The Hole in the 'verse

An alternative Firefly story

Rating: PG-13 for now, for violence and mild cursing

Summary: An AU fic that starts right at the end of the BDM. Serenity and her crew are learning to cope, and still flying, but it's getting harder all the time.

Disclaimer: I don't have any right to Firefly beyond watching the show and movie on repeat at ridiculous hours of the night.

Author's Notes: A prologue to give bearing on where this story begins and how it's different than the movie. It's pretty obvious, I think. Reposted with even less errors.

Serenity had bounced to a sick and painful halt eventually. Granted, it may not have been pretty or graceful, but there weren't any immediate casualties that anyone had noticed yet. Considering that they had stopped in a hangar without smashing into bits on the far wall, Wash had every reason to be smug with his piloting. He even managed to take time to look pleased with himself.

"I'm a leaf on the wind…" he grinned. However, Mal didn't give him a chance to gloat long, nor even finish his sentence.

"Yeah, shiny, come on," the captain snapped. Wash's eyes clouded in distaste for a moment, before he unstrapped himself from the chair so he could stand up.

There was no way to see the Reaver harpoon in the dull, red light of the half-dead console. It hurtled through the window, producing the most spectacular crash that any of them had ever heard. It was as much warning as any of them received; Mal and Zoë could only watch as the spike buried itself into and drove completely through Wash's shoulder. The pilot didn't even have a chance to scream in pain as the spike drew back again—with Wash still attached. It rammed him into the spider-webbed glass before it finally dislodged from his arm, but by then, he had mercifully passed out.

"Husband!" Zoë nearly tackled the unconscious man in her haste to kneel beside him. Watching Zoë, his solid and dependable right hand Zoë, snap so suddenly rattled Mal deeply. There was a point where his mind was churning mud in its need to get out of the rut it has dug itself into. First and second, they needed the doctor, and neither he nor Zoë should have considered moving Wash very far. The Reavers had made their options painfully limited in the span of a few short seconds.

"He's still breathin'," Mal commented.

Zoë paused. "Yes, sir."

"We're gonna have to get him off Serenity. He's too hurt to hide, prolly won't make it. We move him…Simon'll take care of him."

"We shouldn't move him, sir." It was as close to disobeying a command that Zoë had ever come, even during the war. It was obvious that she cared deeply for the funny little pilot, but it was a very inconvenient time for Mal to be reminded of the fact. They needed to get off the bridge immediately because Reavers didn't know how to leave well enough alone. He gave Zoë a stern look.

"I think I know that, Zoë, havin' treated many folk like yerself, but-" At that moment, another spike shattered the glass of the window even further, the harpoon itself barely missing Mal's torso. He dropped to the floor where Zoë had covered Wash to prevent more glass to pierce his skin. Mal had to grip her arm to get her attention again. "Listen, Reavers is makin' it awful hard to do what should be done. We ain't got the resources to fight 'em here, and we still gotta send the message. You trust Simon, he'll get Wash done up right."

The harpoon got sucked back out the window again, but Mal didn't miss the exhaled sigh above the noise of further glass smashing. "Yes, sir."

"Think we can carry him out one of the chairs?" He gestured at the empty leather seat formerly occupied by Mal during their exhilarating crash landing.

"Yes, sir."

Mal nodded wordlessly. She had dropped into warrior mode to spare herself the pain. He found he couldn't blame her; the mindset was proven to help a person function effectively in battle, and if this wasn't battle, Reavers were cuddly, little hill folk.

Mal took the upper part of Wash's body and helped Zoë manoeuver him into the still warm chair. It didn't take much of an effort to unscrew the seat from the floor, but carrying Wash out under a fresh hail of glass shards was a challenge. Mal wished he'd had his brown war coat with him as an improvised shield, but there wasn't any time for it. They quick stepped through Serenity's lengthy hallways and barely managed to make it down the flight of stairs into the cargo bay without losing Wash in the process. They were almost to the common area; Mal and Zoë could both hear the whimpers of fear. Jayne met them at the entrance to the infirmary.

"What in the hell went on up there?" Jayne's fierce scowl was directed at the captain, but he didn't look as though he would have minded if Zoë had answered.

"No time. Simon, make sure you have your bag. We're sendin' that signal," Mal replied coldly. He scanned his assembled crew, taking in their various states of distress. So far, Kaylee looked the worst, having gotten extremely pale at the sight of Wash, but a reassuring squeeze from Simon's hand brought her back to herself.

"But Serenity—" she started.

"No time, Kaylee. We're movin'. Bring weapons, whatever you need to make an impression on the hwoon dahns, but we're makin' a stand."

"This ain't no Battle of Serenity. That was ages ago," Jayne snarled. "I ain't lookin' to repeat it neither."

"You know what, Jayne? This is the Battle of Serenity ain't got finished. We're still fightin' the Alliance, 'n we're still fightin' for Serenity. I ain't lookin' for a repeat any more 'n you. You can stand beside us, or you can stay here 'n die anyway. I don't care which you choose, but if you do somehow live by the coward's way, you ain't welcome on my boat no more. C'mon," he addressed the rest of the crew, "let's go."

Mal and Zoë left for the cargo bay first, wary of jostling Wash. The five remaining members of his crew followed, an inherent understanding having been reached. This was the way they were going to live. If there was one thing that Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds knew how to do, it was survive. And considering the lapse of time since his last stint as sergeant, Mal didn't seem to be any worse for the role, either.

The ramp was extended to allow the crew to exit. Once they were all out of the bay, they began to notice their surroundings: a great cavernous room with all manner of boxes and things to hide behind should the need for combat and fortification arise. Mal and Zoë wasted no time in setting the pilot back down on the floor.

"How did this happen?" Simon asked weakly. No arm had any right to just hang limply by a few strands of muscle and skin.

"Reavers. Sent a harpoon through the window; Wash just happened to catch it in the shoulder," Mal elaborated briefly as Zoë fussed over her husband. "You do what you can, get him stable. See if we can't get him to a respectable hospital soon.

"He needs blood, Mal. The only option might be amputation-"

"No," Zoë hissed. "You can save his arm."

Simon looked forlorn. "If I had adequate supplies maybe, but not like this."

"You do the best with what you've got," Mal replied heatedly. "Serenity can't fly, and even if we could, we can't outfly these ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahngs. We ain't got the luxury of sterile conditions, nor can we go lookin' for em. We're humped, Simon, and I ain't got time to argue with you. Fix what you can." He turned to his weapons experts. "Jayne, Zoë, we lose much of this ground, we can't get it back. I'll send the message, maybe help'll come for us. Ain't so doubtful as it might seem, just don't lose this ground."

"I can rig the doors so's they don't reopen once they close," Kaylee offered. She still looked slightly green from the whole situation, but she would be strong because it was expected of her.

"Kaylee, do whatever you gotta do. You're our mechanical genius, 'n every little thing's appreciated."

"Death. So very much death…" River whispered.

"Nobody is going to die," Mal said forcefully. It was a weak attempt at best to stave off River's ominous psychic tendencies, but the comment did its job to ease the tension a bit. That was all Mal wanted or even had time for. He didn't waste time on goodbyes or seein' his troops armour up. He fingered the hologram cube in his pocket as he jogged down the hall towards Mr. Universe's private lair. The cube that carried the message that had gotten them all in a heap of trouble and their best friend killed in the span of a few days and was now—once broadcasted throughout the 'verse—about to be a major thorn in the Alliance's side. Why, they were this close, they might as well have already won the battle.

It didn't prevent him from once taking his right hand off the gun at his hip.