There is a much better version of this story currently in the works, entitled Irresistible Force, that is longer and fixes several timeline mistakes, as well as expands a lot more into the series. You can find it among my other fics.
Chinese translations at the end.
The alcohol doesn't just relax his muscles as it burns its way down his throat; it diminishes his inhibitions and makes him reckless - at least, more so than usual. The talk behind him is the only thing that's been on people's minds and lips for a while, and Mal has just enough control left not to start anything. But he listens, and when it starts nonetheless, without his help, well... more than just alcohol prompts him to join in.
"Ruttin' Browncoats!"
Mal goes after that one first, and it feels good to sink a fist into the stomach of an enemy that's not supposed to be his enemy anymore. The turmoil of his thoughts is channeled into his body, into feet and fists, into adrenaline that further serves to pound back any inhibitions that would otherwise tell him how stupid he's being. He's outnumbered, after all; he doesn't even know the fellows he's fighting with and for. But he didn't back in that valley, either, and it didn't matter then, and even if that's lost now, there's still a remnant of Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds somewhere inside him. Alcohol and adrenaline breathe a warped sort of life back into the remains, and he twists with and becomes part of that skeleton for a brief moment, striking wherever he can.
And the ghost of that valley manifests itself outside of just his mind, because once again he finds himself being deserted, by his allies and God and the ones who actually started the gorram fight.
He's pinned by more than one beefy individual, and another guy with the kind of cocky face Mal hates shoves that ugly face right into Mal's and says, "Looks like your buddies abandoned you." His breath is unwashed cigars and arrogance, hot and foul, and it makes Mal sick. "But... that's just like a Browncoat, ain't it?"
Mal's precisely aimed gob of spit nails the guy in the eye, and the guy reels back, hissing expletives. "You little...!" He draws back a hand, fingers curling into a fist.
"Enough," says a liltingly accented voice, quiet but so authoritative that many instinctively freeze. A quite different hand latches on to the one about to pummel Mal's face, and the gathered spectators edge back nervously. Two others have appeared among them, and no one is quite sure how they got there. The one who spoke, the smaller one with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, stands with arms folded, his slanted eyes narrowed disapprovingly. The other, who holds back the man intending to punch Mal, is a tall, blonde, and bespectacled man, and his expression is no less grim.
Mal's attacker snarls in drunken rage, "Stay out o' this!"
The tall man yanks him back with such force that the aggressor stumbles, held up by only his pinned hand. "You tellin' me what to do?" the tall man asks, towering over his captive. "Bad idea. Now get out." Disgust etched across his features, he drops the aggressor, who after a moment seems to think better of his anger. He can tell - maybe not as much as Mal can, but enough - that these men are not to be confronted under such circumstances. With an oath-laced storm of words, he shoves his way past the crowd and out of the bar.
The smaller stranger casts his eyes over the rest of the brawlers and focuses on the ones still holding Mal. "You too," he says. "Everyone, out."
The wiser ones, which include the men holding Mal, take one look at his face and haul ass. A few others are hesitant, too drunk to be properly wary, but the smaller stranger gives them a cold look that tells them he can be just as intimidating as, if not more than, his partner. "Bù yǔ wǒ tā mā de," he says, and it's clear that he means it.
Pretty soon, the bar is clear of the belligerents; only Mal is left. The rest of the bar's patrons raise up a brief, appreciative cheer, and the tall stranger loses his seriousness, grinning and giving a theatrical bow. The other one rolls his eyes and offers a hand to help Mal up. Mal accepts, figuring his pride isn't worth speaking of anymore. He sways a little as he gets to his feet, trying to think past the alcohol, and says, "You didn't... you didn't have to do that."
"We didn't do it for you," the smaller man says.
"Laura over there asked us to step in and break it up," says the other, indicating the bar's owner, who's standing behind the counter and giving Mal an evil eye. She nods in thanks to the strangers and attends to the patrons calling for more beer, making it clear that Mal needs to get the hell out of there for tonight, too.
He isn't going to argue with that. He's starting to feel distinctly sick and miserable, and something about these strangers is so off that it confuses his hazy mind. But trying to figure it out is beyond him at the moment, and he's pretty sure he's starting to turn green. "Sorry, but I gotta... I'm about to..." He makes a beeline for the door, or tries to, stumbling before he's taken five steps. To his surprise, the tall stranger grabs him by the arm, steadying him.
"Hold it in, man," the stranger says and helps him to the door.
Mal vomits just outside, onto the dust and the dirt, spilling out everything he's eaten in the past several hours as well as what feels like all the alcohol he's consumed; the cool night air dries the sweat that's gathered on his brow and intensifies the chills that have come over him. God, why did he think alcohol would help? It's only made everything worse, and everything he wants to forget just won't leave him alone. The horrible taste of bile fills his mouth now, reminding him of just how low he's sunk... literally on his hands and knees in the dirt, puking. Great.
Even better when he realizes the strangers are still there. Mal groans and rocks back, practically sitting on his feet, and he casts a bleary eye up at the two mysterious men. "You guys got anythin' better to do than watch a man spit his guts out on the ground?"
"Would you believe us if we said no?" The tall one is leaning against a support post, hands in his pockets, while the small one sits on the rail running around the bar. And there's something utterly strange about them. It's not just the way they seem completely distant from everyone around them, from reality, even. It's something more.
"Do I know you?" Mal asks, because that's about as near as he can figure it.
The strangers exchange a glance, and if he didn't know any better, Mal would say they could communicate without words. Certainly something passes between them, something he completely misses. "So you're one of those," the small one murmurs, and before Mal can ask what the hell he's talking about, the tall one hops down the steps to offer him a hand.
"Name's Alfred," says the man. "Alfred F. Jones, and don't ask me what the 'F' stands for, 'cause I'm not quite sure myself."
Mal stares for a moment, then accepts the hand and, with Alfred's help, gets to his feet. They shake. "Malcolm Reynolds," Mal says. "Thanks." He looks up at the other stranger still sitting on the rail, who nods to him.
"Wang Yao," is the introduction, and Mal can't recall either name in his memory. Why, then, are they so familiar? Before he can ask his question again, hopefully with a direct answer this time, Yao says, "You're a Browncoat, aru?"
"Obviously," Mal replies, turning sour. He doesn't need another reminder of the all-too-recent past. "What's it to ya?"
The strangers look at each other once more and shrug in unison. Yao hops off the rail, coming to stand beside Alfred, and both of them regard Mal in a scrutinizing kind of way that makes him uncomfortable. It's as if they're looking past whatever unkempt, none-too-impressive exterior he has and seeing something deeper... something worse. "What?" he asks irritably.
Alfred smiles, almost sadly. "We'll be lettin' you get on your way, then," he says. "And you'd better remember something, Malcolm Reynolds... take to the skies if you have to, do what you gotta do, but don't be wastin' your life by drinking away your problems, 'kay? You haven't got it as bad as you think, trust me."
"What?" Mal asks again, but this time in complete surprise - and not just because it sounds too much like something Zoe would say.
"Well, see ya!" Alfred chirps, all of a sudden cheerful again. He gives a little wave and turns around, shoving hands into pockets as he strolls away. Yao follows, nodding to Mal.
"Zhù nǐ yùnqì hǎo," is all the smaller man says.
And Mal is left staring after them as they disappear into the night, wondering just what kind of crazy strangers would waltz into his life for such a brief time to give him that kind of advice.
When he finally gets back to her, Zoe slaps him.
Okay, so he probably deserved that. Mal is keenly aware of how he's been acting lately, rather ashamed of it, in fact, and the first thing he does after his cheek stops stinging is apologize. Zoe's a bit surprised at the sudden change, but she accepts it all the same. "What knocked some sense into you?" she asks curiously.
"Well, it wasn't that," Mal says ruefully, rubbing his cheek again. "It was somethin' weird, actually."
Take to the skies if you have to, do what you gotta do, but don't be wastin' your life by drinking away your problems, 'kay? You haven't got it as bad as you think, trust me.
"Hey, Zoe," Mal says abruptly, changing the subject. "You wanna buy a ship?"
He never expects to see those crazy strangers again, but life has a funny way of taking one's expectations and tossing them out in the black where they belong.
"Well, hey," Alfred says casually. "Long time no see."
Mal blinks, wondering if he's imagining things - after all, it's a hot day, he's in the middle of a crowded street, and why is the memory of these two men so strong in his mind? He only knew them for ten minutes! Yet he remembers them perfectly, and they haven't changed a bit. The shock of running into them again makes him forget his purpose for being there, forget even the cargo he's carrying, and it takes him a moment to recover speaking ability. "What're you doing here?" he finally demands.
"Are we not allowed to travel?" Yao asks innocently.
"'Course you can travel, but..." Mal grunts in irritation, realizing it was rhetorical. "It's just..." Damn, why do they stick out in his mind so much! He barely knows 'em!
"Cap'n!" Zoe's voice suddenly comes in through his ear, causing him to wince. Why are the bugs so loud? "Where are you?"
And the job comes back to Mal all of a sudden, accompanied by the sudden ring of alarms; the atmosphere of the crowd noticeably shifts, and Alfred and Yao look around curiously. "Shit," Mal mutters, reaching up to press down on the bug. "Got a little caught up, Zoe! I'm comin'!" He releases it. "Excuse me, gents, gotta be goin' now." Of course, that's easier said than done. The crowds seem to have become thicker with the start of the alarms, and the seemingly innocuous box in Mal's hands is going to make him a target if those guards catch up to him. He can hear their shouts, only a street over now, and his little pause may have cost him an entire job.
Or not. Both men are focusing on him, more specifically his edginess and the box in his hands, and it's clear they arrive at the same accurate conclusion. They're sharp, these two.
"You're the one they're up-in-arms about?" Alfred asks, sounding more interested than anything else.
"I don't see how that's any of your business, so if you'll excuse me..." Once again, Mal tries to sidle past, figuring his only option is to run for it - and Yao just as casually steps into his path.
"You won't make it if you run, aru," Yao says and holds up a hand for Mal to halt. Then he turns to the nearest stall, one run by a tiny old man with eyes squinted so much one has to wonder how he sees. Both quick words and money are swiftly exchanged, and Yao gestures for Mal to get behind the stall.
Mal hesitates a moment, but there's very little choice; he goes along with it. Yao's right about running, and Mal can only hope he's judged these men rightly. And it seems he has. As he ducks behind the stall, he hears booted feet on the road, and official voices are yelling for the crowds to make way for the law. And then...
"He went that way, officers!" Alfred cries rather hysterically, playing in to the tense, excited atmosphere that's overtaken the everyday lives of the people on the street. Though he can't see what's going on, Mal would swear that Alfred's getting enjoyment out of it, too. "Nearly ran me over, sirs! Carrying a box that spilled some diamonds, see?"
Mal's eyes widen. There's no way...
"Thank you, son!" says one of the guards. "Keep that as a small reward for your help!" Then the running footsteps disappear down the street, chasing after a phantom thief, and one can almost feel the disappointment of the crowd as normalcy returns. Mal heaves a sigh of relief, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The little man running the booth looks down at him with a raised eyebrow. "If you don't want them coming back, you'd better give me one of those diamonds, too," he croaks.
"Gladly," Mal says, reaching secretively into the box and picking out the smallest one he can find with just his fingers. He emerges only when things have calmed somewhat and finds Alfred and Yao chuckling over the large diamond Alfred is holding. They smile at Mal, Alfred more so. In fact, Alfred is practically beaming.
"That was fun!" the tall man says. "You do this sort of thing often?"
"All a part o' the trade," Mal answers, tucking the precious burden under one arm and looking down at the diamond Alfred is fingering. "How'd you get that?"
"Just a skill I picked up over the years."
"I don't suppose I'm gettin' it back?"
"You heard the man," Alfred says with a grin, pocketing the diamond. "A small reward for my help."
Mal sighs, shaking his head. "Well, at least ya earned it."
Yao appears rather intrigued, arms folded as he looks Mal up and down, as if in appraisal. "You're a thief?" he asks Mal, and his tone and expression are so unreadable that Mal can't determine what he thinks of such an occupation.
"Harsh term," Mal says. "But more or less true. Why? You gonna turn me in?"
"After all the work we just did?" Alfred asks, snorting.
"It's not our place to judge people for their profession," Yao adds. "As long as you're not hurting innocent people, aru." Both the men lose their smiles, looking rather stern.
"We don't hold with that," Alfred says.
They're like guardian angels who double as walking consciences, Mal reflects in wonder. "And neither do I," he tells them, then winces as another voice explodes in his ear. He claps a hand to it. "Dammit, Jayne, don't screech at me!"
"Well, you got the diamonds or what?"
"I got 'em," Mal answers. "With some help. I'll be at the rendezvous soon, so quit your worryin'." He taps the small device in his ear to turn it off, aware of the curious looks on the faces of his new - or old - friends. "My team's getting a little nervous. They're anxious for a payoff, you see." He tucks the box of diamonds under one arm and regards the men with a thoughtful expression. He's not one to believe in God, not anymore, but neither is he much for coincidence and the like. Not to mention he has a lot to thank these men for. "You wanna meet 'em?"
Alfred and Yao exchange one of those glances of theirs. "Your team?" Yao asks. "Why?"
"Well, I could use a couple o' smart fellas like you. And I owe you two somethin'. I still remember that bar from the other time, y'know." Mal shrugs. "If you're not averse to thievin' and don't have other obligations, I'd be glad to have you on my crew."
They don't even have to look at each other. Alfred smiles, a little sadly. "That's a kind offer, but me n' Yao prefer keeping to ourselves. Don't take it the wrong way."
Mal shakes his head; he'd almost expected that. "No, I can understand that." He's a little disappointed, and he's not quite sure why. These men are curious, that's for sure, and he gets the feeling that there's a lot more to them. "Well, if you ever change your minds, the offer stands. Ask around for Malcolm Reynolds. Word'll get back to me."
They nod and so does he, in farewell. But before he's taken more than ten steps towards the rendezvous point, he hears Alfred again, calling out in a strangled sort of voice. "Um... you have a ship, right?"
Mal pauses and looks back. "Yeah."
"Can we... can we come look at it?"
Yao is covering his mouth to hide a grin, and Mal has to fight to hide his own at the eager look on Alfred's face; it's reminiscent of a puppy. "Sure," Mal says, snorting as Alfred's face lights up. "She ain't nothing much to look at, but if you really want to..."
"Her name's Serenity," Kaylee says proudly. "Ain't she beautiful?"
Yao doesn't look impressed, but Alfred's eyes are wide and hungry. It doesn't seem to matter that the ship is frayed and worn; one would think he'd never been near one before. Add to that how Alfred and Kaylee instantly get along, and Mal is left shaking his head, asking of Yao, "He likes ships?"
"He's got a thing for flying, aru," Yao says, amused. "It wouldn't matter if it couldn't get off the ground, though. He would still love it."
Kaylee is so excited to find a person of similar interests that she immediately takes Alfred on the grand tour. Yao follows at a slower pace, accompanied by Mal, and it's when Wash is showing Alfred the different controls in the bridge that Mal poses the question that's been on his mind for a while.
"You guys got a habit of walkin' into people's lives?" he asks Yao, who's standing beside him with arms folded as he watches his eager companion, lips quirked in amusement.
"Only the people we find interesting," Yao answers. He's got a shrewd look in his dark eyes as he glances up at Mal. "We knew of you before we met you, Malcolm Reynolds. There's not much we care about in this universe anymore, but the war was... of interest to us."
Mal nods slowly. Once again, he's struck by that sense of alien; these men are not what they seem, and that's a fact. "I'm assuming you didn't seek me out back there, though," he says. "'Cause that would just be creepy."
Yao chuckles. "No. That was just coincidence. The bar was a coincidence as well, but Alfred has something of a hero complex. He was determined to help you out in some way, even before he learned your name."
"I gathered that." Mal looks at Alfred, who's listening to Wash with a very focused expression. "So, what? You two are just do-gooders traveling the 'verse?"
"That," says Yao, "is none of your business, aru."
"Fair enough."
It's not like Mal sees them regularly after that, but apparently the 'verse is smaller than it appears, because they show up in his life every now and again. It's usually related to a job, whenever they happen to be on the same planet, and Alfred and Yao are more than happy to pitch in and help. Afterwards, Mal always makes the same offer, and it's always declined in the same manner. It makes him wonder just what's holding them back, but he's come to respect them enough not to pry.
And it's well after his crew has swelled in number, right before they're getting ready to depart from another planet, that the two men pop up out of nowhere and ask for a ride.
"Heard you were in town," Alfred says by way of explanation, as he and Yao approach Serenity. Everyone's busy loading cargo, but Jayne calls out a greeting, and Book glances at them curiously.
"Yo!" Alfred calls back, waving eagerly at Jayne. "Hey, Zoe!" He blows her a playful kiss, and she rolls her eyes, grinning.
"You came in the nick of time," she tells them. "We're going to be headin' off in a few."
"No blowing kisses at my wife!" Wash says cheerily, panting and struggling under his load of cargo. "Mind helping with the rest of these boxes?"
Alfred gives him a cheeky grin. "No thanks!" the lanky man says cheerfully, and Wash makes a face at him. Mal comes up to Alfred and Yao, who return his nod of greeting. "Actually, we came to ask where you're headed."
"Probably Harvest, if circumstances don't change," Mal responds. "Why? Hopin' to come along?"
"If you don't mind, aru," Yao says. He's looking at the last of the cargo left to be loaded, eyebrows raised. "Are you doing respectable work now?"
"Thievin' don't always pay the bills," Mal says. "Just transportin' supplies this time. It's a fair distance, but the money's good. And you're welcome aboard."
"Thanks," Alfred says with a grateful smile. "We've gotten a little tired of this planet. It's about time for a change." He hefts the box under his arm, studying Serenity with a wide grin, and Mal frowns.
"Is that your only luggage?" he asks.
"This?" Alfred looks down at the box and laughs. "This is somethin' I brought for Kaylee. Nope, everything I need is here." He points to the bag slung over his shoulder, which is so small that Mal failed to notice it. Yao has a similar one. "We don't need much nowadays." Despite what he said earlier, Alfred does pitch in with the last of the boxes, dragging Yao into it with him; once done, they're both interested to know that Mal's crew has gotten bigger since the last time they saw him.
"This here's Shepherd Book," Mal says, introducing the older man first.
"A Shepherd?" Yao echoes in surprise. "I didn't know Shepherds doubled as thieves, aru."
"We generally don't," Book says dryly. "Half the time I don't know what I'm doing here. But I try to bring some measure of morals to the lawlessness of this ship." He smiles and nods to the two men. "Are you friends of the Captain?"
"After a fashion," Alfred says. "I'm Alfred Jones, and this is Wang Yao. We're wanderers."
Mal frowns again, rather surprised. That's the first time he's ever heard either of them introduce themselves like that, the first time they've given any hint to what they do. It's pretty much what he and his crew do, minus the thieving. Once again, he wonders why they're so hesitant to join him and resolves to make the offer later, once they've met everyone else.
Right away, Yao and Book seem to hit it off rather well, despite a clear difference in beliefs. They're already having an intense, lengthy conversation by the time Alfred presents his gift, and Kaylee is delighted with her strawberries.
When she opens the box Alfred brought, her eyes light up, and she gives him a special grin. "Oh, you," she says, kissing him on the cheek. "You know how to make a girl's day."
Alfred laughs, and Mal finds himself wishing that the two would just accept his offer already.
"Earth and quintessence," is the first thing River says when she meets them, gazing at them with a cocked head and a very interested expression. "That's what you were born from, isn't it?"
"Sorry," Simon says hastily, hurrying forward and gently taking her shoulders. "She's got a few problems, but we're working on them."
"It's fine," Yao reassures him, and Mal isn't usually one to take note of what River says... if it wasn't for the reaction she gets out of the two men. It's hardly noticeable if you're not looking for it, but they've stiffened, surprised, and neither of them seem particularly perturbed, only intrigued, by River's words.
That is, until she shrugs out of Simon's grip and waltzes around them. "I like this one," she says, reaching forward to cling to Yao's arm. "A lot."
Alfred sniggers at Yao's pained expression, until River turns to gaze at him with eyes that don't seem to blink. He grimaces, and Simon sighs.
"Come on, River, let's not scare the nice men," he says. "Or break their arms."
She let's go of Yao's arm after a little persuasion, and as Alfred, Yao, and Mal are leaving, she looks at Mal as if she knows what he's thinking and says, "They are Earth and quintessence," with a very knowing nod.
"This is Inara," Mal says cheerfully. "She's a whore."
It's always amusing to see the reaction this gets from Inara. She's far too professional to reveal much of her feelings in front of strangers; she stiffens only slightly and gives Mal a brief, cold glance, her smile thinning. But before she can say anything or return to her earlier composure, Alfred grins in the most charming way possible and gives a courtly bow. "It's always a pleasure to meet someone of your grace and station," he says. "And may I say, you are most beautiful." He casts a mischievous glance at Mal, then winks at Inara.
Her smile widens knowingly. "Thank you, Mr. Jones," she says graciously. "You are quite handsome yourself, if you don't mind my saying."
"Oh, you flatter me, Lady Inara," Alfred says heroically. "I can't even begin to compare to you. No one can!"
Inara laughs in the most flirtatious way possible, and Alfred takes her hand with another wink, inquiring after her health and life; it becomes apparent that she's genuinely interested in him now. Certainly neither of them are paying the slightest attention to Mal anymore. Mal's fists are clenched; he stands rigid now, reconsidering letting Alfred on his ship.
Yao is chuckling to himself, and he gives Mal a somewhat sympathetic look. "I should warn you," he advises, "that Alfred takes his 'hero' status very seriously. He will always come to the rescue, especially for a woman."
"Hmph," grumbles Mal, and he stalks off to tend to his ship.
The truth comes out with a very literal bang.
Though smooth at first, the trip to deliver the cargo isn't as straightforward as Mal promised, and when a job offer comes up unexpectedly, it's agreed that they should take it. Mal brings Alfred and Yao along on principle, and that turns out to be the strangest stroke of luck - because things abruptly go south, and there's a gun pointed at him, and Mal doesn't have time to think before the trigger's pulled.
And then a broad back fills his vision, and the bullet takes Alfred in the chest instead.
"No!" Mal snarls, as Alfred staggers into him from the force of the bullet. Mal grabs the lanky man, swearing and supporting him, as Zoe and Jayne surge forward to try to get a handle on the situation threatening to become chaotic. But Yao gets there first, slamming into the shooter and throwing him down with inhuman force. He takes the other three out next, while everyone's too busy staring at him to remember that they're supposed to be fighting, and it's so similar to a whirlwind that even Zoe and Jayne are gawking.
"You báichī!" Mal growls, returning everyone to reality, as he tries to ease Alfred to the ground. "You don't take a bullet for me! You... you..." He trails off in growing wonder, his anger and fear evaporating, because Alfred's not losing consciousness or even losing all that much blood. In fact, the man is struggling to push himself up, huffing and seeming more annoyed than anything else. He's trying to climb to his feet, and since Mal is too shocked to remember to help, Yao hurries forward, gently taking his companion's arm and lifting him.
"Aw, shit," Alfred says, leaning heavily against Yao. He looks down at the wound in his chest and then at the three shocked crew members, breathing heavily. "Well... that's a way for it to come out, eh, Yao?"
"Now you've done it," Yao says tiredly.
There's a hugely awkward silence, until... "Shénshèng dì dìyù!" Jayne explodes. "The hell are you?"
"That's, ah... a good question," Alfred says, wincing. He grins weakly at Jayne and Zoe and Mal. "And it'll be answered soon, I guess. But this thing hurts like a bitch, and it really needs to be taken out so the skin and whatnot don't heal around it, y'know?"
"We need to get back to the ship," Yao says with authority that cannot be denied, as Alfred's head droops forward, and he clings to Yao tightly in an attempt not to fall over. Yao's eyes bore into Mal's, dead serious. "Now."
Simon has never operated on something like this before.
Cells and tissues are literally trying to heal as he works, and he has to make the wound wider and work as quickly as possible in order to extract the bullet. It's lodged several centimeters away from Alfred's heart, and Simon eventually manages to get it out. What's more surprising is the number of other scars Simon sees, along with the fact that Alfred refuses to go under for the operation. He insists that the pain isn't as bad as Simon thinks, that he's felt much, much worse before... and looking at those scars, Simon believes him.
"Do I need to stitch it up?" Simon asks uncertainly, much more calmly than he feels, as he lays the bullet aside and glances at Alfred with wide eyes.
"Don't think so," Alfred says cheerfully, and he doesn't look like a patient that's just undergone major surgery. In fact, he's starting to pull his shirt back on, and though he's pale and a little wobbly, he seems perfectly fine.
"You're not human," Simon says incredulously, and there's no doubt in his mind about that.
Alfred gives him an apologetic grin. "Nope, not really."
And lurking in the doorway, watching with knowing eyes, River nods to herself and mumbles, "I told them they were born of Earth and quintessence, but did anyone listen? No, I think not."
"You shouldn't be up and walkin', Al," Kaylee says, concerned, as Alfred enters the room where everyone's gathered.
"It's okay," he tells her with a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, really. Almost as good as new!" Simon enters after him, with River trailing behind, and the room's pretty crowded with eleven people crammed into it. Alfred takes a seat next to Yao, feeling just a little bit nervous. Normally he's used to eyes being on him, but he hadn't expected to be confronted with telling them this... the truth. But there's no way to lie their way out of this one, no reason for them to lie, and Yao is in agreement.
"Yao's refused to tell us anything until you were better," Mal says to Alfred; his arms are folded, and he's in the center of the room, watching them steadily. "And that happened faster n' I thought. So... just what the hell are you two, and does this mean trouble for us?"
"No trouble," Alfred says quickly. "We don't really matter anymore, you see. The Alliance has their own fellow now, and he's not either of us."
"What fellow?" Mal demands. "What're you talkin' about?"
Alfred looks to Yao, who's always been the better speaker. "Don't spare details," he says, and Yao takes a deep breath and begins.
He tells them everything, with a little help from Alfred here and there.
He tells them of nations personified, of Earth-That-Was and the incredibly dysfunctional family they'd been - all the nations of the world, of the Earth, under one endless blue sky.
He tells them of Zhōngguó- himself, Wang Yao, once the living embodiment of China.
He tells them of America- Alfred F. Jones, who used to be known as the United States of.
And he tells them that they are the last two left, the very last - amid personifications of planets and the Alliance itself, they are the only ones born of Earth-That-Was. He tells them how unnecessary they are, how they only linger on until their cultures and memories fade or become too muddled to distinguish as separate. And indeed Yao spares no details. He tells them of immortal life, jìmò immortal life, and he tells them that humans are lucky.
There's a certain amount of bitterness in Yao's voice and Alfred's eyes, and Mal is once again struck by that feeling he'd had so long ago when he'd met them - that sense of alien, of familiarity yet not. Their intangible distance from their surroundings and even reality itself suddenly starts to make sense, though Mal isn't sure if he even believes it or not.
"Bù kěnéng," Jayne says in disbelief. "That don't make no gorram sense!"
"It doesn't?" Alfred asks sharply, and there's none of the cheeriness they've grown accustomed to in his voice. "Is it as impossible as this?" He pulls down the collar of his shirt to show them what's left of his bullet wound. It's almost completely gone - and he sustained it only a few hours ago.
"Where did y'get those other scars?" Kaylee asks, rather sadly - not doubtfully, not at all, and Mal looks at her and frowns in thought.
Alfred abruptly pulls his shirt back into place. "That's from the pain we don't want to feel," he says quietly. "And that's why a little thing like a bullet doesn't scare me."
"Earth and quintessence, Earth and quintessence, that's what they are, are Earth and quintessence~" It's a singsong sort of voice that River uses, interrupting them suddenly, and everyone stares at her. She looks pleased, gazing dreamily at Yao, and Simon's eyes widen.
"River, you knew?" he demands, and there's no doubt in his voice either, Mal notices.
Now Mal is really thinking hard, and he looks at each of his crewmembers. Simon and River and Kaylee all seem convinced, and Inara and Book look like they're willing to believe it as well. Jayne still looks skeptical, while Zoe has a very professional expression on her face, betraying nothing. Wash looks between her and Alfred and Yao with a face that looks torn, as if he doesn't know what to believe.
Mal agrees with Wash... until he looks, really looks, at Yao and Alfred and sees how utterly resigned they are. Tired, one might say. As if it doesn't really matter who believes them and who doesn't.
And of course, everyone's looking at Mal, wanting to know what he has to say.
"Hold on," he says, feeling a headache coming on; dammit, why can't his life be simple? "I'm not sayin' that it's impossible, but I want to know a few things. Why the hell has no one ever heard of this before?"
"It's a well-guarded secret, aru," Yao explains. "It always has been, for many reasons. Usually only heads of state and important political figures know. And then there some who can vaguely sense it. I believe you knew deep down, Captain. You're more intuitive than you seem, almost as much as those who can just tell." Here he glances at River, who smiles benignly.
"Memories," she says. "Memories of so long ago. Memories of lost things no one knows about now. It's all very sad."
"I'm sure it is," Mal says and notices how both Alfred and Yao wince at her words. "And if you two really are... America and... China... then why're you way out here in the border planets?"
The two shrug in unison. "Like I said," Alfred replies, "it's not like we matter anymore. We have no real people or purpose left. We're just... in between stages, you could say. Waiting."
"Waiting for it to end," Book finishes quietly, and a somber mood falls over the group.
"Well, if that isn't the most depressing thing I've ever heard," Wash says, promptly breaking that mood. "D'you think I could get back to steering the ship now?"
Zoe smiles and places a hand on his shoulder. "Trust you to put things in perspective." Everyone starts to move and mutter amongst them, relaxing thoroughly; maybe not quite convinced, but not doubting, either. Alfred and Yao look at them in surprise.
"Is that it?" Alfred asks. "You believe us?"
Mal shrugs, and everyone falls momentarily silent for his final judgment. "You saved my life," he says. "Takin' that into account along with your impossible recovery ability and strength, we're going to give you the benefit of the doubt."
Most of the others voice agreement to this, and Mal smiles to himself to see the pleased looks on the men's faces; some of the tiredness in their eyes seems to melt away. As for Mal, well... it makes sense, in a gorram weird way. He finally understands what's so strange about them, what's been bugging him since he first met them, and even though a part of him tells him that only a crazy person would believe such a story, he's beginning to have very little doubts.
Besides, he thinks, looking at River... who says a crazy person has to be wrong?
The crew isn't particularly wary of Alfred and Yao after that. There's hesitation, certainly, but that doesn't last long, and instead, growing interest starts to build.
Mal finds Kaylee and Inara on either side of the men one morning when they're eating breakfast. Alfred and Yao are recalling memories of Earth-That-Was, narrating them for the fascinated women, and Mal hesitates in the entryway to listen. It's strange, really; he's never seen anyone who could look so light and yet so pained as those two. And yet as much as it must hurt to remember such things, it seems to be doing them some good. In fact, they're so caught up in their memories that they fail to notice their growing audience. Most of the crew arrives soon enough, drawn by breakfast or the sudden emptiness of other parts of the ship, and it seems like everyone's there, listening, before the two of them even notice.
"You should have seen Arthur's face," Alfred recalls, and there are tears in his eyes from mirth. "It was priceless. And then Yao here had no idea what was going on, and he walked in on it!" He dissolves into laughter as Yao shakes his head.
"It took them a long time to convince us that they weren't doing what we thought they were," Yao says, grinning. "Kiku even took pictures~!"
Kaylee giggles, her face red from mirth, as Inara ducks her head to hide her amusement. After a moment, she regains her composure and looks up, rather intrigued now. "So, there were many others?" she asks. "Others like you?"
The two men lose some of their amusement, faraway looks coming into their eyes as the memories come stronger. "A whole word full," Alfred answers. "We fought ferociously sometimes, and sometimes there was a lot of pain, but... we were... family..." He trails off, the small happiness vanishing from him, and Yao's eyes darken... until they finally realize the audience they have.
"Holy-" Alfred says, blinking around at everyone. "Where did you all come from?"
He blushes as laughter follows this; the crew starts to move in for breakfast, some of them clamoring for more stories. "Seems to me you two are good storytellers," Mal says, coming forward. "And it's gets pretty boring out here in the black. Mind makin' this a regular thing?"
As always, the two look at each other, but more out of embarrassment than anything else. "Sure," Alfred says with an nervous laugh. "If you want."
There's a murmur of agreement, and Yao smiles at them. "It would be an honor to tell you all of Earth," he says.
It does become a regular thing for every night of the remainder of their trip, and even those among them who think they know their history hear about things they never would have imagined to occur. Some nights it's wars and dictators and democracy and bloodshed, and other nights it's treaties and Olympic games and unity and fun. But no matter what the memory being told, be it painful or happy... Mal always notices the same wistfulness and longing that Alfred and Yao possess. It's painfully clear that they've lost something dearly important to them, and when he's by himself one night, Mal does the calculations and is blown away. He can scarcely imagine the years, living and bearing it for that long, and he wonders how they do it.
He doesn't think he could.
Mal doesn't know who's more disappointed to see it end - himself, his crew, or the nations.
"You know," he says after they've landed, as Alfred and Yao prepare to depart, "the offer's still there. I know the crew would be happy to have you."
He can see their answer in their eyes before they even speak. They're tempted - they're sorely tempted, he can tell - but eventually Yao shakes his head, sighing. "We thank you for the offer," he says. "But there's a reason we keep our distance from humans, Captain, and perhaps you can understand it better now. It's wearying to watch friends age and die."
Of course, Mal thinks, after goodbyes have been said, some of them quite reluctant. There's a sense of finality to it that deeply disturbs him, and he wishes they would change their minds. He watches them disappear into the distance, silhouetted against the barren sky, and he thinks on Yao's words.
He supposes that would be.
Life follows its natural course, and for some it ends sooner than others. Mal's life isn't exactly normal or ordinary, and eventually it follows all the curves and bumps of his own course as well, all the way to the very end. And where he ends up is the last place he expects, the very last place, and he wonders how the hell he ended up here. Well... maybe 'hell' isn't the best word to use. Might bring him bad luck, if such a thing exists in a place like this.
And annoyingly enough, even after he accepts that yes, he's there, the people he first sees are not the people he's hoping to see.
It's a large and strange group of people that confronts him, scarcely before he's had time to absorb the knowledge of where he is, and at their head is a blonde man who scowls ferociously at Mal, as if Mal is the sole reason for whatever is troubling him.
"Well?" asks the man. "How are they?"
"Who what now?" Mal says, startled. "Who's 'they'?"
The man sighs impatiently. "You know who I'm talking about. The two who are taking a bloody long time in getting their arses up here!"
For some reason, Mal gets it. Maybe a bonus of being here is that he's cleverer or something, but he knows exactly who the guy's talking about now. "Oh!" he says. "Them. They're... fine. Obviously still alive. Waitin' to die. You know." His eyes widen significantly. "Wait, so you're... damn. Really? This is my welcoming party? I don't even know you people!"
"Yes, well, we've been waiting a hell of a lot longer than you, lad," the man says. "And give me a better answer this time. Are they doing well?"
Mal sighs; he definitely gets it. "They know it's only a matter of time," he says, trying to be reassuring. "You don't have to worry about 'em. They're tough, and they get by."
His words, hardly adequate, seem to bring them ease nonetheless. "Thank you," says the man, softening a little, and the large group in front of Mal, apparently satisfied, begins to drift off, fading within seconds.
Mal is left shaking his head. And to think that all started with a coincidence and two immortal strangers. It sounds absolutely ridiculous, even in a place like this. But now, Mal's mind is no longer concerned with mortal matters, and as he steps forward, moves on to that next journey, and searches eagerly for those he want to find... he leaves those two far behind.
Chinese Translations (had help from a friend with some of them, but the rest was up to Google Translate, so I apologize for any inaccuracies):
Bù yǔ wǒ tā mā de – Don't f*** with me right now.
Zhù nǐ yùnqì hǎo – I wish you good luck.
báichī – idiot
Shénshèng dì dìyù – Holy hell!
Zhōngguó – China
jìmò – lonely
Bù kěnéng – impossible
Title is from Kanye West's Power.