[Disclaimer - Setting and characters belong to their respective owners; I own nothing, please don't sue me.]
AU - Obviously, this being set in space, we can say screw you and good riddance to all OUaT canon. As for Firefly, this story takes place a few months after the series (i.e. the Big Damn Movie didn't happen).
The Deep Blue
Part 1: Serenity
Chapter 1 -
ain't misbehavin' - pin the tail - déjà what-now? - two for the price of one
All in all, it ended up working out just about how everyone but him had expected it to.
Badly.
Although, in his defence, nobody could've predicted the gorram donkey.
So this was his plan; they'd be good. No misbehavin', just traveling quiet-like, flying world to world, and using the ship for the reason she'd been made: transport. Anything anyone would pay 'em for, they'd haul. Only condition was, it had to be legal. Honest pay for honest work.
It was perfect.
Until someone screwed it all to hell.
"Zaogao! Son of a gorram - Wash!"
Go for it, he'd said. It'll be fine, Mal, he'd said. What's one donkey after a whole herd of cattle? Sha gwa. Stupid ass had got 'em a whole heap of trouble landed onto theirs. And now here they are being chased through the sky by a bunch of he chusheng zajiao de zanghuo and the perfect, flawless, simple plan is deader than Wash is gonna be if he doesn't get them out of the gorram mess he made.
"Zao ni de xing."
"Hey! Don't blame me." Wash turns around sharply, controls still in hand, sends the Serenity tilting heavily to one side. "You were the one supposed to be a farmer, I never-"
The ship shudders, jerks upwards, and Mal stumbles forward, just manages to stop himself falling face first into the avionics bay, and instead goes down hard on one knee. "Ai ya! Hwai leh!"
"Sorry."
"No you ain't," Mal says, and he heaves himself up as the ship levels out, limps heavily to his chair and sits, rubs gingerly at his knee. "You trying to kill us all?"
Wash waves vaguely, doesn't look over. "Like I was saying, not my fault you were a lousy farmer."
"No I wasn't. Was raised on a farm."
"So? Jayne was raised by humans, that don't make him one."
Mal thinks for a moment; concedes the point. "Still, you got us into this mess, you can get us out."
"It was branded!" Wash yells. "The donkey was branded! And you're the only one on this ship who shoulda' known what one of those looks like."
"He's right, y'know. It's all your fault."
Mal turns around, glares at Zoe as she steps onto the bridge, Jayne at her heels. "Hey, who is it that pays you?" he asks. "You two keep this up, you can get your own gorram ship."
"Fine by me, Sir," she says, walking over to Wash and resting her hands on his shoulders. "Captain Zoe's got kind of a ring to it."
"Oh, bizui," Mal snaps, turning away and flicking the screen to life on his console. The grainy picture shows nothing but clear blue sky at first, then two sleek black shuttles dart across, one after the other. "Thought we'd lost 'em."
Jayne comes over, leans across the console and squints at the screen. "We gonna die?" he asks.
"Surely hope not."
"We should land," he says, stepping back and peering up at the view; cobalt sky high above the dirty, rolling terrain Three Hills is known for. Known for crime, as well, Mal thinks. Maybe not the best world to come to when you're trying to be good. Ain't hindsight a wonder?
"Land?" Mal asks. "Why would we do that?"
"So we can let 'em on board," Jayne says slowly, like Mal's missing a few gears, "and we can kill 'em."
"No."
"Mal, I ain't shot no-one in months."
"Good! That was the whole point of the gorram plan."
"Ruttin' stupid plan, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you. And it wasn't. Was a fine plan."
"Yeah, 'til you went and brung that damn ass on board."
"You carry on like that, I'll be throwing your's off," Mal says, standing up. "You forgettin' the last time we spoke about this?"
"No." Jayne edges close, squares up to Mal. "But that was when you still had balls, and we weren't bein' captained by a yellow-bellied, hundan-"
"Duh liou mahng." Mal surges forward, takes a swing at Jayne's head, and just as his fist is about to connect, the ship nose-dives, and Jayne falls into him, sending them both sprawling onto the console.
Mal shoves Jayne away, looks over at Wash, Zoe trying not to smile, and rights himself. "What in the gorram..."
"Sorry, Mal," Wash says. "Don't know what happened. Hands must've slipped."
"Shi ma? You ain't careful, my hands will slip right around your gorramed throat."
"Might not want to do that, Sir," Zoe says, stepping in between them. "Since, while you two were comparing sizes, Wash here was losing our tail."
"He what?" Mal looks out at the view and instead of blue sees green, a forest of pine stretched out in front and below them. He checks the screen and their rear view is clear, just a faint streamer of smoke rising from the trees. "They're gone?"
"They are. Might want to consider a thank you," she says, in a tone that suggests he ought to do more than just consider. Grovel, maybe.
But then, who's the gorram Captain of this ship?
"Could've killed us all," he says, but Zoe cocks an eyebrow, so; "Fine. Good job, Wash."
"Still say we should've landed," Jayne says, pushing past Mal and sitting in the captain's seat, feet thumping up onto the console.
"Yeah, well," Mal says, rolling up his sleeves, "turns out there was no need. So we can get off this tyen-sah rock and head for the next. Got deliveries to make."
"You sure they're all legal this time, Mal?" Wash asks. "No more black market livestock?"
"Shut up and fly the gorram ship."
"I am! Who just saved our lives?"
"Don't listen to him, baby," Zoe says to Wash, combing her fingers through his hair. "He's just jealous."
"Of him? Fay hua," Mal says, and heads for the door. He spins around, stabs a finger at them. "When you all come to your gorram senses and realize you need me, I'll be in the cargo bay."
"Sure, Cap," Wash says, not even looking at him. "Have fun."
"You gorram...just get us off this damned rock," Mal orders. He leaves the bridge and heads on down the corridor, shouts back over his shoulder, "Full burn."
The sooner they're out in the black, the better. Then all they need to do is get through the rest of the day, forget it ever happened, and Mal can go back to being the one in charge and he can live a nice, peaceful life with no worries.
Well, nearly no worries.
"Mal?"
Sandalwood. Strange to think that he used to hate that smell. Hated how it got everywhere, spread even to the places it shouldn't. Couldn't even sleep properly, at first, the smell of it having seeped down into his bunk, there when he laid his head down and when he woke. And now, now he can't even imagine what the ship would be like without.
"Inara."
She smiles - bright, wide ruby lips - and peers past him at the bridge. "Everything okay?"
"Oh, shiny. 'Cept for the pilot being yi da tuo da bian," Mal says, yelling the last part back down the corridor. "How 'bout you? Turbulence didn't cause problems?"
"No," Inara says, rearranging her shawl on her shoulders. "Just some incense spilled."
Mal nods, watches the red silk slide back out of place, her pale shoulder in stark contrast to the dark, glossy curls of hair that spill over, and then the shawl is pulled back up once more.
"Mal?"
"Uh, right," he says, and steps past her, continues on down the corridor. "Glad you're fine."
"I'm sorry things didn't work out," she says, following behind him.
"Didn't go that bad," Mal says, trying not to think of the little half-moon brand on the donkey's flank that he'd somehow mistaken for a natural mark. "Plan's still intact. Still a good one."
"Mmm."
"What's that mean?" he asks, stopping at the top of the stairway leading down to the cargo bay.
"Nothing."
"No, you got a problem with my captain-in' skills, you say it."
"I don't have a problem," she says, folding her arms. "I'm just...merely curious, I suppose."
"'Bout what?"
"Why did you make that plan?" she asks, and Mal has to stop himself from shooting back a question of his own: 'Why are you still on my ship?'
'Cause the fact is, she shouldn't be. She'd said she was leaving. Looked him right in the eye and told him so. And it ain't like she hasn't has the opportunity, either. Two dozen worlds, at least, that she could've got off at, and yet here she is, still one of his crew.
If he believed in that kind of nonsense, he might consider it some kind of miracle.
"Mal?"
"Just...seemed like the right thing to do, is all," he says, and hurries down the stairs before she can ask any more questions.
The cargo bay's half full; boxes and crates stacked together in low rows along one side, and all full of goods to be delivered safely to their next couple of stops. Aside from the mishap with the ass, Three Hills had been a fine place to find work; not as much as Mal would've liked, but enough to keep them in the air for a spell longer.
Mostly what they've got is domestic wares; things they can offload easily, and for quick coin. One of the deals he'd made was for three boxes of soup spoons; shiny silver metal hammered out into squat little Buddha's, their bellies forming the bowls. No doubt useless to eat with, and Inara will probably think them 'petty', but Mal knows that out on some of the moons where metal's hard to come by, any little novelty is greatly valued. Still, probably be wise to put those boxes out of sight, lest she start questioning his authority again.
He scans over the cargo from his place up on the catwalk and counts the crates. Leaving in such a hurry meant that he'd had to leave Jayne to square it all away, and although nothing looks damaged, something ain't quite right. He hangs over the rail slightly, peers down. It's almost like - "Huh."
Sandalwood, strong and clear at his side, and Inara's there, looking down with him. "Is something wrong?"
"You ever had a feelin' like you been somewhere before?" Mal asks.
"Like déjà vu? Many times."
Mal pulls back, blinks, and Inara smiles. "It's french," she says.
"Earth-That-Was? Folk still speak that?"
Inara rolls her eyes, sighs. "Tu me rends fou."
"You speak that?"
"Of course. I am a companion, Mal," Inara says, like that's supposed to make it any clearer. She sighs again, adds, "It's the language of love."
"Huh." Mal shrugs. "Sounds like child talk to me." He waits for the eye-roll, smirks while she can't see, then hurries past, descends the stairs and starts moving the cargo.
"Something about this is familiar?" Inara says.
Mal grunts a yes, pushes a stack of wooden boxes aside. What he's after is in the middle; a big shipping crate, blue-edged and by itself, but hidden from view by all the smaller cargo stacked up in front. The crate's almost the exact same size and shape as the one that had arrived on board all those months ago, the contents of which - creepifying charm aside - had brought him nothing but trouble since the day he'd opened it.
"Problem, Sir?"
Mal looks up, sees Zoe leaning on the rail next to Inara, says, "Déjà vu."
"Oh yeah? Over what, exactly?"
"Wait," Mal says, pushing a box out of the way with his foot. "You understood that?"
"Sure. It's french."
"And how in the gorram you know that? You go to whore school, too?"
"No. Not to learn, anyway," she smiles, and Mal decides there and then that he never wants to know the meaning of that disturbing sentence. "Wash taught me some."
"Wash?"
"You implyin' my man don't have brains, sir?"
"No," Mal says, sliding another metal crate out of the way. "Guess he's smarter than he looks, though."
Zoe smirks. "Seem to recall him being smart enough not to get a poison kiss from your wife."
"Tyen-sah, she ain't my wife! And what about Inara? I ain't the only fool on this boat," he says, and Inara has the good sense to look shamed, going all rosy cheeked.
Mal moves the last of the boxes, resists the urge to kick at the big box now he can see it clear. Part of him is tempted to open the bay door and push it out, but if it is what he thinks it is..."Zoe, this look familiar to you?"
"Ai ya," she murmurs. "You think it's another one?"
"Seems an awful big coincidence, don't it?" he says, pulling on the latch. "It being identical to the last time."
"Sir, if it is, then maybe we shouldn't-"
Too late.
Mal lifts the lid - gentler than the last time -and steps back. If he's right, if it is the same...the smoke dissipates and he leans over the crate, and inside - he is right. Gorram it, he's right. Inside the box -
A boy stands up and screams.
Translations - [A/N: there are so many different translations/spellings out there, so, although I've cross-checked and researched, I can't verify that these are 100% accurate. If you know they're not, let me know and I'll correct them.]
zaogao - crap/damn
Sha gwa - fool
he chusheng zajiao de zanghuo - filthy fornicators of livestock
zao ni de xing - fuck your family name
Ai ya! Hwai leh! - shit on my head!
bizui - shut up
hundan - asshole
duh liou mahng - s.o.b.
shi ma? - Oh, really?
tyen-sah - goddamn
Fay hua - nonsense
yi da tuo da bian - a big pile of shit
[French] tu me rends fou - You drive me crazy
Ai ya - damn/oh, no