A little rewrite of Serenity here, for fun. Enjoy!


Becky turns round and round, admiring the view. Bright, sun-warmed prairie, soft winds. Very pastoral.

There's a crashing sound nearby; a shadowy figure charges through the brush, straight towards her. She yelps, barely skipping out of his way, one misstep sending her tumbling, hitting the bottom of the slope in a heap, the world going dark.

(If you pass out in a dream, do you just wake up?)


"Miss? You all right?" A tall man stands silhouetted against the azure, cloudless sky as she comes to.

"Wha...What happened?"

"Looks like you took quite a tumble. Need some help?"

"I'm fine, I think. I just need to-" She attempts to raise herself, but soon collapses with a groan.

"Hold on now. Let me see if anything's broken first." He kneels, gently touches her head. "Don't look like you have a concussion to me, but couldn't hurt to have the doctor in town check things out. Think you can stand?"

He carefully helps her up and she finally gets a good look at her rescuer.

It's her uncle, but the way he's playing up that pretend cowboy accent - and such a silly mustache!

Becky giggles, a little giddily. Then the world seems to tilt under her feet and she staggers. "Whoa..."

He quickly wraps an arm around her shoulders in support. "Easy, little lady. I got you. Let's get you outta here, what do you say?"

Puzzled but trusting, she nods.

He helps her into the wagon, then retrieves two objects on the ground, a hatbox and a valise. "Found these nearby. Yours, I take it?"

Wordlessly, she accepts them. He climbs in beside her and flicks the reins at the horses. The wagon lurches forward.

"Where am I?"

"A few miles outside Serenity."

"Where's that?"

"Montana Territory."

"What year is it?"

"1865." His brow furrows. "You sure you're all right, miss? Brain must've got a mite rattled during the fall."

"Maybe it did. Some dream, huh Unc?"

Another odd look. "Afraid you have me confused with someone else. I'm nobody's uncle, can't lay claim to any family. Just another drifter."

"Sorry. My mistake." Okay, that settles it; she's definitely having a nightmare. Any reality where her uncle doesn't know her has to be.

Well, that's not so bad, if she knows she's having one...all she has to do is wake up, right?

Wake up, Becky.

Wake up.


Becky stares at the hatbox at her feet as the wagon rolls along towards town.

There are other features of the environment that fill in slowly- the dusty, cream-coloured road in front of her, the homely stink of horse droppings and horse sweat, the jolting and creaking of the wagon- but it's the hatbox that attracts her attention first and foremost.

Because, for something that doesn't exist, it's an awfully vivid object. Usually she doesn't notice this kind of thing in dreams- floating around, or falling if it's a nightmare- but this seems surprisingly concrete. The faint but clearly stenciled flowers that decorate the rim, its faded, dust-caked pastel green colouring- all of it, as she stares at the thing, touches its tough reinforced outlines, only seems more real as she examines it.

This is one weird dream for her subconscious to be working up. Almost absurdly detailed. The hatbox's sharp edge keeps cutting into her legs.

Hmm. Maybe it's his dream, instead of hers. No way she'd imagine being in the Old West on her own, after all...maybe the best thing to do is just play along, at least until she can figure out what's going on.

"So, you live around here?" she ventures.

"Got a ranch nearby. On my way to get supplies in town when I came upon you. How about you?"

"Just looking for someplace to fit in. My family's dead, so I'm hoping for a fresh start. Second chances, and all that. The West seems as good a place as any to find it."

"Know what you mean. Saw the name on a map, sounded like the perfect place to settle down, after the war."

The Civil War, right. "You fought on the Union side?"

"Sure did. First under General Sherman, then 9th Calvary, in Texas. But that's all over now. I'm done with fightin', done with carrying a gun. Just want to live on my land in peace."

Yep. Definitely her uncle. No guns.

Thank god.


Finally, they arrive in Serenity. Looks like any other small, unassuming Western town from the movies. (Or is this just what she expects to see? After all, he's the one who's actually visited the real thing; maybe it looks different to him.)

"Here you are," her rescuer says, pulling the wagon to a halt outside the doctor's office. "I'm sure he'll check you out."

"Thank you for helping me," she replies as he helps her down. "I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Didn't catch your name earlier, though."

"It's Becky. Becky Grahme."

"Mine's MacGyver. Pleasure makin' your acquaintance, little lady." Brown eyes twinkle above the bushy mustache. "Sorry I can't help you further, but I've business to attend to." Nods and touches the brim of his hat, then drives the horses towards a gaily painted saloon.

Becky watches until he's out of sight, and even then finds herself lingering on the doctor's porch. It's not like she took much of a tumble, after all; nothing worse than the kind that her unc just brushes off and laughs at. Anyway, one look through the binds puts her off. The figure guzzling down whiskey probably wouldn't do her much good anyway.

Instead, she has a quick reccy about the place (it's not quite a one-horse town, but they don't have much besides the horses), then heads to the saloon. Mac's chatting with Jack and Penny, respectively a gambler and a dance-hall girl. Briefly she wonders what she would've been typecast as in her uncle's dream if she wasn't lucid. A schoolteacher, perhaps?

This is turning out to be an interesting dream.

Also potentially dangerous, she notes, observing the clear signs of a saloon punch-up from the not-too-distant-past. Better keep a close eye on her uncle as much as possible- if he doesn't believe they're family, well...

She'll just have to convince him they belong together anyway.

He greets her with a friendly nod. "Everything all right?"

"Fine as I'll ever be," Becky assures him. (Dream Unc would probably think she's bonkers for believing in planes and trains and motor cars.) "Suppose I'd better get on with hunting down a job."

"Oh," Penny says sympathetically. "You poor thing. Just like me, aren't you! Came out here on your last dollar, looking to start a new life?"

"Uh...uh-huh. Something like that." It's cute how their friends are looking after them, even in dreamland. Like Jack backing up MacGyver against those rotten troublemakers.

(How does she know that happened? She wasn't even here.)

"It's just too bad the saloon doesn't need anybody else right now- say," Penny says. "Jack, you only owned that ranch all of three days, you couldn't have hired anybody new for it. I'm sure the place could use a good hired girl, to give it a woman's touch."

"The lady has a point," Jack drawls. "And if I had a fixed abode, I'd certainly think twice about letting a gem like you slip through my fingers."

He winks at her. Becky shakes her head and he desists.

MacGyver considers. "Ranching's hard work. You'll find me a fair boss, but there's no denying you'd have an easier life here in town. Think you're up to it?"

"I think you'll find I can do anything if I put my mind to it. And I'm still looking for that second chance, if you'll have me."

A slow smile. "Reckon I will, then."


Not quite to Becky's surprise, Big Springs Ranch turns out to be a familiar place too. It's a cute little Canadian property, that her uncle had talked himself out of buying years back. When her family was still alive; she remembers him and her mother chatting about it one Thanksgiving, while she'd played with the Kodak snapshots. What it's doing in Montana...well, dream logic, again. MacGyver's never been that comfortable about the idea of owning land in real life.

Everybody's fled except for two hired men. Lee Sing and Billy Colton...yup, she knows them too, and has to pretend she doesn't. Both are as nice as she remembers, if a bit nervous.

They're an odd group to be sure, but not a bad combination for their circumstances. Together the four of them work hard to make the ranch- if not a success, then at least something feasible. Her unc pushes himself harder than any of them, but none of them are exactly lazing. Their daily routine includes waking up at dawn, for a start.

(She stays five extra minutes in bed anyway. For the culture shock.)


So near, yet so far away.

That's how it feels in the evenings, watching her uncle sitting on the opposite end of the hearth from her, whittling at a piece of wood and staring into the fire. Who still shows no sign of recognition, doesn't even recall they're related.

It's frustrating, not being able to get close enough to touch him, calm him when he cries out at night (nightmares about the war, no doubt). To cuddle, reassure herself as much as him that they're both loved, needed, cared for.

But she's only the hired girl and he's her boss. He's kind to her but in a distant fashion, nothing familiar. He seems content with his life. Happy, even.

Becky's not.

Involuntary eavesdropping on his dream makes her scared, even homesick in a strange sort of way.

If she can't help him, why is she even here?


"Some people," Becky mutters to herself; as has become her early morning mantra. "Some people, if they're having a dream about the old West, would make it be all about fun. And excitement. Gunfights, even. Or anything at all, besides the actual farming!"

But trust her uncle to be pedantic about every little detail.

Okay, so she gets enough time to sleep (very welcome, if at entirely the wrong times for her night-owl proclivities), and Sundays to do as she likes (which is considered a trifle scandalous, about town). That is, once she's got the milking done, and helped Lee cook the meals, and stitched up whoever's clothing has torn this week- since none of the boys can sew for anything. Except her uncle, of course, but he's perpetually running his tail off chasing after cows. Herds of cows. Galaxies of cows.

If she ever gets back to LA, she never, ever wants to see a cow again. Maybe not even hamburgers.

No wonder Uncle Mac's a vegetarian.


She's glad for the odd holiday in town, not least to talk and sew with Penny. (Six days out of seven she's the only girl for fifteen miles, and that's just strange). So that always cheers her up. That is, until the day that she sees a family walking together on the opposite side of the street. Not even doing anything special. Just talking to each other.

All of a sudden it's too much to handle. She gives up. Starts bawling, right in front of the saloon.

"Hey now. Hey now, little missy, you're too pretty to cry like that! Come on. What's wrong?"

She looks up; and sees the eyes of her uncle's oldest friend. Jack Dalton.

Maybe it's worth it, confiding in him.

"I miss- back east." West. "My whole family, they died in an accident, except my uncle, and he was trying to take care of me, but- but-"

"Couldn't swing it, huh?" Jack says, softly. "Sent you out here, lamb to the slaughter?"

"I missed them so much, and he was there for me, he really was, but- but-"

"But what?"

This is such nonsense, spilling her heart out to a con man in a dream.

(Maybe it's only because everything is so nonsensical right now, that she can finally bring herself to say it.)

"But he didn't understand!" Becky wails. "He grew up in a family, and everything went right for him, and not for me, and I'm just so jealous!"

Everything she's buried, all her tears and rage for Mom and Dad and Chris, all at once. What she never wanted to say, just how jealous she is of Mac. He had all that, and she lost it, and he's never really understood.

She cries her heart out on Jack Dalton's shoulder. Not quite right, but he's better than nothing.

"Feeling better now?" he asks, when she's past tears and into the inartistic, snotty, hiccuping stage (why, why have Mac's dreams got to be so realistic?)

"Not really. Just sort of...dead and cold and empty inside."

"It passes," Jack says, intently. "I've seen you, struggling with MacGyver to keep the ranch a going concern. You're a fighter. You won't quit."

"How'd you know?"

"I was in the same place as you, once."

Of course. Of course he was.

"Had to deal with it all by myself. Maybe it doesn't seem like it now, but this ranch...it's a good place for you to have ended up."

He cuddles her, a bit, and she feels better. Her uncle would probably think that's terribly forward-

"What are you doing with my hired girl, huh?"

"Gossiping," Jack says as they pull away to face a puzzled Mac. "Nothing to worry about."

"You sure about that? You say the word, Becky, and I'll give him the licking of his life."

Somehow, she's still got it in her to laugh. "No, don't do that! It's fine. We were just- gossiping."

"Didn't look much like gossip to me."

"Just had a little bout of homesickness, that's all. Mr. Dalton was kind enough to offer a shoulder to cry on. I'm feeling better now, really." Pats his arm in reassurance.

"Hmm. Guess I'll take your word for it." He looks unconvinced.

She smiles, seeing how serious he looks. Concerned. Protective, even.

(Of her? There may be a breakthrough yet.)


One day after feeding the chickens, Becky overhears Mac confronting the owner of the neighboring ranch. Who happens to be Pete, and not a nice man in this dream, having designs on the ranch's water rights without room for compromise.

Mac's staring after Thornton and his men as they gallop away. "Everything okay?" she inquires.

He sighs. "I spent five years fighting people who were too stubborn to see reason when it was staring them right in the face. Didn't expect to come across such bullheadedness here."

"Maybe that just comes with being human. All we can do is make the most of what's around us and hope for the best."

He smiles down at her. "You're pretty smart, you know that?"

"I had a good teacher, growing up. My uncle."

"I'm sure you've made him proud." He ruffles her hair affectionately.

"Oh, I hope so," she murmurs once he's gone.

But she worries about what she's seen. Had he and the Phoenix director been arguing much in real life, for Pete to be the antagonist in this dream? It's a distressing thought.

Maybe she's here to resolve whatever has them at odds with each other.


Becky's in town the next day loading supplies for the ranch into the wagon when she spots Thornton and the Bozer brothers gallop down the street, making a beeline for the train station. She follows on foot at a distance, just in time to see a man dressed all in black stepping down off the afternoon train.

He surveys the gathering crowd, a faint smile on his face. It's Murdoc, clear as day.

Townsfolk murmur their distress. The most notorious gunslinger west of the Mississippi. Killed twelve men, not including Indians. Even Marshal Wyatt's scared of him.

This is not a good development. She instinctively knows why he's here. To take out Mac.

Murdoc's bad news. In dreams as well as reality.


Becky returns to the ranch in a hurry. Mac's not around but she warns Lee Sing and Billy, gets them to arm themselves before Murdoc comes calling.

In a misplaced sense of chivalry they shoo her away to hide in the kitchen, just before Murdoc arrives with Thornton and the Bozers.

The confrontation doesn't go well. Murdoc shoots and kills Billy Colton. That decent, sweet, smart young man, who ran away from slavery and educated himself, finding a second chance in Serenity.

(Thornton objects vociferously; he never wanted anyone killed, not really. Just scared off.)

Becky charges from her hiding place, brandishing a heavy frying pan.

"My dear Miss Grahme. Fancy meeting you here."

Murdoc's standing right in her way. She wants to wipe that damnable smug, superior smile off his face.

"How are you enjoying your uncle's fantasy land? Cowboys and Indians, very droll."

"How d'you know I'm really here?"

"One lucid dreamer can always spot another. There are ways of telling. I wonder, though, how are you getting along without any physical affection from him? I imagine it must be quite frustrating, being nearby every day without being able to cuddle." Scorn drips from his voice.

"I'm coping. It's only a dream, anyway. Did you really have to kill Billy?"

"Why not? As you said, it's only a dream. I'm coming for your uncle next, and I take pride in always completing my professional assignments. Even in dreams."

"We'll see about that. I'll fight you every step of the way. You'll never get to my uncle."

"You know, I'd love to see you try. I'm certain I'll find it very entertaining. But not now. Good day, Miss Grahme. Do tell MacGyver I stopped by."

Becky hurries towards Colton's limp body, just as Mac and Jack arrive on their horses.

A sinking feeling forms in the pit of her stomach as everyone takes in the tragedy.

Message received. Murdoc's here, lucid, bound and determined to do her uncle harm.

This is the real reason why she's here. She has to stop him. Somehow.

If you die in a dream, what happens to you in real life?

"You wake up, Beck," she can hear her uncle saying. He'd know better than to worry.

Maybe she shouldn't either, but: two things. If anybody on the planet is capable of hacking somebody else's dreams just to assassinate them in a particularly convoluted and insane fashion, it'd be Murdoc.

And anyway: dream or no dream, no way is she letting her uncle die.


Serenity lives up to its name that afternoon, quiet and peaceful.

But that's only because everyone's hiding, fearing the impending confrontation. Mac, Jack and Pete versus Murdoc and the Bozer brothers.

Mac and the others insist Becky stay behind at the ranch, so as soon as they go she saddles her horse and follows. No one's gonna get between her and Murdoc if she can help it.

While the Bozers are neutralized by Dalton and Thornton, she makes her way to where Mac faces Murdoc, who has Penny in tow as a hostage.

Murdoc pushes Penny away, raises his gun, whips off a careless shot at Mac. Smiles coldly, raises it again for the real thing.

In desperation Becky grabs at a nearby abandoned horseshoe and tosses it (mentally thanking Mac for lessons back at the ranch- and in real life!), hoping to distract Murdoc. The horseshoe strikes him squarely on the back of the head and he crumples.

Penny scurries towards MacGyver, Jack and Pete joining her. Miraculously her uncle's not hurt; the Swiss knife took the bullet for him instead. Thank god.

They help Mac up. Everyone looks in surprise at Murdoc's unconscious form, then over at Becky.

"Thought I told you to stay at the ranch," Mac demands.

She shrugs. "You took me in, saved my life. Thought it was time I returned the favor."

He shakes his head. She wonders if he's going to fire her, then and there.

Instead he smiles. "I couldn't be prouder of you, if you were my own daughter."

"Really?"

His arms reach around her, pulling her close to him. "You bet. Hope you're not thinkin' of leaving anytime soon. Only I've gotten used to having you around."

"Guess I'll stay, then." She smiles, resting against him. Even in a dream it's comforting to hear his heartbeat again.

"Good. What do you say you hold onto this for me, in that case? For safekeeping." He hands her the knife, now with a bullet partially drilled into the wooden handle.

"Hey, what happened to Murdoc?" Penny inquires.

Just like that he's gone, with only the sound of galloping hoof beats to mark his disappearance: Ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk...


The kitchen faucet downstairs is going ka-thunk, ka-thunk. Something wrong with the plumbing again; one of these days Unc needs to take apart the pipes under the sink...

Becky opens her eyes. She's back in her bedroom again, back in the 20th century.

Well, that's a relief.

She hears voices, hurries downstairs. Mac's still resting on the couch, Pete's holding a glass of water.

"Hi, guys. Everything okay?"

"Better now," Mac says, smiling. "Sorry for yelling at you earlier, Pete."

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have piled so much work on you like that. I was out of line."

"Don't worry about it, Pete. We got no problems. Really. We're friends."

"Glad to hear it, Mac."

Becky sighs in relief. At least something good came out of that dream.

"But let me tell you guys, I think I just had the weirdest dream in my life. You were there, Pete, and Murdoc and Jack and Penny and even Billy. You were there too, Becky."

"Really?" she asks innocently.

"Yeah, even though we didn't seem to be related to each other." He shakes his head. "I'm talkin' weird. More vivid than anything I've ever had before. Like I was really there or something."

"Maybe you oughta stop watching all those Westerns for a while, Unc."

"Guess so. It was also kinda fun, now I think about it. But pretty strange, all the same."

Unc's right. What a weird dream. No way it could've possibly been real.

Becky feels something in her pocket, takes it out. It's the wooden Swiss knife. Complete with bullet hole.

But it was only a dream. Wasn't it?

Clearly not, if this is any kind of evidence. Which brings up another disturbing thought. Was Murdoc real as well?

If he was, then so's the threat to her uncle.

She'll just have to be ready next time the assassin shows up. Because no way is she letting her uncle die, in dreams as well as reality. They're family. They look after each other. Simple as that.

Even- no, especially- in dreams.