snogandagrope "won" me for the AO3 fanfic auction, and challenged me with an ambitious plot bunny for a sherlock/firefly crossover full of adventure and sex and all these wonderful characters. She also was invaluable in helping me with brainstorming, researching, and betaing. This simply would not have happened without her.
My dear i_ship_an_armada pushes me to do better in everything I write, including this, and I am endlessly grateful.
Impossible to overstate how much captfangirl (Rerin) helped me with this particular chapter. She is the bee's extremely knowledgeable, enthusiastic, and helpful knees.
This chapter had many eyes on it, and I'm so glad for these folks' support and interest: somebodyswatson, wiggleofjudas, and KitKate.
I plan to post a chapter a week and I swear to holy mother of god and all her wacky nephews that I will not abandon this fic.

January 2507

Hera was cold this time of year.

Lieutenant John Watson rubbed his hands together and then crossed his arms, tucking his fingers beneath his armpits as he made his way across the compound. The wind tickled his nape, his dark blond hair just long enough now that the breeze ruffled it a bit, and he hunched closer in on himself.

It had been a long day of doing almost nothing but gruntwork and drills. The good lieutenant had spent much of it deciphering conflicting orders from the higher ups, which only underscored their underdog position in this war for independence. He sighed in relief as he passed into the tent where his sergeant and corporal were already huddling around the table, the cards and chips ready to entertain them for another hour or two before lights out.

Inside the tent, formality and routine melted away with the cold, and John took his seat at the table, cheeks pink from the cold. The man and woman already seated had fought together for some time now, but their platoon had endured an endless rotation of lieutenants, each worse than the last, until an utterly ordinary-looking prior-enlisted officer appeared, asking about tea and target practice. In ten weeks, John Watson had managed to become both respected and loved; and, when necessary, feared.

"Come on, Doc," Malcolm Reynolds chided, his tall frame and angled jaw making him seem too big for his rickety chair. "Ante up."

"Xing jiao ni," swore the older man, tossing his chip in the center of the table. "Impatient git."

The woman at his left frowned at Mal. Her dark brown hair had been released from its usual braid, and twisted in messy curls around her face. She narrowed her eyes at her sergeant and then turned to consider the man to her left. "You need a better nickname, LT," she stated plainly as she dealt out the cards.

"What's wrong with 'Doc'?" Mal protested, having been the first to give John the moniker soon after he had arrived.

Zoe Alleyne lowered her chin and looked at him. "It lacks a certain something, sir."

"Imagination?" John supplied.

"That," Zoe agreed. Calling a medic who was waiting to be sent to medical school "Doc" was hardly inventive.

The sergeant pretended to take offense. "All right, Corporal. How's about you come up with something better, then?" he challenged, taking up his cards and leaning far back in his chair.

"Hmm. Let's see," Zoe said, feigning deep thought. "Butterscotch."

Mal laughed outright.

"Look at him. He's eighteen shades of delicious," Zoe defended, indicating John's person in general and the varying shades of golden brown he embodied.

"Thank you, Corporal," John answered, tipping an imaginary hat at her.

"Oh, I know. Prince Charming," Mal joked, fanning out his cards against his palm.

John wrinkled his nose. "God, no." He picked up his own cards and assessed his hand.

"No. He's not that obvious," Zoe dismissed. She turned her head to contemplate the lieutenant more thoroughly. She narrowed her eyes. "You kinda sneak up on a person."

John's eyes sparkled a shade of navy blue in the low light. "Oh?"

"Yeah. First glance, you seem plain-"

"Thanks for that."

"-nothing special," Zoe continued.

Mal was grinning happily.

"But then you're full of surprises."

"Pray tell."

"I don't think any of us looked at you and thought you could hit a rations tin at a hundred yards," Zoe stated. John's marksmanship had been one of the first things to convince her that this lieutenant wasn't going to be a complete disaster like the rest.

"Or that you'd have all the privates panting after you," Mal conceded somewhat sullenly. "Now, that is a wonder."

John's eyes widened.

"Deng yi huir, I didn't mean-" Mal stuttered, leaning forward again in his chair, scrubbing a big hand through his straight brown hair.

John chuckled. "Look, I can't help it if I'm irresistible," he quipped, letting Mal off the hook.

Zoe sat up straighter, head held high. "I know what you are."

John raised his eyebrows.

"You're qi cha."

The eyebrows dropped dramatically. "I'm. Hang on. I'm 'weird tea'?" he translated.

Mal burst into chortles, showing absolutely no restraint in laughing at his commanding officer.

The lady frowned at them both. "As usual, you boys are missing the nuance. Not just weird. Unexpected. You're an everyday thing like tea, but-" She paused to consider. "Surprising," she said with some slink.

John smiled back at her. "If you say it like that, you can call me whatever you like," he answered, then turned his head to his giggling sergeant. "And you. Bi zui, or I'll order her to make an appropriate nickname for you."

Mal dabbed at the tears in his eyes. "Lord knows it'll be a damn sight better than 'Wacky Tea'!"

"How about 'Stubborn Pi Gu'?" Zoe offered.

John nodded. "Sounds about right."

"All right. Can we just play some gorram cards here before somebody starts trying to kill us again?" Mal argued.

"He must have a really good hand," John whispered to Zoe, and she grinned.

The tent flapped open and Corporal Ekwensi rushed in, halting abruptly as the three card players turned to look at him accusingly.

Ekwensi saluted sharply. "Sorry, sirs." The young man's pallor showed through his dark skin, and his posture was tense.

"What is it, Corporal?" John asked, giving him a perfunctory salute.

"Sir, orders from Colonel Ackabee." Ekwensi handed over the missive, and John reluctantly placed his cards face down on the table and took it from him.

He scanned it. Read it over again.

"Well. Hump me sideways."

Ekwensi startled and his eyes widened comically.

"All right, Corporal. Give us a minute. Dismissed."

"But, sir, I'm to take you directly-"

John's voice was calm but firm. "That's an order, Corporal."

"Yes, sir." They exchanged salutes and Ekwensi was scrambling out of the tent, the flap closing behind him.

John turned back to his tablemates.

"What's up, LT?" Mal asked, and John marvelled anew at how Malcolm Reynolds could go from joking around to intensely focused in the space of a breath.

John sighed. "Well, apparently it's Captain, now." He gave them a tight smile. In this case, a promotion meant a spot in med school had opened up for him; it also meant being shipped off elsewhere, and they all knew it.

Zoe was first to recover. She began to stand, and Mal followed suit, stepping around the table to fall in line next to her.

"Congratulations, Captain." She saluted him crisply.

"Congrats, sir," Mal echoed, mirroring her movements.

John returned the salute, and then they all were lowering their arms and not knowing what to do next.

John fiddled with the letter in his hand. "Off to Persephone with me, then. There, ah. Seems to be some haste in the matter."

Zoe only nodded.

"So." He cleared his throat and faced Mal. "Looks like you're in charge, then, Sergeant."

Mal nodded.

"Your new LT'll be here in the morning."

"And after we just got you all softened up," Mal joked, but his eyes were reflecting respect and loss, and his smile was a small thing.

John nodded, and said nothing, just put out his right hand, and Mal took it warmly. They patted each other on the shoulder, and that was that.

Zoe took John's offered hand as well, and he turned it over gently, bringing his other hand up to cover hers within his palm.

He fixed his eyes on her warm, coffee-brown gaze.

"My deepest regret is that we never had a proper snog," he declared.

Mal grinned beside them, and Zoe smiled.

"Well, sir. Something to live for, then," she replied, and he smiled widely at her and lifted her hand to his lips.

And then he was gone, disappearing quietly out of the tent, leaving only silence behind. Mal stared at the three poker hands on the table, face down.

"Zoe?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Let's not ever get promoted."

"Yes, sir."

I *tried* to figure out how to do the Chinese properly, but I am certain I screwed stuff up (the pinyan symbols won't show up properly in some formats, for example). Here's a glossary anyway:
xing jiao ni = fuck you
deng yi huir = hang on a second
qi cha = odd tea
bi zui = shut up
pi gu = butt/ass Also, gorram means damn in fireflyspeak.