Mal wiped his forehead with his arm and sat down heavily on the chair he had just repaired, breathing heavy as the day's labour caught up with him. It was nearing evening now, the deep orange sun dropping down to kiss the horizon, and he had been working since eight that morning. It was a Sunday meaning that he had worked out of principle; he didn't go to church, so he might as well make good use of his time. Smiling ruefully, he had watched as the other villagers had piled into the church, wailed like dying cats during the hymns before rushing back out to go about their usual routines. Now he sat and watched the day end, bright eyes gazing at the world around him. Having lived in Serenity all his life, Mal knew every inch of it but it didn't stop him feeling proud of it every day.
Like something from a postcard, the village hosted white cottages with thatched roofs or brick, with a paved road leading to the central roundabout, at which stood a small spire monument with all the names of those who gave their lives in The Great War. Around the sides of the road, outside the doorsteps of the occupants were grass banks neatly arranged and aligned with flowers of every kind adding their tuppence worth of colour to the scene. When the sun sank beneath the hills that blanketed the village, hazy rays lit the whole village up so that it appeared as if in a dream.
Leaning back in his chair and resting his head on the wall behind him, Mal let a contented smile cross his face and closed his eyes.
"Mr Reynolds! Mr Reynolds!" Came a loud whisper, immediately followed by loud giggles.
Cracking open his eyes, Mal chuckled upon seeing the beaming face of Kaylee, the resident mechanic of the town. Despite being only 15, Kaylee knew her way around every machine you could find in Serenity, and even some that you couldn't. Mal held a special fondness for her, as though she were his own flesh and blood. Everybody did. Why, she probably had at least 12 fathers not of blood in the village. Her real father, Jonathan Frye, lived and worked on a small farm a quarter of a mile from Serenity, meaning Kaylee spent much of her time there, mingling with its inhabitants. Seeing that she was practically vibrating with excitement, he moved forward, making the chair drop to the ground He stood up and moved towards the fence.
"Yes, miss Frye? Odd time of the day to be a'calling."
Again, she beamed at him, hopping from foot to foot. She opened her mouth, words spilling out like water from a broken dam. He laughed, stopping her in her tracks.
"You're gonna have to start again Kaylee. I can't hardly hear a word of it."
She giggled, putting a hand to her mouth as she muttered an 'oops'. Taking an exaggerated breath, she tried again.
"I've just come from the village hall – I had to see Mr Harken about some parts that - oh anyway, as I was leaving miss Serra stopped me; you know miss Serra, don't you?"
Mal nodded; he didn't really know her as she lived at the other side of the village, near the church.
"Well she told me, cause I was coming this way, to tell you that, cause she didn't have time, there are some refugees coming and she needs you to take care of 'em!"
Kaylee finished with a flourish that left Mal reeling. They wanted him to take care of some kids from the city? No way. He shook his head, making protesting noises as Kaylee began to turn around.
"Kaylee no I – I mean I can't just – Well what about…." He trailed off, too stunned to speak a proper sentence.
"You'll have to speak to miss Serra – Inara – if you've got troubles Mr. Reynolds. Besides, I need to be off!"
With that she turned, mounted her bicycle (arguably the best built in Serenity) and peddled away, giddy at the thought of two new children in the village. Mal meanwhile, seemed to have a fever as he marched to the village hall, his mind whirling through all the problems of him looking after city brats.
He wouldn't have the patience for them and, he didn't doubt, they would get on his nerves with their demands and mischief. He had heard tales of city kids and the horror they caused their foster families; thieving, fighting, shouting, screaming, being lazy, running away. Little trouble-makers, the lot of them. Besides, what could he give them? A small little village in the middle of nowhere and a job that only paid to maintain him. It wasn't exactly an ideal situation.
Blinking, he looked up and realised he was at the village hall. He all but ran up the steps, pushing open the door with barely restrained anger. The inside had been converted into a mini war office; tables and dividers, recruitment and advice posters plastered on the wall, a tiny number of people rushing around, holding bits of paper. A lot of them he didn't recognise, advisers sent from the city to help with the war effort. He looked around and spotted miss Serra at a corner table, going over some paperwork (he had seen her once before at the last fate – the year she moved to the village). He sauntered over, giving off a casual air so as not to alarm her and make her less likely to listen to him plead his case.
As he stood in front of her table, she glanced up at him before returning to her work. He bristled and coughed in a manner of attention. She raised her eyes to him, smiled slightly (almost mockingly) and said "Yes?"
Mal frowned at her before clearing his throat and speaking up; it would do no good to antagonise her. "I'm Malcom Reynolds. I'm guessing you recognise that name?" He arched an eyebrow.
Inara paused, then smiled radiantly, standing up and grabbing his hand to shake.
"Of course! Mr Reynolds, how wonderful to meet you. I assume you're here to discuss the children?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. I don't want 'em,"
She frowned, looking back down at her notes.
"Mr Reynolds I'm afraid you have no choice. There-"
"What do you mean I don't have a choice? It's my house!" He interrupted incredulously.
"Be that as it may," she smiled tiredly at him. "You are obliged to take them by the war office. You're the only one with a spare room and these children are arriving in the morning. Besides, you'll be given a translation book and a small monetary fund to help you."
"Translation book? What the hell for?"
Inara stared at him for a moment, seemingly shocked that he didn't understand the need for such a thing.
"Didn't Kaylee tell you, or did I forget?" The last part was whispered as she began flicking through the piles of notes on the table.
"Kaylee only told me I was taking in children because you were too busy to tell me yourself."
"These children are German, Mr Reynolds."
Eyes widening in horrified shock, Mal instantly protested, crossing his arms and doing his best to ignore Inara as she tried to explain something called the 'Kindertransport' system. There was absolutely no way he was taking in German children!
Simon twisted his head around to look at River as she made a small snuffling noise in her sleep. Her head was resting against his shoulder and he smiled at her peaceful expression, frowning at the dark bruise on her forehead. Feeling a familiar emotional tide beginning to overcome him, he turned back to the window, watching the green land roll by. So, he thought, this is England. They had both been sent there for their own protection against the Nazi's. The young soldier opposite him -whom had been sent as their escort – yawned, mouth gaping open in an almost monstrous manner.
Whimpering inaudibly, he leant back in his seat, moving his eyes back onto the window. He hadn't slept for hours, too scared that, if he closed his eyes, River would be taken from him. Having watched their parents torn from them whilst in the Ghetto, Simon was terrified he would be forced to leave River, a thought that shook him and gave him nightmares. They had been travelling for days, ever since that man from the British embassy had come and taken them away. Away from that hell-hole of a place. He might only be eleven but even he knew that they would never of gotten out of their situation alive or at least unharmed without some outside intervention. Of course, he was incredibly grateful for the help but now he was incredibly worried. They were going to a strange place (the scrawl on his ID papers said 'Serenity', though the word was unpronounceable to him.) with strange people that spoke a strange language. Both he and River could speak more than just basic English (and River could actually speak more besides) but they hadn't had a full education in the language and he was scared he would never be able to understand anyone.
The train whistle bellowed out, jolting him and, consequently awakening River. He grinned as her eyes slowly opened, her small limbs stretching out – she was only 9 after all. Catching his smile, she beamed at him, pushing herself up to sit next to him as well as staring eagerly out the window.
"We're nearly there young'uns so make sure you're ready." Piped up the soldier. Simon looked confused for a second before River explained, in their native tongue, what young'uns meant. She always did have a way of knowing what specifically bothered him. Now it was her turn to act upset as she fingered the bruises and cuts that littered his face. The corners of his mouth turned up a little at her concern and he gently took her hands, pulling them to his lap.
"Please River, don't worry. It will be better now, you'll see. We can have a good life." He ruffled her hair, laughing as she swotted at him. The soldier,not understanding their words, smiled at their good-natured playing. Feeling the train begin to slow, he pushed himself to his feet and began lifting down the pathetically small bags that belonged to the two children. Handing them their respective luggage, he ushered them into the corridor of the train, yelling at the soldiers to make way for the children. A lot of them called out to the children as they passed, waving merrily (and receiving shy waves in return) and asking them to wish them luck, inquiring as to who they were meeting, what were their names e.c.t.
None of them realised the children could not understand.
Finally reaching the side door leading to the outside, the soldier leaned out the window, watching lazily as the platform grew nearer and nearer. Due to the rules, the station didn't have a sign but the soldier knew that it was the one they needed. The train let out one last whistle before coming to a final stop. Reaching out the window to open the door, he grinned as he helped the children down before hopping back on the train as it set off moving. The children, he knew, would be picked up and taken to their new home. Chuckling at the thought of them, he returned to his seat before letting them float from his mind.
The two Tams were almost comically pitiful, stood alone on the platform; ragged clothing and skeletal bodies with tiny battered bags, they hardly made a mark on the world around them. A loud cough, demanding attention, boomed from above them and they both jumped, heads snapping up to the top of the small wooden staircase leading from the platform to the lane. There, scowling heavily, stood a man. Making his way down the steps, his boots made loud banging noises that were not far off the sound of a hammer driving a nail into a coffin. Both children subconsciously took a step back, fear clear on their faces. River clung to him and he wrapped his arms around her in a protective manner. Reaching the bottom of the steps, he scrutinised them for a moment before his eyes flickered to the bundle of papers in his hand. When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff.
"You're the Tams then?"