Set during Out of Gas.
Mal took a breath. He didn't want to, because every time he did, spasms of pain ricocheted through his whole body, and there was little to no air left in Serenity. He needed to save it. But his subconscious told him otherwise, and he took that breath.
The pain was incredible, worse than anything he'd ever felt before. He'd felt a lot, been through a lot. But this topped it all. He tried to force himself to take another step, but he collapsed, slamming into the grated ground in the cargo bay.
More pain. Coming in waves now, pulsing through every part of him with his blood, which he was slowly losing. He wasn't losing any pain, however. It stayed with him, hovering around the wound.
Serenity was silent. Everyone had gone, everyone would live. Hopefully. The only sound Mal heard was the slow and steady drip of his own blood, hanging on the grate before plummeting down to the floor below. That and his lungs, laboring past impossible, struggling to force in one last breath. Then another. Then another. Then another.
He was in a never ending hell, even though he knew it would end soon. He was dying. He, Mal, who'd sprung back up from defeat at the valley, who'd found a crew and a ship, who'd made a living. Who'd found a family when he didn't have one. Dying.
What was there to live for, anyways? He'd lost the battle of Serenity, he'd lost his faith in everything. His ship was dying along with him, and why put in all that effort? All that pain, all that blood loss. Even if he did make it to the engine room and was able to slam that piece into place, he'd die afterwards anyway.
His friends, his crew, his family. They wouldn't really care, would they? Wash would never forgive him after what he'd done. In retrospect, he couldn't believe it. He'd wrenched the one person who cared about Zoe most out of her possible last moments.
He'd killed more people than he cared to think about, and injured even more than that. Maybe he deserved to die.
Mal took another deep, shuddering breath. Tears began to fall along with the blood, creating a sick pitter patter rhythm on the floor below him.
He thought about his crew again. Their joy, their love, their fascinating stories. The way that they, even Wash, had begged him to come with them. How they cared. How they'd take a bullet in the gut for him. Now he was taking one for them. Too bad he had to go and die. Ruin the heroic moment.
Wait.
No.
He tightened his grip around the piece. That was something to live for. They were something to live for. And he was going to live. For them.
For Jayne, and his persistence and bad jokes.
Mal took a deep breath, on purpose this time. He would need the air.
For Simon, and his love and devotion to his sister.
Mal grunted in exertion, pushing himself onto his knees.
For Inara, and her caring nature.
Mal stood, falling into a wall for support, but he was standing and the piece in his hand!
For Shepard, and his peace and spirituality.
Mal felt more pain than ever but he brushed it off and started down the corridor.
For River, and her quiet intelligence and endurance.
Mal stabbed the adrenaline injection deep into his flesh, feeling his blood race.
For Kaylee, and her never-ending sweetness and enthusiasm.
Mal yanked himself, hand over hand, through the last passageway to the engine room.
For Zoe, and her loyalty and fierceness.
Mal wrenched the door open and the engine room stood before him.
For Wash, and his humor. His vitality. His ability to forgive.
Mal slammed the piece into place, the loud clang resounding through his skull. The pain was unbelievable.
Of course there was someone to live for. There was always something, or someone to live for. How could he have thought otherwise?
Mal smiled, his vision closing in around him until all he saw was black.
When he woke once more, his crew was around him. His crew, his family, his last hope. He smiled at them weakly, feeling the bandage around his middle. "You saved me," he said softly, gazing around at the people who mattered most to him.
"No, Mal," said Inara. "You saved us."