DISCLAIMER: Firefly, Serenity and all characters, terminology, places and names used within those works and all subsequent licensed works are copyright Joss Whedon, Tim Minear, Fox, Universal and affiliates. Don't sue me.

… And Out Come the Wolves

Chapter 3
Dead Hearts

The cargo door to Serenity seemed to open at a snail's pace amidst the chaos Malcolm Reynolds was so desperately trying to escape. This hadn't gone right. The gunfire had been foreseen, even planned. But this was getting out of hand and Mal was getting a mite sick of things getting out of hand.

His temper immediately flared at the sight of Dr. Tam just standing on the stairs to the cargo bay with a dumb look on his face. "Get him to the infirmary, now!" He spat his words as he pointed down at the limp and bleeding body being dragged by Jayne.

"Sir!" It was the first time in more years than he could remember that Zoe's raised voice held that kind of anger in it.

"Doesn't matter. Gorram go se doesn't matter. His coat is still brown."

Simon's eyes widened exponentially once he saw the amount of red staining the ground behind Jayne. The weight of the situation sinking in, shocked, stupified Simon faded and Dr. Tam took over. Running to help Jayne with the boy, he quickly tallied the state of the infirmary in his head. "Kaylee! Go help Wash off the exam table and into a wheelchair. I need to clear path for Jude."

He did his best to assess the situation as they made the seemingly endless journey to where he could properly work. He saw one bullet wound through the shoulder. It seemed somewhat clean and, though it bled, could not possibly be responsible for the mess they left behind.

He and Jayne rounded the corner just in time to see Kaylee gently lower Wash into his chair. As Jayne hoisted the injured man onto the table, Simon spotted the second bullet hole. It was an entry wound in the side of the thigh. After a quick search, Simon dreadfully noted the lack of an exit. Adding this to the amount of blood spilt most likely meant that the bullet hit and was still lodged in an artery. In his professional medical opinion, this was bad.

"Kaylee, go get Mal."

Kaylee nearly ran into the Captain in her rush, not realizing he was already outside the door. "I'm right here."

In a moment of desperation, Simon looked at Mal, wide eyed. The moment passed quickly though as the touch of latex covered his hands, forcing his mind back to his duty. "We need to stop as soon as possible and bring him to a professional medical facility. He needs a blood transfusion."

Mal stared hard at the serene face of the unconscious Jude. "Can't. Do what you can to patch him up, but that's all we're givin' him."

"Cap'n!" Kaylee shouted, eyes wide

Shocked at the level of disregard for human life, even coming from Mal, Simon allowed a bit of edge in voice as his deft hands paused their meticulous tasks. "You can't be serious, Mal! Doing what I can will not give this man back the blood he lost. There's a chance he'll - -"

Mal's voice grew cold as his eyes darted away from Jude. "That's a chance we'll have to take."

"Sir!" Wash cut in, his grogginess chased by the weight of the situation. "We're no more than a few hours out of Dyton. They might have something capable of helping."

"That's not likely. And this ain't no discussion. Doc, patch him up best you can. Everyone else out." Mal punctuated his command with a hard point to the door. He turned and eyed Simon. "And when you're done, dope him and lock the door." Mal quickly turned and exited the room, leaving no time for further disagreements.

Wash quickly, or rather as quickly as he could manage, wheeled after him. "Mal, I know this kid might be a problem but don't you think - -"

"What I think, Wash, is –" Mal cut himself off as he turned. Seeing his pilot confined to a wheelchair was a hard thing for the Captain. He only had time for a few seconds of 'it shoulda been me's before he continued, his tone a little more level. "I just don't want that kid wakin' up and thinkin' that we're the ones that put him in like that, not the one's helpin'. Now, you know as well as I do Doc ain't no slouch. He'll keep him alive 'til we can get back to Paquin and leave him with them that's responsible for him. That's all the kindness I can spare at the moment."


"You're getting good at the quick getaways, lil albatross."

She felt his presence and voice more than heard it. There was so much anger – so much red – on him when he had first returned to Serenity today. It wasn't gone, but hidden and hidden well. Mal made sure to guard his thoughts around her and a part of her screamed resentment. She didn't like that part.

"Have to." River rotated, legs tucked under her body as she sat in Wash's chair, to face Mal. "It's the only kind I get to practice."

"Seems so. You did good, but I want you in your bunk. Get some rest." His voice was soft but firm. River could recognize the different between a suggestion and an order, no matter how politely put. She could tell that this distinction was where much of the red had come from – everyone always argued and didn't understand how to use ears instead of mouths.

"Yes, Captain." With inhuman grace she was almost instantly on her feet, her combat boots inexplicably left behind, her craving for Serenity beneath her feet too strong to resist.

Mal quirked an eyebrow as he sat, mumbling to himself. "How is it the teenager is the only one that ever listens to me? Shouldn't she be all… rebellious?"

The Captain sighed and reached for the keyboard, bringing up the wave he had secretly saved earlier that day. He looked again with disbelief at the name that sent it. Lloyd Garrison. He had heard the rumors of the old man still kicking somewhere in the 'Verse, but never really believed them. Suppose he should be getting used to finding his thoughts on beliefs proved wrong.

His hand, not shaking, Mal was very proud to say, reached out to resume the wave. A face, old and withered from stress, surely, much more than age, materialized on it. The concern permanently etched on the older man's face faded as recognition sunk in.

"Malcolm Reynold!"

"General." Mal greeted the man with a nod.

"The war's over, Mal. It's just Lloyd. On a rare occasion it's Mr. Garrison, but this isn't one of those occasions."

"Yeah, it said Lloyd on your wave. No more William?" Despite the forced informal language, something in Mal's voice and demeanor still screamed soldier.

"After the war the middle name just seemed more functional. Hard for General William Garrison to find work. Much easier for Mr. Lloyd."

Mal, when question, had told himself, his crew, Alliance officials, INTERPOL and countless strangers that the war was over. He was Captain, not Sargent. Zoe was First Mate, not Corporal. In 7 years, he had thought he had finally, truly convinced himself. Both those familiar lines in that leather hard skin – that voice and the memories of shouted commands that came with it – it all had his trigger finger itching to shed some Purple blood.

"Mal, I have a job for you…"


Mal looked out at his crew gathered in front of him and was suddenly taken back to those awful days stuck on Serenity Valley, looking over what was left of his ragged troops and meager supplies, assessing what his manpower could handle.

"We've got a bit of an obstacle to tackle. We just got waved for a job. It's decent pay, but more importantly it's to an old friend."

"What do your old friends have to do with this crew?" Jayne cut in.

Mal sighed, but set his features. "My old friends mean it's a job he specifically wants us to handle. Decent pay and a guarantee that we won't have any other crews meddlin' with our affairs. Far as I'm concerned – and I am the Captain if that still counts for a gorram thing around here – that's enough motivation, friend or no. But there's a catch."

Jayne got up and walked to the counter, aiming to refill his drink. "Well there's a shock."

Mal glared hard at the mercenary's back before continuing. "As I was saying, there's a catch. The job requires a two man team - a pilot, which we got a couple of, so that's no problem. The second needs a proficiency with computers that I haven't ever noticed any of us possessing –" The captain paused with an apologetic look to Kaylee who considered herself one of Serenity's computer people. "We need to get our hands on a bonafide hacker."

"Wash." Everyone's eyes made their way to Simon as he spoke up. "What about our patient?"

"Right…" the injured pilot's voice trailed off as he internally cursed Simon for putting him on the spot. "This may not be what you want to hear right now, Mal," Wash cautiously surveyed his Captain as he spoke. Like walking a minefield. "I got a chance to talk to that kid. He sounds like he'd be perfect."

"Kid? What kid?" Mal cried sharply.

"I believe he's referring to the young man we've left doped and bleeding to death in our infirmary, Captain." Simon spoke with an icy sarcasm far too similar to that of Inara for Mal's taste. As if the conversation alone wasn't enough, the memory only added fuel to the fire.

"Him?" Mal asked, nearly screaming. His indignation sent his fists pounding down upon the table. "No. Not at all. Not now. Not ever."

"Why not, Cap'n? He seems nice enough and he's been so helpful and all. An' ain't he a war buddy?" Kaylee's puppy dog eyes searched out Simon, looking for back up.

A hand from Mal stayed Simon, as he stared down his mechanic. "And you hit the problem on the nose, lil' Kaylee."

"I thought we liked war buddies?" Simon managed to butt in.

"He's a blackheart." Zoe's simple, matter-of-fact if not cryptic response cut the arguments short for a moment.

After letting a moment of uncomfortable silence pass, Jayne loudly let his body fall to the chair at the opposite end of the table from Mal. "A blackheart? What's a gorram blackheart? Sounds like some go se fairytale monster."

Mal paced, hand lifted to his chin, his opposing arm folded across his chest. "A cheesy, cliché, storybook nickname for something that should never curse the pages of a storybook." He cast a sidelong glance at Zoe. In their silent language, he let her know he was too flustered and exhausted to relay the story this time around. She obliged.

"When the war was over, lying there in Serenity Valley, we waited near a week for an Alliance rescue ship to pick us up. Our small platoon and a few others scattered about. We were still semi-organized and easy to find," She paused, her eyes turning a shade darker at the memory. "But we weren't the only ones left. In war, people get separated, cut off from the group. In the more sizable battles, like the one at Serenity, some end up getting mixed in with the rubble and corpses. Usually, search teams are deployed to find any survivors in like situations."

Mal stopped mid-stride, letting his eyes survey his audience, making sure he had their attention. "Which the Alliance didn't feel terribly inclined to spare. Some made themselves known, left that Hell no more than a few days after us. A little disturbed, but nothing a good meal and a lifetime of sorrow couldn't cure. Some… Some weren't so lucky."

"Some of them stayed there for weeks," Zoe continued. "Some of them months. Things like that you don't just…" her voice cut out suddenly. Like a soldier, she swallowed the emotion as soon as appeared. It was fast enough to make the crew wonder if they had imagined it. "The Alliance, in an attempt to save face, awarded those that got left the Gold Heart Medal. 'To commemorate the strength of will it took to survive such impossible odds.' It was this little, black, heart shaped pin with gold trimming."

Mal stood at the head of the table, bent slightly, supporting himself on the surface he faced. "As we know, in the Alliance anything you've ever done shows up on their fancy little I.D. screens, including any war medals you might've gotten. They were just tagging those poor boys so the whole 'verse would know how unstable and how much of a threat they were."

"An the last ruttin' thing this boat needs is another gorram fugee." Jayne punctuated his point with a smack to the table.

"Jayne! Cap'n! Don't you think you're –"

Kaylee was cut off by Mal, his stare trained sharply on her. "It ain't something I'm interested in discussing, Kaylee. Alliance labeling or no, he is a threat. We brought him back aboard. Simon did what he could to keep him from dying on our boat. That's more than any sane crew would've done for someone like that. Crazy or no, still a Browncoat. But he ain't right in the head – no man could be after what he's been through. It's a shame, I know it, but the man's like to be less stable in the brainpan than River."

"Less stable, and stronger." Zoe quickly cut in, sensing the rising uneasiness in the room. "With as much military training as she does and the experience of the Captain to back it up."

Mal's arms folded as control returned to his voice. "Most likely a proficiency with firearms to rival Jayne, based on the hints the cortex had to spare."

Jayne shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Now that's downright unsettlin'."

A/N: Free hug and cookie for anyone who knows who William Lloyd Garrison is. And respect to everyone who laughed at the Mr. Garrison reference. Hopefully this is an improvement from the last chapter. I'd tell you to review, but I imagine since every fic on this sit commands a review, it won't do any good. Although, I suppose me just saying all that still counts as me telling you to review. So review.