"I'm wondering why a man so anxious to fly under Alliance radar would house known fugitives. You're not overly fond of the boy, so why risk it?" Why would Mal risk it?
Disclaimer: Not mine
Long before the war started Mal had always felt the bad side of the Alliance, always known what they thought of the people who actually wanted to do some labour work and be proud of the land they own. When he was on the ranch, rumours had spread quickly. Talk got around faster then a cold out there.
"The Alliance want ev'ryone unda' their command," one of his mother's hands had said, not knowing that little Malcolm Reynolds was listening.
"Yeah," the other had replied, "Heard what they did to Muir, ain't nothin' much there no more. Took aways all the stuffs they needed."
"Medicine," another nodded to his words.
Mal's gut had twisted and his hatred for the Alliance began then. He paid more attention to the words of the people on the ranch and the new bad deeds the Alliance had committed.
Then his mother grew ill. The doctor on Shadow wasn't qualified to cure what she had, he didn't have the right medicines and the qualities of the planet weren't helping none. Eighteen year old Mal set out to the docks that day, having taken some coin from his Mother's purse and asked anyone else if'n they'd help with payment for her medicine.
Lots of people had chipped in, unwilling to see a woman who gave their children decent jobs, food and drink get ill and die in front of them. He asked the ranch people to continue their job, take care of her and he'd be back.
He found the cheapest and quickest ride he could, paid fare and rode all the way to the core, to the planet Londinium. It was the empire of the Alliance and the source of a lot of medication. He'd made sure he had plenty of money and looked around all of the roads and buildings until he found a sterile, shining hospital.
Gulping, he took a step through the sliding front door and peered around the room. People in fancy get ups and frills with laces and layers upon layers of fabrics. Most of them looked well, one or two were coughing. There was an old woman who looked as old as old Miss Jenkins back on Shadow, and Jenkins had had a fitting cough for the past twelve years. This woman looked fit as a bug, healthy, fine, shiny.
His temper flared at the thought of these people being seen over what he could only guess was bruises, spots, hair loss and the occasional vomit. He guessed that there were a minority of cases that were important enough to warrant an actual doctor's full attention. Gorram sumbitches gots money ta pay a visit for a cough.
Pushing the thought to the side he stepped up to the counter and asked the woman if she could help him out. She told him to wait in the waiting room and a doctor would be with him as soon as possible. He had kindly nodded and taken his seat, eyes jumping round and assessing everyone as a threat the way that they stared at him as if he were something on the bottom of their shoes.
He had to wipe the frown off of his face several times and resort to jumping his leg up and down to calm his nerves. The number of people in the waiting room soon disappeared and Mal watched as more that arrived after him, were seen and talked to long before him.
When a woman and her screaming child were taken by a panty ass doctor an hour after he had arrived he stood up and talked to the nurse on the desk. "'Scuse me, miss, I've been waitin' here now for two hours. When will I see a doctor?"
She smiled sympathetically at him and apologised, which he never would have thought to be happening to him, and she guided him through to an empty room. Five minutes later a doctor rushed in, complaining and looking damn upset. He gave him a glare and sat down in the doctor's seat.
"What do you want?" he asked roughly, his eyes on a file in his hand.
"Erm," Mal was actually nervous and gulped his fear down. The guy in front of him was making him feel so little and insignificant. "My mother's ill. The doctor on my planet don't have the right med'cine for her. I was wonderin' if'n I could get it from here."
A deep sigh greeted him back and the doctor closed the file. "Son, this is a hospital. If you aren't ill I can't give you anything, for you or your mother. She would have to be the one to see me, not you."
"But she can't," he cried out, "She can't get outta bed she's that ill. She barely eats no more and I don't wanna lose her. Please mister, I got cash. I can pay for it."
Another annoying sigh and Mal's temperature was starting to lose it. "I doubt you'd be able to pay for it. Medicine costs a lot of money to manufacture, seal, ship and be bought by the actual hospital."
"One bottle is all I ask. You ain't gonna miss the gorram thing! And I got 700 platinum! Gotta be enough! Please?" Mal was close to begging, he felt it. But the impatient glare from the doctor only made him angry.
"What's your name boy?"
"Who cares!"
"I care. I should report you for wasting hospital supplies."
"Wastin' sup-" he growled and felt his fist curl up. "I'm wastin' supplies? What's about them out there? Most of 'em look healthier then a horse!"
"Whether they are ill or not is not for you to decide, now, you're name before I report you to the Alliance." He tapped his pen on the file, a piece of paper in hand and Mal felt his blood boiling.
"Let me buy the gorram med'cine an' I'll be gone, please," he ground his teeth and when the doctor's face darkened Mal almost lost it. It was the final straw when he mentioned he'd have to report Mal for a number of offences he hadn't even committed. When he made a start to grab him by the collar, Mal's clenched fist stretched out an collided with the doctor's nose, setting it bloody and broken.
Not giving the man a chance to call out he punched him again and ran out of the room. He ran until his lungs ached then turned his pace into a slow jog before finally into a walk.
After minutes of walking he rested himself against the side of a building and caught his breath back. He then decided to try a doctor's place, and if that didn't work he'd try the markets and any sort of business that looked as if it would sell what he needed.
Two days later, after trudging around the centre of the city, he kicked a stack of crates and a plant pot, smashing it into tiny pieces. Everybody had declined and told him they couldn't sell what he needed without either the patient or a doctor's note, that it was illegal to do so and that the Alliance would high tail them to court if they found out.
Mal had begged, pleaded and even threatened in some cases. Most had threatened to call the Alliance if he didn't leave and he remembered how one old lady looked close to selling it him. It was the owner of the chemist that gave her a stern telling to and warned her not to.
Then the Alliance got a hold of him, marched him to the docks and told him to get gone and to never come back or else he was going to jail.
He couldn't leave his mother so he shrugged their hands off. They had already paid his fair to the outer rim with his money and confiscated the rest of it, telling him it was a 'fine'. He'd explained to them what they were doing and asked them the same things. They all said that they couldn't even if they wanted to (which none of them did).
They'd booked him a flight to Salisbury, a planet on the opposite end of the system to Shadow.
He spent the next three months, earning money as a handyman for various people, even getting some very small tips. He got the next flight to Shadow and only had to wait a further two months.
When he got to Shadow he ran from the port and headed straight for the ranch. He froze when he reached the edge of it and saw no-one. The ground was misshapen and the dirt turned to dust. The house looked broken and uncared for.
Taking slow steps towards it he pushed open the door and called for his mother. He received no answer and carried on through to the back. Expecting to see fields of lush green, yellow and other crops, all he saw was the old oak tree with a pile of dirt at the base of it.
Making his way towards it he dropped his bag and gulped, trying to squash the tears.
Standing over the pile of dirt and rocks he read the name carved into the tree and fell to his knees. His mother had died whilst he'd been away.
A date was scrawled underneath her name and his anger boiled up again. Three days ago. She'd died three days ago and the Alliance were the reason. They were the reason he was penniless save for a few spare coins. The reason why he had to take a two month trip home instead of three weeks. The reason why so many people went ill.
They were the reason why he missed his mother's funeral and why he couldn't say goodbye one last time. They were the reason he was crying, pounding at the dirt and cursing the Alliance as much as could remember.
From that day on he made a vow; to rival the Alliance in anyway possible and show them that they didn't need fancy medical supplied to survive, or fresh food everyday to stay full. That they didn't need a proper education to learn the basics of to become a mechanic or doctor. That there was a way to live without money.
When the war came around he signed up without hesitation, found a friend and told her his story. She felt his sympathy, many similar tales having taken place where she was from and they made a pact to do the right thing, no matter which side of the law it was on.
"I begin to wonder if you yourself know why you're doing it?" The Shepherd's words ached in his stomach.
'Cause I'd do the same. He doesn't it. Never will. But it's a rule he sticks to, a moral to guide him.
It's something he remembers every time he looks at Simon and River. Simon gave up everything to help his sister. Mal did the same for his mother.
That's the reason he'll stick to. That's what he'll tell himself, ignoring the nagging in the back of his mind shouting at him; So the Alliance don't hurt no-one else 'cause they feel the need to control.
That's his real reason.
He just doesn't know it yet.