Others, find it in a person..."

- Beau Taplin

When Inara moves to the post-war torn planet Shadow in an effort to put back the pieces of her failing marriage, the last thing she expected was to become so entangled with the town's most notorious rancher, and the repercussions that would come with it.

I. New Beginnings

There were women in the mirror. One was busy bustling about the other, fixing and adjusting, perfecting whatever wasn't perfect already. The other woman stood still. Her long, dark curls were hidden away, contained in an elaborate up-do, with only a few escaping to frame her heart-shaped face. Her dark brows were a perfect thin arch over a set of gorgeous, large brown eyes that sparkled under the dim light. They were framed with thick lashes, curled to perfection. High cheekbones were defined with a natural set blush that contrasted in a lovely way with her cinnamon coloured skin. She had a dainty nose, and lips painted the deepest red. She was decorated in the finest silks and jewels. The dress was long and elegant, the colour a dark indigo blue with thin straps, while the expensive piece at her throat glimmered with the cluster of diamonds that choked her slender neck. The heavy tip of the jewels fell to the swell of her breasts, which were accentuated by the sweetheart cut of the gown. The satin material of the dress was soft against her skin, hugging her curves in all the right places, and emphasizing her small waist. The diamond earrings that matched the necklace were long enough to almost tickle her bare shoulders.

It was without a doubt that the woman in the mirror was the very symbol of beauty, elegance, and class. She was not, however, the definition of a happy wife, despite the heavy diamond ring that encased her left index finger indicating otherwise. The woman in the mirror did not smile, and her eyes, although one of her lovelier attributes, were tired and distant. She was merely a reflection of the person she ought to have been. It was as if she were there, and then not, as if her spirit had left her adorned body while it still could. After all, it wouldn't have been long before she was due to fill in the role of doting, loving wife; a role she had become quite adept at performing.

Lucky, some would argue; blessed even. It was no secret that there were those who envied her life, and perhaps they were justified in their jealousy. Who was she to complain? If she wanted it, it was hers. From beautiful clothing, to expensive jewelry, to the elaborate vacations and fine dining; she could have it at a whim. And yet, she never was one to want for much. Sure, it had been a bit more appealing in the beginning, but slowly, she started to lose interest after deciding that the gifts were no longer out of love, but duty. They were nothing but an effort to quell any dissatisfaction, placating her, making her happy where her husband could not. How little he knew her; material things were nice, but they were not the reason she'd loved him. After all, even before marrying into a prominent Alliance politician's family, she was always able to afford her own things thanks to her previous, successful career.

And yet she'd thrown all of that away for love.

Fēng nǚhái.

What did anyone so young ever know about love?

She had more than just a few choice words to offer her younger self if she'd ever get the chance.

Don't marry him.

That would be the most crucial point she'd make.

He seems perfect and handsome and sincere now, but men change. They always change and you know it. Don't do it. Let him take you to his bed as often as he wants, but never promise him all of you. Don't give him your heart.

She wasn't even sure if she would have listened to sound advice back then, so blinded by love for the bù zhōng de húndàn.

Of all the men who'd tried to whisk her away, whom she had turned down, time and time again, and yet, Atherton Wing had managed to find a weakness within her. It had nothing to do with his wealth, or his good looks. Both qualities were in abundance when it came to the men who had tried to love her. Instead, she found herself enamored with his charm, ambition, and youthful ideals. He was a man to change the world, if there ever was any. That was the man who'd won her over. The man who spoke so passionately about his dreams and goals, that she'd often find herself lost in his voice and, not long after, sweaty and naked in his arms with no recollection of how they'd so seamlessly collided. Hours felt like seconds in his company, and she found herself loving the vibrant colors of his soul. She could spend an eternity at his side, immersing herself in his essence, and her life would not have felt wasted in the least.

When he'd asked her to be his, exclusively, her voice had betrayed her thoughts before she could even have processed it.

Yes!

She looked back at her younger self with scorn and a bitter taste in her mouth.

If only she'd known. But he'd ignited a hope in her, a fire that had long since fizzled and died, and yet had once burned bright and strong.

He's different than all the rest.

She'd been a pretty little fool to think so. Atherton Wing was no different than any other man she'd encountered of such rank. She had yet to ever meet a man who would stand out from all the rest, and was therefore convinced that they were merely a work of fiction, created by the imaginations of women who longed for something more.

"I have big news, bǎobèi," he'd told her after the waiter had cleared their table, the romantic gesture taking her slightly off guard.

They had no audience that night.

The ambiance was candles and privacy, and he'd worn the dashing grey suit she'd been so fond of. The color was as pale as his eyes, and contrasted handsomely with his strong jaw line and dark hair. He'd sent her the deep blue dress she wore that evening, accompanied with the flashy jewelry he knew would go so well with the ensemble. Ravishing is what he wanted her to be. A trophy on his arm for all men to envy and long for, but could never possess. The perfect wife. Silent when not spoken to, and sung praises of her husband when she was. No one dared doubt her loyalty to him. To the outside world, they were as in love as ever.

And so, she was dressed and primed for the occasion, ready to slip into her mask yet again.

Except there were no important guests or family members to fool this time around. Instead, there he was, alone, standing and waiting for her with a smile so sweet that one could almost forget to see the wolf prowling beneath that handsome exterior. The sight of her could still steal his breath away, and he'd allowed his eyes to wander, staring tantalizingly at the flesh of her bosom, like a hunter would his prey. A feast he was no longer privy to, she'd remind herself.

"It's a fresh business, Inara. New beginnings. Father says that if we play our cards right, Shadow will become most profitable. And to think, he'll have us to thank for it all."

He took her hand in his, rather unexpectedly, and she had to fight off the urge to flinch away. Instead, she stared at the way his fingers wrapped around hers. Years ago, she'd ached for such attention from him. Now, all she could feel was a numbing void. Nothing. She felt nothing. It was much like the last time his slick body had pressed against hers. It didn't matter that he moved inside of her, filled her with his desperate thrusts, moaning softly with pleasure, all the while she remained quiet and lost. She would still feel empty. She would lay there, frozen and trying desperately to focus on feeling something, anything. She hadn't wanted to believe it was all gone. But then he'd finish, satisfied for the time being, kiss her forehead, and roll over to his side of the bed, leaving her with nothing to prove her doubts untrue.

She was a body that he would make use of; a breathing doll made of flesh. So she had ensured that that was the very last time he'd ever spend the night with her again.

"New beginnings...for the Alliance?" Her cool voice echoed his words in the form of a question, unbelieving and untrusting.

Yet, even now, a tiny glimmer of hope betrayed her. Was he offering her a chance? After all those years spent fighting, growing ever the more distant, was he finally going to make an effort to fix what had been broken?

Would things ever change between the two of them?

He squeezed her hand, and she looked into his soft blue eyes. "Not only the Alliance, love. For us, too."

Wǒ de tiān a, she wanted to believe him so badly, it hurt.

He was looking at her with the same expression of forlorn pain she could never quite heal no matter her skills, and she could tell he was genuinely trying to bridge the gap in their marriage. She just wasn't sure if it also meant that he would be willing to give up his old ways, too. After all was said and done, too much had transpired between them to ever get them back to where they had once been. He would always carry some resentment for her no matter how much she'd try, and she could barely come to love a man who was always so quick to abandon her.

Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped making the effort, and he'd found comfort wherever he could, typically in the arms of other women. Women who could offer him what she never could. So long as it kept him out of her bed, she'd turn a blind eye. The fact that she couldn't even bring herself to care had initially frightened her beyond measure. Sometimes, he'd bring a woman home, and she could hear them from the other side of the wall, giggling, laughing, moaning and mewling the night away. The only envy she felt was that of sexual frustration. For her husband, she could only feel pity.

"We can get away from all of it, start fresh on a new planet. We'll build it together, just the two of us. No interference from mother or father. We can...reconnect." Atherton's gaze once again wandered down her body, lingering where it wasn't appropriate.

Shadow.

She recalled that he'd been talking about Shadow. Perhaps the most hostile and unwelcoming planet in the 'verse, and that was where he wanted to rebuild what they'd long lost. The unification war had ravaged the planet a few years ago, the Alliance bringing it to near death as a threat against all those who dared try and rebel against them. After years, it was finally brought under control, but only when it had been threatened with imminent destruction. What was one inhospitable planet to the Alliance after all? Eliminating it, and all its colonists, was a small price to pay for the Alliance. Needless to say, the inhabitants were still very much an unhappy and unfriendly folk to outsiders.

"It's romantic in its own way. Sure, it'll take some getting used to, and the planet is populated with incestuous hicks and filthy Browncoats, but we'll have each other to keep company, darling. It will be more of a reason to...stay together."

No surprise that Atherton had no love for the rebels who lived on Shadow; soldiers, men and women who were exiled to their own planet on Alliance terms. By marriage, it was therefore expected of her to share such hatred.

Of course, she could never bring herself to hate people she didn't even know. But the last time she'd made the mistake of sharing that, it had earned her a nasty argument with Atherton, as well as some unappreciative stares and cold shoulders from a few of his friends and family. Having learned her lesson the hard way, she simply said nothing in response. A good wife was a silent wife.

"Are you asking me, or telling me?" She questioned him; taking his mind off of the rim folk he so loved to hate.

He knew very well that she rarely, if ever, had a choice in any major decisions that he made. For years, they may have lived together, but he was always away on some sort of business trip, sometimes for months at a time. While he was gone, she'd keep busy helping out at the academy. But if his work demanded that she be there for a public event of any kind, she'd be yanked from wherever she was no matter the circumstances, and forced to participate with a smile. She'd fought it at first, but her efforts were fruitless, as they always were whenever she came up against the Wing family.

Atherton was looking taken aback by her question, and she wondered if his reaction was rehearsed.

"Well, I am asking you. However, it would be highly suspicious if I moved there myself for such a length of time with you still on Persephone. A wife should go wherever her husband goes. Anything else and it would be bad for business, as father would put it." Atherton forced a tight lipped smile.

You're coming and you're going to be happy about it.

He may as well have told her that, but their relationship was so full of lies and deceit that it was almost impossible to differentiate the cover stories from the real thing anymore. However, she knew he was trying to at least be kind about the matter. Her question could have easily sparked another screaming match, but he'd replied politely, with only the undertones of a threat. Because it was always a threat, she knew that. How pathetic that she would still try and find the good in him, even when there really wasn't any there.

But...he could have been honest.

Maybe they would move to Shadow, and he'd be good to her and keep his promises this time. Maybe he'd try to spend his free time with her, like he said he would. Maybe they'd grow close again by doing the simple things together, like have dinner or breakfast. They could cook it together, and maybe she'd sing while he played the piano, as he would slowly fall in love with her melodic voice all over again. They'd stay up late on the days he'd work long hours, and relax while having a glass of wine, talking and laughing by the fireplace. He'd tell her about his day, and she'd share stories of her childhood. Every now and again, they'd go see a show off world, spend a romantic evening together as a getaway from the daunting reality of work and life. Perhaps then, he'd not need to seek other women for comfort. Perhaps she could allow him into her bed again, and he'd make love to her tenderly and passionately, taking his time like he used to, so many years ago. Sweet, merciful Buddha, how she longed to experience that form of pleasure once more.

The notion was a pleasant one, and it had her feeling a small spark of excitement and anticipation, if only briefly. But alas, the moment would pass, because she knew there was also another possibility that was more likely to occur.

They could get to Shadow, and he could also very well be so preoccupied with business that he'd leave her alone most times. Only then, it would be on a strange planet full of people who would hate her by default. He could abandon her, much like he always did, to seek pleasure where he knew it was a sure thing.

But it didn't matter.

In the end, she had no choice.

She would uproot her entire life, leave behind all her friends and her students and her career because he required it of her.

So, she smiled and nodded, placing her other hand over his.

"I'm willing to try if you are," she stated convincingly.

If she could only believe in her own lies as readily as others did.

"Don't play stupid, ol' man. You know what's it we want now so hand it over and ain't no one gotta get hurt."

She could hear their voices from her little hiding spot, even though she couldn't see them. Her Pa had tucked her away inside one of the tinier transport shuttles that had been under repair, and locked the door, warning her against coming out no matter what it was she heard on the outside.

"You gotta stay put, sweet pea. No matter what ya hear, don't let 'em know you're in here. Kaylee, you gotta hear me, please. Look at me, girl!" Her father had pleaded with her before he'd locked her in.

She'd still been listening to the sound of them banging violently on the garage doors and delivering threats, that she'd barely been able to focus on what he had been telling her. Finally, when he did get her attention, all she was able to do was nod numbly, and stare at him, dumbfounded, a heavy lump in her throat. Her heart was going a mile a minute, but her Pa leaned in and kissed her cheek, thick fingers rubbing her head affectionately like he always did since she was a little girl. It calmed her down, if only a little. Taking one more wipe at the sweat that covered his pink face, he whispered a quick 'i love you', and then disappeared behind the metal door.

She was curled up into a ball, unable to fight off the shakes and cold sweat that consumed her. She felt so useless and weak, hiding away while they would no doubt be hurting her father. Every loud sound had her jumping in response, hitting her head against the metal wall she was cramped up against. She just hoped there would be no gunshots. Gunshots would mean it was over, and she couldn't bear the thought.

"I ain't got time for no more stallin', ol' man, so now you either pay up, or else's we take it another way. Mebbe see to that purty girl you got, spend a night with her for some o' what you be owin' us." The men got rowdy then, and she could hear a few snickering in response.

"Please, I just need another week! Been workin' on an Alliance part, gonna fetch a pretty price once I have it complete. I'll give y'all the profits, swear on my ma's grave. Just a week s'all I ask," she heard her father beg.

"You been helpin' them purple belly scum and expected to be payin' us with them filthy Alliance credits?! Them same bastards that nearly tore our home with them parts you're prolly fixin' up, all shiny and new?!" the leader bellowed angrily.

A blow to the gut, and she heard her Pa grunt and collapse to the floor. They were starting in on the beating, and she knew she couldn't stay hidden away forever. There wasn't a bone in her body that was okay with being a ninny. Anxiously, she looked around the shuttle, knowing she kept her handy wrench in there somewhere the last time she'd set to working on it. Shaky fingers nearly lost their grip on the end of it as she fumbled to grab it once she'd spotted its metallic shine from underneath a dirty rag.

"Plenty more where that came from, ol' man! Teach you to be dealin' with Alliance tech!" Her father grunted again before begging them to stop, and some men laughed at his pathetic plight.

She could hear him struggling to get back up, but her Pa loved the sweets Ma baked with Mal's ranch goods, and the heavier set man was therefore not in any shape to handle a gang beat down. This only spurred Kaylee to work faster on picking the lock from the inside of the shuttle. It didn't matter that she was nervous as hell, or that she had no idea what she could even do to help. She did know, however, that she couldn't simply sit by and do nothing while her father suffered at the hands of some no good, scheming mercs over a few lost credits.

"That's for cleanin' off our blood from purple belly tech for a bar o' protein, ya no good traitor!" Another groan of pain from her father.

"And that's for not payin' up on time!" Yet again her father moaned helplessly in response to the swift kicks he was receiving.

"Now, how you gonna get us our due, ol' man? I got me some hungry men to feed and nothin' to feed 'em with.'Course, that hunger don't always gotta mean food, so where's that purty girl o' yours? Hidin' her? Come out, come out, wherever you are, girlie. Come out and play. Noah ain't gonna hurt ya..unless you're into that sorta thing," the thug chided much to the amusement of the men around him.

Her father coughed, and it was a wet gurgle that sounded a lot like blood and phlegm. That was all the adrenaline she needed. Kaylee kicked open the shuttle door and bolted out, clutching the heavy wrench tightly in her hands like a weapon, holding it above her head in an attacking stance. The men backed up at her sudden appearance, but once they saw the wrench, they all burst into a fit of laughter and tears.

Her Pa was keeled over on the ground, one hand clutching at his midsection, and the other reaching to her, as if to tell her to run. He could barely open his eyes, but he was trying for her, and using them to plead with her. He shook his head to the best of his abilities, as if to say she should have never revealed her hiding spot, and he was saddened by it. He was going to lose her to these men, and he'd much rather have died first.

Like a pack of wolves, the gang started closing in on her, circling around her so as to confuse her. She would not be able to tell who would strike first this way, and was therefore tense and fidgety. She flinched each time one got too close, readying the wrench in the event she had to use it. Her breathing was ragged and heavy, and she could feel the sweat against her palm from where she was clutching her weapon of choice.

"D-don't think either of you know h-how much a wrench to the head can hurt, and I d-don't reckon y'all would wanna find out anytime soon. S-so how's about you get goin' now, and I won't be usin' it...," she warned them, although she tripped over her words and sounded weaker than she'd intended to.

Jayne had told her that a threat was still a threat so long as the delivery was there. Didn't matter if you had an empty gun or a fork; either could be deadly if you let them believe it was. Judging from the expressions on the mercenaries, the wrench may as well have been a pillow in her hand.

"Looks like we got ourselves a feisty one," Noah, the man Kaylee presumed was the leader, commented.

He wore a dirty black cowboy hat, and his left eye was almost completely white where the iris should have been. A deep, dark scar marked the flesh perfectly in a vertical line on both his upper and lower eyelid. He chewed on tobacco with rotted teeth, and the spittle built up in the corner of his mouth, clinging to the bristles of his black mustache. Kaylee did not fail to notice the gun in his holster, and that he wasn't the only one brandishing a deadly weapon. Other men in the group had pulled out their sharp knives, and Kaylee caught one examining it with mild interest, as if to be judging how her blood would look on the metal surface.

Five.

There were five of them in total. Four circled her. One had grabbed her father's head by the bits of white hair left on his scalp, and placed his knife against the tender flesh of his throat.

"I like it when they try an' fight," the man with the scar stated, gaining closer to her.

Kaylee backed up, pointing the wrench at him as if threatening him not to come any closer, but in that moment, another one of his boys had found his way behind her, and taken the opportunity to close in. He'd knocked the wrench out of her unsuspecting grip, disarming her well before she could do anything about it. It clanged on the floor, loud and heavy. He then quickly subdued her, holding her against him as she struggled desperately, hushing her all the while she squealed. He held her by her arms with an iron-like grip, and it became obvious quickly that all her flailing, kicking and screaming would do her absolutely no good against a man of his strength.

When she'd tried to shout for help, she was slapped hard, so hard that her head had jerked from the motion and her vision was blurry as a result of the impact. Her cheek stung and burned from the large handprint mark left behind on her flesh.

"Now, you gonna be a good l'il girl, or am I gonna have to gag you? Don't really wanna do that to such a purty mouth like yours, so keep them lips zipped 'till I say so. Think of it as helpin' your ol' man. Besides, mayhap a slut like you ends up enjoyin' it," he grinned at her like an evil, twisted Cheshire cat with knives for teeth.

Kaylee's eyes widened, and she tried her hardest not to cry, but the tears burned, and she knew it wouldn't be long before one slipped down her cheek.

"Aw, come now, don't cry. Cryin' ain't a turn on, right boys?"

More jeering as most of the men agreed.

"Tears can be like lubrication, sometimes, Boss," a bigger, burlier thug argued.

Noah grabbed her by the chin then, making her whimper in response, and then forced her to stare into his mismatched eyes. "Just the price o' doin' business, sweetie. You got your Pa to thank for it," he whispered against her face, so close she could smell the tobacco in his mouth as well as the pungent, lingering scent of alcohol.

He then jerked his head, indicating for his man to start moving Kaylee out of the garage, but not before he copped a feel of her breasts, and then giggled into her ear before boldly moving his fingers down her torso towards her core. Tears blurred her eyes, as she tried her hardest not to scream in protest at the unwelcome attention. The thug holding her father at bay had let him go, and shoved him face first into the floor. They carried Kaylee out, despite her desperate efforts to break free, her tears now staining her cheeks and causing her hair to stick to her face. Her Pa, so concerned for his daughter, ignored his pain to the best of his abilities, and tried desperately to stop them, chasing after them on fumbling feet, his eyes wet, blood staining his clothing and face. In response, they simply laughed at his efforts, until the biggest merc merely used the butt of his gun to knock him out with a blow to the head. Kaylee cried out, wailing hysterically as she watched her father fall limp to the ground, unmoving.

Just as they started approaching the horses they'd rode in on, they saw a shadow of a person standing next to them. It was evidently not one of their own men because all five mercenaries had paused in hesitation and went quiet as soon as they could see him. The amusement and good cheer had disappeared, replaced by curiosity and uncertainty. Kaylee's lips quivered as she debated whether or not to cry out for help. She thought of her father, injured and unmoving, and then of her mother, hidden away inside the house, safe for now. Should she give them a reason to put a bullet in her brain, she knew it was her Ma they'd go for next. Fresh, hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"You gotta be shittin' me. Malcolm Reynolds, in the flesh... The hell's he doin' here?" One man begged the question as soon as he recognized the tall figure standing by their horses.

Kaylee's heart leapt to excitement at the mention of a familiar, comforting name, but before she could scream out for him, she was gagged roughly with a dirty rag that tasted of gun metal and oil. The man holding her against her will whispered into her ear; "Now don't go thinkin' about doin' somethin' stupid. Wouldn't want the boss to kill ya before I get to have my fun. 'Course, a body's a body, but warm ones feel nicer."

There was all around unease between the group of men, as they pondered the unexpected situation. Even Kaylee had silenced her muffled cries despite the disgusting, crude confession she'd just been subjected to. She now knew that whatever was in store for her, it wasn't going to be what the man holding her hostage wanted it to be, and that much was a relief. She knew Mal would never allow any harm to come to her. Nonetheless, she was also aware that the farmer was still vastly outnumbered, and although she'd seen his temper in action, the myths about his soldier ways were still just stories to her. He'd always taken careful measures to shield her from that lifestyle, ensuring that she was never around when the juicy stuff happened. Heck, the man wouldn't even talk about it with her; he'd shut off instantly and grow more and more irritated the further she probed.

"The less you know, the better, mèimei," he'd inform her in his serious tone of voice.

Even gagged and bound, Kaylee couldn't help but feel like the petulant child the older man had a habit of turning her into. She wondered what he was going to do now, seeing her and her family in a situation that would most likely require some violence to solve. She was almost hoping for it, after everything these men had done.

Noah's voice brought her out of her own imagination. "Ain't no reason to get yer panties in a knot, boys. This is business, even Reynolds knows that. Still, don't hurt none to be ready to shoot on command. That man ain't right in the head after all," Noah instructed, his eyes focused on the harmless figure of Malcolm Reynolds in the distance.

They resumed pace again, and started moving to where they'd left their horses tethered, not a far off trek from the Frye's garage and shop. Kaylee could see the back of Mal's head as he fed the horses a small treat, brushing their noses with his hand, and cooing gentle words to them while they feasted on the fresh apples. He had the sleeves of his deep red dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his dark brown suspenders hanging loosely at his sides. He was casual and dirty from a day's hard work on the ranch, no doubt. Grass and dirt stains marked some parts of his beige pants, and his dark brown boots were caked with mud. His soft brown hair was messy, a key sign that he'd been running his hand through it due to stress; a nervous habit Kaylee had come to learn of Mal from the years she'd spent working for him. When they came upon him, she wasn't sure what to expect, but a calm and pleasant man was certainly not what she'd been hoping for. Was it possible that he had simply been in the area to pay a visit, unbeknownst to him the dangerous men that were now on him?

Panicked at the thought, Kaylee made muffled sounds against the rag in her mouth in an effort to warn Mal. But if he heard her, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he turned around and smiled at the armed group that was staring him down with both feelings of suspicion and hate. He didn't make any eye contact with Kaylee, much to her surprise. He was acting as if she wasn't even there.

"Mornin' fellas! Beauty of a day we're havin', huh?" He exclaimed in a cheery voice, as if reuniting with old friends. He had his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his pants, and looked among the dirty, intimidating faces of the gang with a smile.

Kaylee knew better; Mal's forced politeness was just a mask for the fury he was actually experiencing. She'd seen that much first hand on numerous occasions, most especially when he'd be dealing with Alliance traders. The truth was, the happier he looked, the angrier he actually was. And right now, she'd bank on him seething with rage. But for a man who'd come to a gun fight, Kaylee noticed that Mal was unarmed, his trademark pistol notably absent from his side, as was his holster.

"Cut the crap, Reynolds. This ain't one o' your kělián rescue missions. You know ol' man Frye ain't paid his dues, and now me and mine gotta break even. So do us a solid, and piss off. Our quarrel ain't with ya anyhow," the scarred man spoke up, using his gun to indicate that Mal step out of the way.

Kaylee caught a crack in Mal's forced smile, but it was gone too quick for anyone else to notice. He was biting back, it was there in the whites of his knuckles, his hands curled up into fists at his sides.

"Afraid I can't do that, boys, and you know exactly why," Mal countered calmly, still maintaining what was left of a sunny disposition, despite the circumstances and the insults.

Noah chuckled. "Don't really think you're in the position to be tellin' us what we can or cannot do." He stared at Mal's lack of a holster around his slender hips.

"You're probably right, I can see what you're sayin'. After that last...incident, it's fair to say most folk don't like buyin' honest goods from a man who's always carryin' a pistol he knows how to use. Market's full of older folk, women, and animals. Ain't exactly somethin' I can't handle without violence," Mal admitted, his smile disappearing for the time being.

The men looked around at each other in question, trying to understand the tension that had bubbled up. Noah was the exception; there was a reason he was the brains of a group of thick-headed morons. He stared Mal down with both eyes, being the only one who'd caught on to the underlying threat that he'd implied. Kaylee found it unnerving to stare into Noah's empty, faded eye, but Mal wasn't a man easily intimidated. But that didn't mean he missed the way the men all had their fingers hovering nervously around the butts of their guns.

Instead, he licked his lips, and pressed on, his good demeanour almost entirely vanished by now; "But, see, those rules don't apply to gunhands, as I'm sure y'all already know."

He looked to Kaylee then, and they locked eyes. Acknowledging the state she was in brought forth the scowl he'd been busy trying to mask for the past few minutes, and she knew why he'd been avoiding her earlier. It was hard to maintain an act of calm, cool, collectedness when the object of your anger was staring you in the face. Seeing her in such a state, and not being able to do anything about it was infuriating him. Even now, Malcolm Reynolds was holding back in front of her. Even now, he was protecting her from that side of him.

Just kill 'em already, Mal! She thought urgently.

Much to her disappointment, Mal was sticking to his original plan.

He looked back at Noah before continuing. "And Jayne, well, he loves his guns. So who am I to stand between a man and his one true love? Let the man have his guns, so long as he ain't doin' my business with them. Heck, if you look right over at the roof over there behind me, you'll probably see him usin' one now. See how he treats her real proper? I think she's his favourite, just between us," Mal informed them with a mocking smile, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Everyone looked to see the burly ranch hand waving from behind a sniper trained in their direction. He was situated on the balcony of an abandoned building in the distance, and had Mal not pointed him out, no one would have spotted him, the browns of his clothing camouflaging him against the nearly rotted wood.

Mal then stood up to his full height, shoulders back, and suddenly became a lot more of a daunting presence. He adjusted his sleeves, and flexed his bare forearms as he folded them over a strong chest. Stepping towards the leader of the band of mercenaries, jaw locked and the vein at his temple pulsing, he spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm thinkin' his girl might be takin' a liking to you, Noah. So how's about you do business with her tonight, instead?"

The threat was obvious now, and Mal was no longer hiding it. Anger was in the lines that had formed on his forehead and around his brow. It was in the way his jaw twitched, and the husky edge that his voice had taken on when he spoke.

Noah stared down at the gun aiming directly at his skull, and for once, he looked every bit the terrified fool he was. Jayne responded by focusing in with his scope and sending a single bullet flying right by his foot, sending the man with nerves jumping on the spot. Everyone else flinched in response as well, except for Mal. He stood still, steely eyed and serious, completely unfazed.

Kaylee had seen Mal angry. She'd seen him furious and unhappy. But she'd never seen him scary. To her, he'd always been harmless, loveable Malcolm Reynolds. He was just a big, misunderstood softy on the inside with a tough to crack shell on the outside. But today, she'd caught a glimpse of the dangerous man some of the townsfolk pegged him to be. For a moment, she could find herself believing their stories and tall tales. In that moment, it was true. The man before her, this was the man who was capable of all they'd said he was, and it was a terrifying thought.

As if feeding off these same vibes, the man holding Kaylee had loosened his grip, fully prepared to go for his own gun if the situation intensified.

Instead, Mal went on speaking, as if to explain the warning shot. "She gets jittery around other guns. Take 'em out, and I can't control what happens to good old Noah here. If I were you, I'd take my horses, leave the girl, and get goin' before Jayne lets her loose. Your business is finished here for now, boys. Next time you pay a visit to the Frye's, I'm hopin' y'all can talk out a fair and reasonable payment method that don't involve rapin' innocent girls and beating up defenceless, old men," Mal instructed in a firm voice.

His arrangement was not negotiable. It didn't need to be said, it simply wasn't, and they all knew it. The implied consequences were there, in the reminder that there was a gun trained on them, ready to snuff out their lives at a command. It was there in the imposing midnight blue of Mal's eyes, trained on them like a soldier who'd fought in a war and lost, but lived to tell it.

No one else spoke. Kaylee was simply let go, shoved aside and forgotten like a sack of trash. She'd almost lost her balance and fell to the floor. Instead, she spat out the rancid gag, and gave them all a steady, defiant glare with tear glossed eyes. Still, the group of thugs did as Mal had told them to do, untying their horses before saddling up to leave, always wary of Jayne's gun trained on Noah's head the entire time. The one eyed man spared Mal one last nasty look. His pride was hurt, and he no doubt hated being made to look like a sham in front of his men, especially by a poor rancher and his ranch hand. He may not have gotten a bullet in, but he'd be damned if he couldn't at least get the last word.

"Don't know what you're gettin' yourself into, Reynolds. War's over, and soon enough, ain't no one gonna remember or care that you were fightin' in it. All they gonna know is ya lost, and mayhap they blame ya for it. Maybe they think you a hero. But you ain't puttin' food on their table for free, and folk gotta get paid. Some day, them charity cases you work are gonna be the reason there's a bullet in your head, mark my words," Noah forewarned.

"Everyone's got a bullet with their name on it, Noah. Don't make yours the one in my pistol," replied Mal.

The man scowled in response and muttered something inaudible under his breath before galloping off with the rest of his men, disappearing away from town. After the danger had been removed, Kaylee remembered her Pa, and dashed off to check on him. She found him lying unconscious on the ground, face first. Sitting down next to him, she placed his head on her lap, and brushed the dirt, sweat and blood from his face.

"Pa! Pa, you gotta hear me, please! Nándào nǐ gǎn xiǎng líkāi wǒ !" She shook him aggressively, unable to help the fresh tears that wet her salt stained cheeks.

She heard Mal's heavy footsteps come closer until his shadow loomed over her and her Pa. He crouched down beside him and watched the elderly man carefully with a cold, calculating expression.

"He's breathin', Kaylee. Jayne and I'll get him to a doctor. Meantime, check on your Ma, and maybe clean off that blood from your face 'fore you do so. Don't imagine she'll handle the news any better if she sees you like this," ordered Mal before he called Jayne down with a whistle and a wave.

He then proceeded to carry Pa Frye alone, hoisting the heavy set man and then draping one of his arms around his broad shoulders, not caring for the blood that may have newly stained his clothes. Kaylee sniffled and wiped at her nose. The impact from the slap had caused her nose to bleed, and she'd been so distraught that she'd barely paid it any attention. She couldn't tell what were tears and snot and what wasn't. Most of the blood had dried and crusted onto her face and chin by now, but she could only imagine the hot mess that she currently was. She licked her dry and chapped lips, getting a taste for iron instantly; proof of blood indeed. When she examined her dirty hands, she found that her fingers were still shaking.

Jayne had sprinted over to where Mal was, ready to give him a hand, the sniper strapped across his back now, put away for the time being. He gave Kaylee a concerned onceover, and she waved him off to help her father instead, turning her back before he saw the fresh tears pooling in her red rimmed eyes. He then helped Mal by taking on some of Pa Frye's weight, and they walked him towards the town. Her bottom lip quivered as she turned back to witness the sight of her father's feet being dragged away, with nothing but Mal and Jayne's strong arms holding him upright, locked against his wide back.

"Jayne got the tipoff that they were comin'. Heard it through the grapevine. Came runnin' to me, knowin' he'd be requirin' the backup. Couldn't get Zoe involved seein' as how she's the law, and those men would consider it a favor to kill an officer on the spot, no hesitation. Figured by the time we got there, they'd be gearin' up to haul out," Mal would later explain when they'd ask him how he'd managed to get there in the nick of time.

He would stare at the amber liquid swimming in the glass in his grip, all the while he recounted the tale, looking as dead in the eyes as he ever did when he had to talk about difficult situations. Kaylee could tell he was beating himself up about it, about how if he had only been there sooner, then maybe he'd have saved them the traumatic experience. She could see it in the way he was treating her. He was distant, quiet, and so forgiving if she was ever late for her shift due to sleeping in. He couldn't even bring himself to touch her, and it hurt her to see him suffering in such a way.

"You shoulda told us you were so far in debt to that band of húndàn," Jayne would tell her Pa, just as angry and concerned over the newest mercenary activity.

"They may be dumber than a herd o' cattle, but give any man desperate enough a gun, and he ain't gonna hesitate to use it. I should know..." Jayne slammed his glass down onto the counter after emptying its contents in one shot.

But her Pa would shake his head reproachfully; "A man oughtta be able to take care of his family. Can't always be relyin' on you, Mal, Jayne. Noah's right; one o' these days..." he would drift off, unable to finish the thought.

Mal would stay quiet.

Noting the dire mood, Pa Frye would try to make the topic a little more light-hearted; "Don't tell me you got some kinda death wish after what happened with that vixen woman, boy!" Pa Frye would accuse Mal in jest.

This would catch Mal completely off guard, and therefore put him immediately on the defensive; "Shénme?! No! No, absolutely not! It's got nothing to do with that fēngkuáng de mǔgǒu!" He retaliated.

Jayne would chuckle knowingly, and even Kaylee couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Helluva woman, though. Shame she didn't stay," the ex mercenary would comment, pouring himself another glass of Pa's finest whisky.

Mal would respond with a heated glare in his direction, but Jayne wouldn't bother to notice.

Sighing, Mal would then admit to what he'd really thought of her Pa's concern; "We all die someday, ain't no gettin' around that. I ain't afraid of dying."

Her Pa would take a sip of whisky as he thought on Mal's confession; "That's a lie, ask Shepherd Book. Ain't a soul not scared of death, son. When a grim reaper's creepin' up, every man is terrified. Soldier or farmer, don't matter much who he is. He won't like to go easily because suddenly, he knows he's got a lot to live for, and that's the truth of it."

A/N: An intense first chapter, I know. I said it would be back with a bang, and I had to ensure it did, hence why it's nice and long. Provided a lot more back story here in an effort to glean insight to the world I've manipulated around the story. If anything here made you uncomfortable, then perhaps not reading is the better option. The world here is dark and gritty and ruthless. To those of you brave enough to venture forth, don't hesitate to let me know what you thought of the first chapter. Reviews are always welcome.

On a side note, if the characters seem a touch OOC, I'd like everyone to keep an open mind. Inara has obviously taken a different road in life, as has Mal. This, in turn, has affected them. No need to worry, they will definitely grow and become much more like the characters we know in Firefly. Never start off a story with fully developed characters, especially in a tweaked universe. That's boring anyways.

Translations:

Fēng nǚhái: crazy girl

bù zhōng de húndàn: unfaithful bastard

bǎobèi: darling, baby

Wǒ de tiān a: dear God

Mèimei: sister

Kělián: pathetic

Nándào nǐ gǎn xiǎng líkāi wǒ: don't you dare think about leaving me

Húndàn: bastards

Shénme?: What?

fēngkuáng de mǔgǒu: crazy bitch