Disclaimer: Firefly and its characters hail from the mind of Joss Whedon, and belong to the evil Blue Sun Corporation- I mean, *ahem* 20th Century Fox.

This is no immutable world.

We know less than its atoms, rushing through.

Light, light. Light as air, to them,

for all we know. Trust me on this one,

there is happiness at stake.

- from "No Less" by Alice B. Fogel

CHAPTER ONE

SHADOW

02 - 22 - 2506

Out on the plains along the edge of Birdseye, the nights could get awfully cold. Mal had expected this. He'd chosen a thick woolen shirt from his drawer by touch, when dressing for his mission in the dark, not an hour before.

But he hadn't factored in the heat of his own adrenaline. Excitement laced with fear, prickling along his neck beneath his two collars. The wool shirt pressed too close, scratching his skin, below the the standard-issue maintenance uniform he'd pulled on over his clothes. Sweat soaked his chest, dripping down his temples.

"Tā mā de," he muttered, and wiped his brow. He rubbed his palms on the ill-fitting jumpsuit, and jammed the buttons on the metal box in his hands. Its screen had gone dark again.

Mal decided that if he ever ran into the travelling peddler who'd sold him this piece of gǒushǐ electromagnetic transmission reader, he'd shove the thing down the man's throat. True, it was only for home use, to determine if one's personal computer system was emitting the proper signals. It was never meant to be used in a high stakes situation.

Like trying to locate an underground comms box inside an Alliance compound, in the dead of night. For instance.

Mal pressed the power button, and drummed his fingers along the sides of the device. He lifted his eyes to scan the area.

The compound lay empty and dark. The next security detail wouldn't be coming around for another ten minutes. Maybe longer, since the guards were no doubt loath to leave their cozy quarters and trudge around the freezing autumn night.

Mal had to suppress a chuckle, in spite of himself, at the buildings of the compound. He couldn't help it, when he imagined the officers tucked into their bunks inside the squatty, turnip-like spheres of steel. But in truth, it was no laughing matter. The structures established paramilitary presence in troublesome Border planet towns, like Mal's. Designed for quick construction and quick removal, if necessary.

They'd sure got them put up in a hurry. That was almost four years ago, and there they still were.

The reader flickered back to life. Mal shot into the open, holding the box over the bare earth between the buildings and the edge of the compound. The high-pitched hum of the laser fence made his ears itch.

He cupped the display in his palms, watching the numbers rise. When the affirmative symbol blinked at him, he stopped, and clicked the reader off, shoving it into his pocket.

He grinned. Now for the fun part.

He dropped into a crouch, and pulled the bag off his shoulders. His 'equipment maintenance toolkit,' if anyone asked. Thankfully, they hadn't. He unzipped the bag to reveal a home-grown remote-controlled explosive.

"Hello, beautiful," he murmured.

The beauty of the bomb, in Mal's opinion, lay in its simplicity. The first explosion would open up the ground beneath, exposing the communications box. The second charge would tumble into the hole. About ten seconds later, the screens all across the compound's Cortex mainframe would show nothing but static.

Mal pulled a trowel from the bag. The first charge had to start with about a foot of depth, or else it wouldn't do much but make a loud bang. He made the first slice into the ground, and grimaced. It had been a dry summer, and the fall rains hadn't done much to soften the earth.

Somewhere in the clump of buildings behind him, a motion-activated light clicked on. A wash of white tossed his own shadow over his work. Mal's heart seized. He turned to look over his shoulder, but couldn't see anyone.

Fear flooded his veins. Moving faster, he dug into the ground just deep enough to bury the lower part of the bomb. The secondary charge stuck out of the hole. Mal shoved the trowel and gloves back into the bag, and threw it over one shoulder. He stood up, leaving the bomb laid bare to the light.

His own movement masked the sound of footsteps behind him. Otherwise he might've heard the clumsy approach of the guards, before too late.

"You there. Don't move."

He froze.

"Turn around." The guard sounded young. "Keep your hands where we can see them."

"I'm gettin' mixed messages here." Mal kept his voice taut. "Should I stop movin', or turn around?"

He heard a chuckle, hastily silenced, before the same guard snapped, "Turn around, citizen, and state your purpose here."

In the near distance, on the other side of the fence, a small light flickered. It flashed once, twice, then went dark. Mal smiled.

"Citizen," the guard barked. "Turn around, or we will be forced to subdue you."

Mal's jaw went tight. "I ain't no citizen of yours." Every thread of his being tensed, ready to break. "And I won't be subdued."

The laser fence sputtered out. It left an infinite, inviting darkness in its place.

Mal sprinted forward, kicking up freshly-dug soil in his wake. He outran the reach of the compound's lights, let the night swallow him whole, dodging the sonic rifle blasts which bent the air around him. He threw himself past the fence. A figure took shape out of the shadows, running alongside him.

"Jesus Christ, Mal." Hadley McDannel's frail voice was even thinner for lack of breath. He barely kept pace, mouth hanging open, as he threw a glance over his shoulder to see if the guards were giving chase.

Mal grabbed Hadley's arm. "Don't look back, just detonate it. Now!"

Hadley looked down at his hands, to input the sequence into the remote, and stumbled, choking on air. Mal held onto him, pulling him upright again. They hurled themselves at the empty plains ahead.

The explosion tore a hole through the night, a brazen knock from the other side of the ground. It echoed in high, ringing tones, in the panicked shouts of the guards, the wail of the compound's alarm system. Another knock followed, even deeper, shattering all other sound. The splinters reached Mal's ears.

He let out a whoop. Hadley laughed, high and giddy. They kept running.

The land stretched unbroken, until a row of trees appeared on the horizon, blurring the hem of the sky. Mal slowed, slipping between the slender trunks. With the last of his momentum, he crashed down the bank and into the creek. Hadley followed, after glancing back in the direction of the compound.

"Wo cào." Mal panted for breath. "Did we really give 'em the slip?"

"Looks like." Hadley's eyes were wide, shining in the moonlight that dappled the creek. "We did it, Mal."

They stood still a moment, staring at each other, letting the ice-water sting their ankles. Then Mal broke into a grin, and dove down to scoop up a handful of the stream. He tossed it into Hadley's face.

"We did it!" he cackled.

Hadley lunged toward him with a growl, throwing his matchstick arm around Mal's neck. They hadn't been evenly matched, in terms of brawn, since Mal's first growth spurt four years before, but it didn't stop them from tussling when the mood struck.

Mal threw Hadley off easily, rubbing his knuckles into the shorter boy's black corkscrew curls.

"Git offa me." Hadley's voice stretched in a grin. Mal obliged him. Hadley sobered a bit, as he straightened up. "We ain't outta trouble yet. We better walk in the creek awhile, in case they try and track us."

Mal nodded. He knew to listen to Hadley's ideas. They were often sound, and a hell of a lot more sensible than his own. It had been Mal's idea to plant the bomb. But Hadley had built it. He'd hacked into that fence, too, which had just saved Mal from being arrested, or worse.

"Hey. Danny boy." He clapped a hand on Hadley's shoulder. "Thanks for savin' my pì gǔ back there."

"You idiot." Hadley shook his head, grinning. "I couldn't let you get yourself caught, and leave me to suffer the wrath of Silas all by my lonesome."

Mal's hand slackened, and fell back to his side. He stopped dead.

Hadley kept talking, crashing through the water. "He's gonna go cracked when he finds out-"

"Hadley." Mal waited until his friend had turned around to finish. "Silas can't ever find out about this."

Hadley's brow creased. "But Mal-"

"If he knows, then his bosses will, too. And the Independents don't take kindly to meddlers like us."

"He's your guardian," Hadley said, soft, reverent. "He'd never rat you out."

"That ain't the point." Mal started walking again. "They'd get it outta him somehow, and then-"

"The Independents are the reason you planned this in the first place," Hadley tossed out. Mal stopped, and turned to face him. Hadley didn't falter. "You've been tryin' to get in with them for years. And they've always said you're too young. Immature, unstable. You did this for them, Mal. You did this to prove them wrong."

"No. I didn't." Mal's voice dropped to a flicker. "I'm done tryin' to prove myself."

Hadley's mouth twitched. He ducked his eyes, and Mal knew he didn't believe it.

But when he spoke again, it was only to invite Mal to crash on his bedroom floor that night, so as not to wake Silas coming in. Mal accepted, grateful.

As he and Hadley climbed out of the creek with feet half-frozen, nearing the cottages on the outskirts of town, Mal pulled at the chain around his neck, to lift the small silver cross from below his shirt. Gripped in a fist, its shape imprinted into his palm.

He shut his eyes, and lifted up a prayer, to thank God for that night's success.

For the first time since his mother's death, he'd done something right, something real, and no one could take it from him.

/*/*\*\

Mal's eyes had half-fluttered shut, when the good Word thundered in his ears.

"Yes, my friends, praise be to God." Father Dale had the voice of a six-foot-seven cowhand inside the body of a human vole, short and whiskery. "For He is on the side of the righteous."

Mal blinked. He kept his hands folded in front of him, suppressing the urge to rub his eyes. He was grateful to Garland for taking in stride Mal's surprise appearance on her son's bedroom floor that morning, but did she have to wake them up so gāi sǐ early? It was true that folk on Shadow considered sleeping past seven basically akin to the sin of Sloth, unless you were sick or dying, but Mal thought an exception ought to be made sometimes. On the Lord's day and all.

He glanced sideways at Hadley, who had clearly caught him nodding off. His mouth clamped tight, nostrils twitching. Mal tipped him a look, one eyebrow raised, and turned to face front again. He cracked a smirk.

Father Dale paced in front of his podium, the way he did when he really found his rhythm. Mal had to admit, he was a hell of a preacher. That morning, sparks were flying out the little man's mouth.

"These are the times that try our souls. We are being tried, we are being tested, for Satan and his agents never rest in their lust for our spirits. They want to crush us under their heels, to destroy everything we've built. To take what we love."

Grunts of agreement rippled through the congregation, heads bobbing. Mal looked around. It seemed the whole population of Birdseye was crammed between those four listing walls. A light shone out of every face, banishing their weariness, the tired lines around their mouths. Their eyes were lost in Father Dale, or closed in contemplation of the man's words.

"Our troubles are many." The preacher rested a hand on his podium, and looked out over the pews. His voice rang like a bell through the dust-ridden air. "Our troubles are many, my friends, but so are we. We are many, and our faith makes us mighty!"

All around him, people nodded. Mal nodded with them. From the back of the church, someone belted, "Amen," and there were a few throaty echoes.

"Now, let us lift our voices in song, to praise His glory."

After the hymn and final remarks, the church emptied itself of people, into the cold, clear morning outside. Mal made his goodbyes to Hadley and his mother, thanking Garland for her hospitality and fine breakfast, before he joined the churning throng near the door.

Mal elbowed his way through, muttering apologies. He kept his head down. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew him especially, but he didn't have time for small-talk. He had to get back home, and change out of last night's clothes. Then he needed a story to explain his midnight disappearance to Silas. It had to be good.

He made it through the crowd on the steps of the church, walking through the fog of his own thoughts, when he ran straight into someone tall and narrow. Mal stumbled backwards. He looked up, into a familiar set of flinty eyes.

Silas Hunt loomed over him, even more stone-faced than usual, his long black hair mussed and greasy. A pallor hung over his weather-tanned skin. He looked as though he'd had a rough night.

"Been lookin' for you." He glanced down, at Mal's rumpled, dirty clothes, then back up. There was no surprise, no question in his gaze.

"Yeah, uh, same here," Mal stammered. "I expect you're wonderin' where I was last-"

Silas cut him off. "We gotta go."

Mal nodded, but Silas didn't see, already stalking down Main Street. Mal followed. It wasn't long before the silence got to him, kicking his nerves into gear.

"Did something happen in the next town over?" He meant to ask it casually, but instead the question burst like a dam breaking. At least he remembered to use the code name for the Alliance compound, lest he be overheard by one of the 'peacekeepers' stationed on every corner.

Silas didn't even look at him. He kept silent, mouth clamped shut, his jaw jutting out from the sharp lines of his profile.

Mal chewed his lip. Silas had been his legal guardian for three and a half years, and before that, one of the many hands on the ranch, looking out for Mal since he was crawling. Mal knew his temperament, knew when he was angry, down to the precise shade and duration. But this was something else.

He put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Silas, wait-"

"I know, Mal," he snapped, and jerked his shoulder out of reach. "I know," he said again, quieter.

Mal was stuck for a moment, open-mouthed. As soon as his legs started working again, he hurried to catch up.

"How?" he demanded. "How'd you know it was me?"

"It's my job."

Mal heard the full meaning behind the word: his job as Mal's guardian, and his job with the Independents, which didn't have a title. Strictly speaking, it didn't exist.

"So- do they…" Mal's blood thickened, pulsing in his head. "They don't know, do they?"

Silas didn't say anything.

Mal grabbed a fistful of his brown leather jacket, pulling them to a stop. "If they know, I need to hide," he breathed. "They don't let people mess with their operations. I won't be let off easy for something like this-"

"That's enough outta you." His voice came out spiked, and Mal let go of him. Silas turned around. "Listen to me." He spoke low and fast, matter-of-fact, the way he used to coach Mal around the horses. "We're goin' to meet some folks. And you better keep your fool mouth from shootin' off as it's wont to do. Speak when spoken to, and show respect. Understand?"

Mal gulped air, enough to ask, "Who are they?"

Silas held his eyes a moment. "They're your only chance." He turned away.

Mal clenched his jaw, and fell into step, imitating his guardian's long, impatient stride. Questions burned in his throat, but he swallowed them down.

For once in his life, he was afraid of the answers.

/*/*\*\

There was a reason Birdseye had been one of the first towns on Shadow to be occupied by the Alliance. Mal estimated a healthy two thirds of the population over the age of eighteen were involved with resistance operations, in one way or another. But there were rules. Rules about everything, from code words, to coat colors, to who had contact with those in Command.

Planting that bomb, Mal had broken the most important one. Never act alone.

Silas wound a cautious route through town, Mal trailing along, until at last they reached the general store. When they walked in, the shopkeeper paused his sweeping, and pointed to a set of shelves in the back. The shelves were on hinges, and Silas pulled them away to reveal an opening in the wall.

They crawled through, descending a cramped flight of stairs. A narrow passage opened out into a musty cavern of a room, far larger than Mal had expected.

Barely two steps in, a figure cut itself out of the shadows beside him. A pair of hands spun Mal around, and shoved him toward the wall by the entrance.

"Hey!" Mal's palms smacked stone. Silas landed on the wall next to him, in the same position, and shot him a look. They were both treated to a full body pat-down, from their armpits to their heels.

"You must be the welcoming committee," Mal deadpanned.

"Shut it," Silas hissed.

Mal's attendant grabbed him by the shoulders again, and pulled him away from the wall. The other greeter, wily and bearded, did the same with Silas. But Silas was released.

Mal wasn't.

He felt the rough kiss of rope on his wrists. Before he even thought to get away, the bearded man had wrapped his arms around Mal's shoulders, holding him still while the other tied him up.

"The hell is this-" Mal protested, voice weak and pinched, useless, because he knew. He knew exactly what it was. Panic weighed heavy in his limbs, filling his lungs. He struggled in vain against the thug's grip, and looked over to Silas.

His face had closed up hard. He looked at Mal the way one looks down into a freshly-dug grave, as one stands by, holding the shovel.

Mal couldn't form words. He hoped his eyes were hot enough to sear into Silas what he was feeling then, as the first man finished the knots.

They hauled Mal by the shoulders into a circle of light, cast by a single bulb hanging overhead. He resisted, dragging his feet, letting out a growl as he strained his wrists against the rope. The knots were so tight he couldn't even make fists.

"Malcolm Reynolds," a woman's voice drawled, one Mal recognized before he saw her face. "Glad you could make it."

Mal stumbled forward, as the men let go of him. He looked up into the cold, grey gaze of Jo Mercey.

Her sharp features complemented sharper eyes, glaring at Mal from under precise black eyebrows. Her tawny skin caught the light from overhead. She made it hard to look at her directly, a skill acquired long before the Alliance had arrived, back in the days when she'd served as mayor of Birdseye. Now, as a leader of the Independents, it continued to serve her well.

Jo was the only one sitting down, established behind a table, and flanked on either side by two strangers. In the shadows beyond them lurked another familiar face. Anders Prince, wearing a smug, easy smile. He had only a few years on Mal, and a far harder reputation for causing trouble. But he'd been given his brown coat three years before, when he was only 21.

The silence stretched until Mal's ears began to ring. He kept his face still, jaw set. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the stranger on Jo's right, a hard-faced blonde woman. Her hand had moved to the pistol on her hip.

Jo leaned back in her chair, with a sneer. "You made a real yì tuán zāo for us to untangle."

Mal lifted his chin. "If you're gonna kill me, go ahead." He forced the words to come out steady. "No point in tyin' me up and talkin' at me first. Didn't you learn it ain't polite to play with your food?"

Jo's brow arched. "You got a mouth on you, boy," she said dryly, looking down at the tablet in front of her. "But last night's security footage already told us that."

She tapped the screen. A recorded voice scratched out, "Citizen, turn around, or we will be forced to subdue you." Mal's reply was warped by distance, but clear enough to be heard. "I ain't no citizen of yours. And I won't be subdued."

Jo touched the screen again to halt the playback. She looked back up at him, with an unfelt smile. "Real pretty little speech," she said.

Mal narrowed his eyes. "How'd you get that? I knocked out all the cameras close enough to read me."

"Our girl Sam here," Jo tossed her head at the blonde, "ripped it off the guards' body-cam feeds. They didn't get your face, but that just means they'll be pullin' in every young dark-haired male they can get their gloves on. Maybe even Hadley McDannel." She leaned on the name, knowing.

Mal swallowed a mouthful of gritty air. He shut his eyes. Please, not Hadley. Kill me, but let him live. Please.

Jo stood, making her way around to the front of the table. "I hate to be put in this position, Malcolm." She stopped, and levelled her gaze. "But if I let hot-head punks like you pull stunts like this, where would I be?"

"It wasn't a stunt. We-" Mal gulped, to swallow the word back down. "I been plannin' this for months. I thought it all out. I was careful."

A laugh bust out of the other, nameless stranger, a heavy-set man with a gold ring in his nose. He shook his head.

"Careful, no. Lucky, yes." Jo leaned back against the table, arms crossed. "We'd 'a dealt with you in the usual way, but Silas pulled my ear in another direction."

Mal whirled around, to find the man's face in the shadows, his features sketched out in the dim light. Their eyes met. Mal opened his mouth, only to close it again. He looked back at Jo.

"You shoulda heard him, boy." Her lips curled. "Don't think he's ever uttered so many words at once as when he argued for your life." She tilted her head. "But I wasn't convinced 'til I saw the security footage. And I saw a little of what he sees in you."

Jo held out a hand behind her. The stocky man handed over the tablet, which she flicked through as she spoke.

"Our ranks are full of careful men, Malcolm. Careful is good. But you know what they say about a good thing." She glanced up, into Mal's eyes. "Maybe you weren't careful. But you had a plan and you followed through, and you kept your head when things went sideways. We need more of that in the Intelligence Corps."

"Intelligence," Mal echoed. He knew what it meant, that's what Silas does, but in that moment he couldn't grasp what Jo was saying. Her words stuck like flies in his ears, making noise without sense.

Jo set the tablet back down on the table. "How old are you, now?" she asked Mal, looking past his shoulder, to gesture at one of the bodyguards.

Mal managed to choke out, "Nineteen." He jumped in surprise as the same man who'd tied his hands began to undo the knots.

"You ever been off-world?"

"No, ma'am."

She smiled. "Well, you're about to get your chance."

The blood drained from Mal's head, set his heart beating at full gallop. He rubbed his wrists, and stared at Jo, mouth agape. "Are… are you offerin' me a job?"

"I wouldn't call it an offer, strictly speakin'. 'Offer' implies a choice."

Mal blinked. "Right."

"You can't stay on Shadow, Malcolm. Not after what you did." She traced her slender jaw with her thumb, and gave a nod. "But there are plenty other places where you could be useful to us."

"And Hadley McDannel?" Mal crossed his arms. "Will he be useful to you, too?"

"We'll leave him be, for now." Jo Mercey took a step forward, narrowing her pale eyes. "Listen to me, boy." Her voice was a dangerous kind of quiet. "This doesn't mean you've been pardoned. Only that you've got the opportunity to commute your sentence, if you can show us you're capable in the field. Got it?"

Mal didn't move. "Yes, ma'am."

"You've got rèxuè. Ain't no doubt on that score. But it takes a lot more to make a good operative." Jo held up three fingers, pointing to them as she spoke. "You have to be patient. You have to know when to dig in your heels, and when to run." She gripped all three. "Most important, you have to follow orders."

Mal uncrossed his arms, taking in a breath. He let it out slowly. "I can do whatever you need me to." Heat crackled beneath his words.

Jo held his gaze for another breath, before she offered her hand. They shook.

"Let's get down to business, then." Jo picked up the tablet, tapped the screen, and handed it to Mal. "Your target's name is Solomon Zhi."

Mal scrolled through the public figure profile, stopping on a capture ripped off a press release from some Core news outlet. The man was in his mid-40s, baring perfect white teeth to the camera, waving a soft, moneyed hand.

"He's Parliament. Senior member of the Military Affairs Council, with aspirations to the Chancellor seat. We need someone close enough to tell us where he goes and when. Who visits him, how long they stick around. Get a whiff of what he's up to."

Jo reached over to tap the screen. A different capture popped up. It featured an enormous white and gold mansion, surrounded by lush green lawns.

"Zhi's a bit of a Renaissance man, likes to think he's very cultured. Got a big fancy estate, where he rides his horses. And he needs a new stable hand." Jo took the tablet back. "You're good with horses, aren't you Malcolm?"

"Yes, ma'am." Mal nodded. "I cared for all the horses on my mama's ranch. Silas taught me how."

Jo looked over at the heavy-set man. He pulled an envelope out of his coat, and handed it to Mal. Jo gestured for him to open it.

He shook out a different life, with his face on it. Ident card, work visa, travel permit. Perfect fakes, down to every detail, with his picture on each one, next to the name of a stranger. His new identity: Wesley Gale. Mal stared.

"How'd you-" The question died in his throat. All at once, he understood.

They'd been planning to offer him the mission. To give him his chance. And in one night he'd gone and thrown it all arse-up, without any idea what he was doing. How easily he would have been written off. A couple shots in the neck, out in someone's wheat field. 'Dealt with.'

Mal felt Silas at his shoulder. He looked up, and found the man's eyes, glistening in the stark light from overhead. Jo fell into conversation with her subordinates. Mal let Silas pull him aside.

"Did you know they were going to…?" Mal couldn't finish.

Silas shook his head. "Jo didn't tell me until I came to her this mornin'."

Mal had to swallow twice, blinking fast, before he could look Silas in the eyes. "I'm such an idiot." His voice rose. "I'd be dead, if you hadn't-"

"Hush, now. Ain't no time to worry on what's past." Silas gripped Mal's shoulders, mouth tight, grave. "You're 'bout to be dropped headfirst into a world you ain't ready for. There'll be a lot that won't make sense to you. That includes your orders. You gotta kill your instinct to smart-talk your betters. You do what you're told, dǒng ma?"

Mal's brow knit tight. "Silas…"

He nodded, in silent receipt of the words Mal couldn't say. He tightened his hold. "You gotta keep your head, son," he murmured. "No matter what happens."

"I will." Mal held his gaze as long as he could, before Silas let go of him, and stepped back. Mal turned to face Jo and the others, squaring his shoulders. "What else you got for me?"

"Nothin' much, for now," said Jo. "You've got twelve hours to collect your things, say your goodbyes. No specifics, mind. Then you leave for Redcreek, where you'll catch your transport ship. Prince will be goin' with you. He'll give you everythin' else you need to know on the way there."

Anders slipped into the light, and flashed a grin, teeth gleaming against the warm brown tint of his skin. "We're goin' to Sihnon, Mal. The most glittery gumball of a planet in all the Core. Ain't that shiny?"

Sihnon. "Shiny," he agreed.

Jo tossed a look at Anders, before her eyes came to rest on Mal. "Don't forget what I told you, Malcolm." Her gaze demanded his, pulling something out of him. "Patience, prudence, loyalty. We live, fight, and die by those words. You better be ready for that."

Mal gave himself over to the rhythm of his pulse, so warm and loud it seemed to be outside of him, in the air against his skin. For the first time, he could see clearly God's great plan for him, coming true at last.

He let them take everything, so you could learn to fight back.

"I'm ready."

translations:

Tā mā de - dammit, f*ck

gǒushǐ - dog feces

Wo cào - f*ck (positive connotation, as in 'f*ck yeah!')

gāi sǐ - damn, damned

yì tuán zāo - mess (a difficult situation)

rèxuè - hot blood, righteous ardor

And so it begins. If I've managed to pique your interest, I'd love to hear from you in a review! If I haven't, I would be even more grateful to hear why not.

I've compiled a soundtrack of sorts to accompany this story. Feel free to ignore completely. (From here on out I'm going to include the tracks at the beginning of each chapter): Opening Credits: "The Book of Kells" by Bruno Coulais, from The Secret of Kells: Original Soundtrack (2009) + I Ain't No Citizen: "End Credits" by David Newman, from Serenity: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (2005)

As you have no doubt surmised, this story will remain squarely in the universe Joss created. The AU aspect comes from the circumstances that bring Mal and Inara together much earlier than they meet according to the canon timeline. But, if it please you, this story could be 'canon-compliant.' (That will make a lot more sense by the end, promise.)

I do hope to see you in the next chapter. Until then, stay shiny!