Disclaimer: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is intended and I'm not making any money from this story.
Summary: Five years after the movie, where are Mal and River, and the crew?
Author's note: Written for xeyra. Italics are flashbacks.
The Long Way Home
by Hereswith
It's a secret she hasn't confided to Simon, the days when she goes down to the docks and watches the ships land and the ships soar, rising high through the layers of atmosphere. She doesn't step aboard them, doesn't say yes or how much to those who call after her, spinning out dreams with their offers of passage, but it's a gate to the past and she's leaving it open, though Simon keeps it closed.
What they have, here, isn't Serenity or Osiris. One couldn't be traded for the other, even after Miranda, but they could slip into the streets of Persephone, on tiptoe and careful, and that's where they stayed. She isn't the crazy girl now, fēng le and drugged down with meds to prevent her screaming, but still the doctor's sister, practised at masking her glitches, and she's caught up with her studies in greedy, patchwork ways while he's sutured and treated, the fewer questions asked the more lives he's saved.
The day they went ashore, Simon didn't glance over his shoulder, the break with Kaylee too sharp and new, pride making him rigid, the crew's silence following him. He didn't look back, but River did.
*
Rock on either side, they could crash and burn and it would be her fault, but she trusts Serenity and she remembers how Wash did it, light on the controls, firm but relaxed, flying as natural as walking. She isn't like him, she has the science right, not the tricks, but she pictures his grin in the face of danger, his ghostly hands superimposed on hers, guiding her, and it helps.
She takes them through, the ship barely dented, but the Tyrannosaurus Rex has bumped against the Stegosaurus, so she moves it. "You have to learn how to share," she says. "Can't try to eat the others up. It isn't polite."
*
The docks are busy, bustling with commerce, the sounds and the smells and the people she passes crowding in on her, wearing her thin, but she can manage. She has a brimmed hat to hide under, be inconspicuous, and zhēngjiăo, steamed dumplings, to munch on.
When she's finished, and full, she disposes of the carton, skirts a stack of cargo being loaded and sees her, Serenity, cargo bay yawning wide, not the prettiest ship, not the shiniest, she's older and showing it, and River's breath sighs out. She hasn't been searching, heart crossed, but maybe she expected it, was aware it could happen, the probability never zero. She can't spot anyone she recognises, the whiskered man on the ramp is a stranger, but he acts like he belongs, and it stings her into motion.
"Keen on going off-planet, are you?" he greets her, eyeing her with appraisal. "Long as you've got the money, we've got the room." He's confident, part of the crew, and she dislikes him on principle, but he isn't aware of it, carries on undeterred, coaxing her. "Come on, I'll give you a tour."
"Flirting with the customers again, Ben?"
River freezes, her skin prickling, and she could bolt, have it undone, but Zoe's emerging from the cargo bay, and when her gaze flickers to River, she halts. Chin lifted, River pushes her hat to her neck, and it's been four years, but she shouldn't be so altered in appearance, though her hair is braided and she's in low-heeled shoes, her combat boots tucked into her closet.
A moment, then Zoe's lips twitch. Up, not down. "River."
*
A deal gone awry, turned sour and somehow into a brawl, spreading in ripples through the bar, and she's been knocked off her course, can't scramble to retrieve it, because the man is on her, making a grab for her, and she kicks out once, twice, misses the first and the second isn't enough. When he captures her left arm, leering, she punches him. He grunts, rears back and is held there, away from her, by the click of a gun, blood trickling from his nose.
"Move a muscle and you're dead," Zoe says to him. "River?"
River scoots out from under him, meeting the other woman's eyes. "I'm fine."
*
They go inside, and Zoe sketches it up for her, the barest bones of events, fleshing some of them out: the job when Jayne was thrown into a jail cell and they nearly couldn't rescue him, the windfall of a smuggling operation they could live on for months, and the growing list of pilots.
"Ben's one of the better ones." Zoe indicates him across the cargo bay, out of earshot, and grimaces. "Or would be, if he wasn't overfond of his drink." She leans against the stairway rail. "Mal and Jayne are hereabouts, but Inara's back on Sihnon and Kaylee's visiting her folks."
Zoe's tone doesn't change, but something deeper down does, something important, and River frowns, confused, putting it into words because it doesn't make sense in her head. "She has a child? Kaylee?"
"Forgot how quick you were," Zoe says, and it's slightly rueful, but she adds, "You might as well hear it. Her name's Mai. She's your brother's."
River stares, the world at a sudden tilt, though it doesn't occur to her to challenge it. Zoe believes it, so she does the same. "I should've sensed it."
"Too early, I guess. Kaylee was set against finding you, though it had Mal and Jayne both up in arms. Said the baby was hers, and that's all there was to it." Zoe's expression is serious, thoughtful. "Don't know if she'd hold to that now."
River sits heavily on a step, her knees trembling. Simon. He'd be in shock, gape like a fish on land, he might even faint—a giggle rises in her throat and she suppresses it, then startles, realising, and blinks up at Zoe. "I'm an aunt."
Zoe nods. "Seems like."
*
He drags a hand through his hair. "Mèi mei, it's complicated."
"No, it isn't." Slouched sulking in the couch, she glares at him. "You make it complicated when it doesn't have to be. Tie things in knots when they're straight." She plucks at the loose, frayed edge of her sweater sleeve. "You're ruining everything."
But he drops his defences, deflating, and sinks onto the couch next to her. "None of this," he says, his voice tight and quiet, "is what I had planned."
What he had trained for, on Osiris. She bites her lip, and the fight goes out of her too, she struggles upright and puts her head on his shoulder. "I know."
*
"You should've seen Jayne," Zoe says, with a chuckle, and River wishes she had. "When nothing else worked, he got her sleeping with rowdy songs and gun talk. And Mal—" There's a noise and Zoe's attention turns to the two men appearing at the mouth of the cargo bay. "Speak of the devil."
River gets to her feet, swallowing disappointment when Mal lingers outside with Ben, and Jayne enters, sauntering towards them. "Who's your friend, Zoe?" he says, and then, "Ruttin' hell! That you, moonbrain? How'd you get so grown up?"
"I'm twenty-two," she replies. "It's a natural progression."
"Ain't no mistakin' you with that kind of speechifyin'." He glances around, his stance becoming hostile, his chest puffed out. "Didn't bring that húndàn of a brother along, did you?"
Zoe snaps, "Jayne!"
River regards him steadily. "I could still take you down if I wanted to."
He lets out a barking laugh, the echo loud in the vast space, and Mal reacts by approaching, long strides that falter as he draws nearer, as he comprehends. He's like himself, except for the scar, a thin line on the right side of his jaw, his duster and his face more worn-in. His surprise is tangible, transparent to her, but it's his response she holds her breath for, and her pulse skips, skips, and beats, as his eyes warm and crinkle.
"Little albatross."
*
Sun-scorched from digging fences, he's rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, baring his forearms, the bones of his wrists, and she watches him, distracted and achy, hanging on every movement, she doesn't notice Kaylee, and then, it's too late.
Kaylee's gaze darts from River to Mal and back. "The cap'n?" she says, astonished. "Oh, sweetie, he and 'Nara—"
"Argue in circles again, hurting each other." River ducks her head, her hair obscuring what she's betrayed, her feelings out into the open, exposed, but not ridiculed, Kaylee wouldn't. "Don't tell Simon."
"Ain't gonna do that," Kaylee assures. "Do you want to talk 'bout it?"
River shakes her head, stomach clenching. "Won't make a difference."
*
She has memories of the ship she hasn't let go: the whites of the infirmary, the corridors and crawlspaces, the painted vines climbing in the galley. The bridge. She says, "Can I? Could we?" so eager Mal chuckles and answers her, "No reason we couldn't."
On the way, she asks, "Are you angry too? About Simon?"
He hitches his shoulders. "I'd have a thing or two to say to him, alright," he replies. "It wasn't easy on Kaylee. We'd've been hard pressed to get through that first year if Inara hadn't stayed on."
"Couldn't say anything worse to him than he'd say to himself," she contends. "He wouldn't have left her to cope on her own. Not on purpose."
A corner of his mouth softens. "Least you've got faith in him."
"He didn't leave me," she reminds him. "He came for me, though he didn't have to."
"Fair enough." He gestures for her to go through, but he's directly behind her, at her back, and it's irrational, how she shivers. "Well, we're here."
And they are. She is, her feet on the floor and the pilot's seat waiting for her. But the console is empty, wrong, cleared of dinosaurs, and she moves to touch the spots where they were.
"Fran, that's the pilot 'fore Ben," Mal explains, "he claimed he couldn't fly proper with them staring. Zoe's been keepin' them in a box."
She slides into the seat, one leg under her from habit. "They don't stare to be mean."
She hears him make a sound in his throat, glances over, and he says, "A mite strange seein' you in that chair, is all."
She places her hands on the controls, and Serenity's resting, the massive, beached whale-bulk of her doesn't stir, but maybe she, too, dreams of stars. "Do I fit?"
He takes the matching co-pilot's seat, his gaze on her. "Yeah, you do."
*
It's long into the night when he jerks awake, swearing over cricks and cramps. "Gettin' too gorram old to be sleepin' straight on the ground."
"Passing out," she corrects. "The villagers' corn liquor was very effective."
He crooks a brow, winces, and mutters, "You sitting guard, darlin'?"
"I wasn't drinking." She shrugs. "Did equations in my head."
He studies her, like he might question it, like he suspects, then says, instead, "You're cold." With effort, he rises, tugs out of his duster and puts it over her before settling on the plank board bench with her, in front of the crackling fire. "The others?"
"At the ship." His scent wraps around her, his body heat trapped in the leather, almost hers. "Not Jayne, he went with one of the local women."
"Figures." He rubs his stubbled cheek. "Equations, huh? Any of them work out?"
She smiles. "Yes."
*
She rushes home to her brother, who will wonder where she is, where she has been. Simon, who has to decide. He's in their kitchen, reading, when she arrives, and she's winded, flustered, her words about to spill over.
He stands hurriedly, saying, "What's the matter?"
She unties the straps of her hat and discards it. "You have to sit down first."
Though puzzled, he complies, and she slowly inhales, exhales, before she starts. He doesn't faint, but he's dreadfully pale and she would have worried about his balance if he wasn't off his feet.
"I'm what?"
"A father," she repeats. "You have a daughter, Mai."
He leans back, closing his eyes. "Wŏ de tiān, a!"
She can't block him out, the tumult of incredulity, panic and upset, but she bears it, pulling out the second chair to perch on, silent support while he sorts it through, until he calms and initial amazement sets in.
"We took precautions," he says. "I didn't think—I should have been there." His voice crackles, falls open where he's held it in check, barely speaking of Kaylee, committed to his choice, no allowances made for regret, but this, it rattles and shakes. "I have to talk to her. She wasn't on the ship?"
River says, "We could go with them when they pick her up."
His lips tip wryly, doubting. "How did you get Mal to agree to that?"
"It was Zoe," she admits, though he had listened to some of her reasoning. After a while. "She's convinced Kaylee would want to see you."
"She is?" He's stunned again. "It's more than I am." Taking a breath, he gains the composure to focus on her. "Mèi mei, how do you feel about this?"
She pats the hand he's laid flat on the table. "I would like to meet my niece."
*
The grass sways in the wind, blades bending, yellowing with the planet's season, and River's barelegged on the blanket, Simon stretched out, drowsing, Kaylee beside him. It isn't far to the ship, but it's over the ridge and out of sight, this patch of land is separate, it's only them and the bees, the tiny ants marching in procession.
Kaylee rolls onto her stomach, a conspiratorial glance cast in River's direction, and she takes up a straw, tracing the feathery tip over Simon's face. It must tickle, for his nose wrinkles, and he swats to fend it off, mumbling, annoyed, but Kaylee's insistent, and in the end he has to rouse. Laughing, Kaylee tosses the straw away and plants a kiss on his cheek, and he laughs too, his arm going around her.
*
She has her room, she's going into the Black and she isn't flying, but she's close, haunting the bridge to relearn the constellations, space from this perspective, looking out, when on Persephone she's had to crane her neck, looking up.
"So," Ben says, dimpling, and points to the console, the pinpricks of the 'verse, "how come a girl like you got into this?"
She could play his game, ask, what kind of girl? But the kind of girl he means isn't the kind of girl she is, there's no correlation, and she isn't impressed. She answers him, evasive, and doesn't encourage conversation.
To Mal, in the galley later, she says, "He's sloppy."
"What?" He sips his coffee. "The calculations ain't up to your standards?"
"He doesn't cross-check—" She cuts it short, because he isn't, yet, not with his mouth, but with his eyes. "Don't laugh at me."
"Sorry," he says, mostly sincere. "I'm tickled you're taking an interest. Didn't reckon you'd've missed this none." She folds her fingers in her lap. Refolds them. He continues, "Your brother's been quiet."
"He's preoccupied," she says. "Building scenarios and deconstructing them. Also, Jayne glowers at him when he speaks."
"He's right protective of Kaylee. We all are."
She's curious if he counts Inara, curious about Inara, her picture of it incomplete. "Zoe said Inara was on Sihnon. She isn't—you're not together?"
"No. Ain't been for a good while, but the shuttle's hers if'n she needs it. What 'bout you, little one?" he adds. "You've got boys lined up to take you out?"
She snorts. "There've been two." Not precisely boyfriends, that would require a sharing of stories, details, but she's experimented. "No one now." She pauses. "You shouldn't call me 'little one'. I'm not."
He turns his mug on the table, as though in thought. "I've noticed."
Her gaze darts to him, but then to Simon, who's entering, and āi yā, her brother's timing is terrible.
*
It's a familiar quarrel, blunted with repetition but dusted off when she's been in danger or almost, her brother accusing the captain, "You care that she's of use to you, not that you might have got her killed," and Mal's irritable, "Hey!"
What's more recent is this: the captain moodily saying, "Won't deny you're useful. You've landed us jobs aplenty we else wouldn't get. Doesn't mean I don't care."
She sets the Tyrannosaurus Rex down, free of her inspection. "You were worried about me."
He sighs. "Could be I was."
They are on ground, it's dark outside, but not like the Black. She curls up in the pilot's seat, arms around her legs. "I don't mind."
*
Simon gets coffee as well, but he doesn't sit to drink, and the small talk and the shallow words soon run out.
Mal states, "I ain't springing you on Kaylee without her say-so."
"No, of course not," her brother replies. "River and I will remain aboard."
Mal harrumphs. "You'd better hope Zoe's right."
"I am." Simon puts his mug aside. "I'm going downstairs. River?"
Her concentration is on Mal, she doesn't accompany him. But after Simon has gone, the captain pushes his chair away from the table, and there are things she hasn't said, but could, and when he hesitates before getting out of it, that second's reluctance propels her up and into his way.
"You noticed." It's out like it burns her tongue, and she angles her head to see his expression. "How much do you notice?" He's guarded, locks and bolts across, and she isn't eighteen, he isn't Inara's, but she can't read him well, doesn't know what to do with her hands, or does, but doesn't quite dare. "How much of me?"
He says, "Darlin'," on a breath, and that she can read, tone and undertone.
She stretches to reach, but he's tense, unresponsive, and she whispers her frustration against his skin, "Kiss me back."
"You sure, are you?" He sounds gruff, disbelieving. "Cause I feel like I'm ten steps behind here."
"Years," she replies, admission, muffled, fierce confession, and his chest shudders, his pupils dilating. "Kiss me back."
She pushes, testing, licks along the seam of his lips until he lets her in, until it's for real, slow and deep and their mouths open, his palm on the side of her neck, fingers splayed, his body up against hers, and her toes tingle.
Withdrawing, flushing, she informs him, "Zoe's coming."
His brow clouds. "Gorram boat's too crowded." He turns to the woman in the doorway, his voice measured. "S'pose you got an eyeful."
"I kissed him," River says. "It was my idea. Not his."
Mal clears his throat. "To be honest, I wasn't exactly stopping you."
Zoe, raising a warding hand, doesn't disguise her amusement. "Far as I could tell, sir, you were both willing. The rest ain't none of my business."
*
"I like it here," she says, from her position on the floor, by the windows."Here bein' here on the bridge or on the ship?"
"Both," she replies. "The ship is its head and its belly and its engine heart. And the people inside her." Sheponders him. "She's home to you."
It isn't a question, but he answers her anyway, gentling like she's seen some men do with a woman, or Jayne with his guns. "She's that. Closest I've had since—" He doesn't say Shadow, but it hangs over him, and he derails the discussion. "Guess you're longing for home, little one. Ain't like Serenity's Capital City."
The other River would have, the stolen girl. But that isn't who she is. "Sometimes."
*
Her brother paces outside the infirmary, and he can't be persuaded to quit, though she's attempted it. She debates saying something about her and the captain, because that would have him paying attention, but he wouldn't approve, and he's already brooding.
It's Zoe who fetches them, and she fixes Simon with a cool gaze, her arms crossed. "Don't let me regret weighing in."
His spine straightens. "I'll do what I can."
Zoe accepts it, taking them out, and from the cargo bay Jayne flings Simon a final warning. "You make her cry, you and me, we got a score to settle."
Simon flinches, and River, next to him, slips her fingers into his for a couple of steps, squeezing tight, and he gives her a smile, though it's strained.
Kaylee stands in the sun, alone, no child on her hip or in view, her brightness, the spark River recalls, muted, though traces escape when she notes River, exclaims, "Look at you," and hugs her with affection.
Facing Simon, she reins it in, visibly, regards him without speaking, the gap between them inches of planetary dust and, less simple to span, the distance to Persephone, the years apart.
Simon seems collected, but it's superficial, the abrupt, convulsive movement of his Adam's apple hinting at nerves. "Why didn't you let me know?"
"You went away," Kaylee replies, with an edge of emotion. "Wasn't gonna force you back when you weren't wantin' it, just 'cause you felt obliged."
He touches her, then, as though on instinct and without thinking, catching hold of her shoulder. "Kaylee."
River takes her cue from that and she returns to the ship, because it's private, it will be, it isn't her mess to sort out, it's Simon's, and the answers, the explanations are all his.
*
Her things are packed. The room isn't like her room, without the signs of her presence, and she's only collected stray bits and pieces, she hasn't hoarded, but the bag is stuffed.
"We should go," Simon says, and, "I have to try, River."
She understands it, she does. They can't recover what was, the futures they had, and lost, but there could be fragments, it's possible, something that resembles it more than this ship, this life.
She nods. "You'll always wonder, if we don't." And one day, not yet, but one day, he might come to resent. She lifts the bag and tells him, "I'm ready."
*
She's on the ramp in the fading afternoon, the skies shading to a dusky indigo, observing Simon with Kaylee and his daughter, the precocious, round-cheeked girl who has his eyes, though her features are Kaylee's. When Mal joins her, she says, "It's going to be okay."
"That a fact?"
"No," she admits. "People are so unpredictable. But they're talking, and she's letting him handle Mai. That's a beginning." She glances at him. "You should consider taking on a new pilot."
He grows still, poised, staring ahead with his profile to her. "Yeah? You got any suggestions?"
She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just one."
It's hedging, what they've done, an oblique approach, but he abandons it, his look intent. "There's nothing keeping you on Persephone?"
"Nothing I can't bring," she replies, and it's true, she can travel light. "I miss Serenity. I miss the stars." There's an element of uncertainty, the sensation of a drop. "You'd be an added bonus."
"I would, would I?" he replies, and she hasn't, they haven't, it isn't defined, this, not verbalised and neatly labelled, but it's in the slant of his lips, in her arrested breath. "Ain't hired you yet, darlin'."
Her grin is instant, giddy. "But you will."