I don't make any claim to ownership of these characters. Just borrowing them.
Please leave criticism if you liked it. And maybe if you didn't. ;)
Firefly, pre season one and only.
Survivors
Mal was as pleased with himself as he had been for a while now.
Ok, if he had to, he'd admit that he wasn't overly thrilled with large portions of his body, especially the ones that kept on aching. And his knuckles were hurting something fierce, too, all skinned up like that.
But he was the last man standing. Well, sitting. Laying. Conscious? Not for long, though, as he had the last unbroken bottle in the bar. Life was as good as it would ever get.
He woke up, dirty, cold and achy. And smelly. None of this was new. It was what his life had become since they'd let him out of the prisoner of war camp. His troops had died in Serenity Valley. He had, too, he guessed. Hopes. Dreams. Dead as his men.
He gingerly opened his eyes. They were grainy, which was nothing new, but his surroundings were. he hadn't been in this jail cell before. It was... kinda refreshing.
He slowly and painfully sat up, testing gently for broken bones. He ran his tongue over his teeth. No new broken ones.
Seeing nothing remarkable about the small cell, he lay back down and closed his eyes.
"Get up. Sir."
His eyes shot open, painfully.
"Sir. Get up."
He sat back up, turning to look through the bars at the source of the oh-so familiar voice. "Zoe. Fancy meeting you here."
She sat on a stool outside the cell, looking in at him.
He slid over to the wall and leaned against it. "So, what've you been up to?" He deadpanned.
She just looked at him.
"Gorram it, Zoey, got something to say?"
She looked down, then back up at him. "What happened to you, sir? No matter how bad things got, you never gave up. You kept us all going."
He tried to look defiant, but had to settle for petulant. "We lost, Zoe. We fought, and fought, and never gave up, and they beat us anyways. They took everything. Hell, Zoe, we don't even have a home."
She shook her head and stood up. As she did, he saw her badge for the first time. "We're still alive, sir, and as long as we are, we keep fighting. You taught me that."
The sound of the door slamming shut behind her was deafening.
He was sitting on the bed when she came back, this time carrying a tray. She set it down on the desk and sat in the chair.
"Never pictured you as a law dog," Mal said.
"Never pictured you as a broken down drunk," she rejoined.
He met her gaze. "Got me there. You happy doing this?"
"Not particularly."
He stood up. "Then let's get out of here. Any plans?"
She smiled. It was a beautiful sight, the most beautiful thing he'd seen in ages. "No, sir, that's your job."
He smiled back. He did have a plan. It wasn't much, but it was his.
Zoey opened the cell door. "Good to have you back, sir."
She knew that it wouldn't be boring.