The Hole in the 'verse

An alternative Firefly story

Rating: PG-13 for now, for violence and mild cursing

Summary: An AU fic that starts right at the end of the BDM. Serenity and her crew are learning to cope, and still flying, but it's getting harder all the time.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Perhaps the idea of a futuristic prosthetic arm which really isn't much because I don't know how to make it. Oh well.

Author's Notes: Some major revampage of earlier chapters to keep everything up to snuff. I promise not to fix any more earlier chapters for a whole section. And sorry about the lateness of this one too. Honour Roll coming.

The Book of Mal

part 3

Serenity swooped skillfully through the air and landed on the assigned pad with ease. Little River was getting better at piloting all the time, no doubt due to some of the knowledge picked up from Wash or Mal. The captain left the bridge in time to see Zoë hand Wash off to Inara. He descended the stairs slowly, carefully, so as not to terribly disturb anyone.

Inara had been waiting in the bay when Wash shuffled out of the infirmary with Zoë at his side. He looked grey, even in his loud Hawaiian shirt. Mal watched Inara tuck Wash's armless side close to her own.

"We won't be taking the Mule?" Inara appealed to him.

He shook his head. "Transport ain't too far from here."

"Why didn't we take my shuttle in and save you from the possibility of getting caught by Alliance?" she asked.

"We like the sights," Mal smiled wearily. She didn't try to argue with him. She just hugged Wash tighter and began to walk with him out of the bay.

"Don't fall for her feminine wiles, honey," Zoë called, trying one last time to cheer him up.

"But she's a real live Companion, I can't pass that up." Wash sent a weak smile back over his shoulder before continuing with Inara. To the eye that wasn't looking hard, it just looked like they were very friendly lovers, not that one was hiding the other's lack of an appendage.

"Mal, I ain't innerested in just sittin' around, waitin' fer them to come back," Jayne muttered. He had emerged from the depths of Serenity not to see the two off, but to try to find something to do.

"We ain't just sittin'," Mal answered. "They're gettin' looked after; we're tryin' to rebuild our funds."

"What?" Jayne blinked.

"We've got a job. Found a client wants classified cargo sent to Persephone. We'll pick up it up while Wash 'n Inara are out. Drop it off when they get back. Nothin' too hard or too boring. We're meeting the buyers now. Suit up, we're taking the Mule."

Mal, Zoë, and Jayne left to get the cargo under the clear specifications that Kaylee was in charge and Simon was not to let his sister leave the ship. Kaylee looked less than thrilled about the appointment to leadership, but only to people who knew how to read below her cheerful exterior. Simon didn't have much to say either way, not being entirely thrilled with anything this past week. It didn't stop the three from leaving, but it sure made them want to hurry through their errand a bit quicker.

"They're going to come back happy. Jingling their pockets, everything perfect. Things are smiling. Then, find out their crates aren't crates but cages full of darkness and anger and disease. They'll be unhappy. Divided. Factions. Everyone against one and things will be compromised. This is bad," River murmured. She was on the catwalk, lying on her stomach above the cargo bay. Simon glanced up and motioned for her to come back down.

"River, please try not to be up there. You could fall, and then where would I be?"

"Right where I left you. If I leave, you will be lost, but you will be exactly where you are meant to be."

"River, do you want to play a game?" Kaylee asked softly. Simon was so high strung; he didn't need his sister to aggravate the condition.

"Games are arbitrary. Keep children at bay with pretty baubles and mindless activities. Keep them quiet before you snap. I will play."

"C'mon, River, let's leave your brother alone," Kaylee motioned. River pushed herself upright, like a cat, even going as far as stretching out her spine. She did a handstand on the railing, before jumping off and landing lightly on the metal floor twenty feet below. Her bare feet didn't make much of a noise at all.

Simon looked pained at the sight, but said nothing.

"You can't lose me that easily," River smiled at her brother. "I am a stone."

Simon tried hard not to wince at the memory: his sister bathed in too-white light murmuring and crying, wishing God would make her a stone. If he could have, he would have made it so that Miranda had never existed. "Meimei, please play with Kaylee for a bit. I have some things I have to work out."

"I know it hurts you, but you have to be strong. Flexible." River she smiled bravely and hugged her forlorn brother. "Serenity will fly as long as there is love. I love you, big brother." With that, she scampered away, tugging on Kaylee's hand.

Simon felt his chest ache. River, the smartest and the weakest of them all had to be strong for everyone, even her brother. The Alliance had stolen her childhood and now that innocence was just beginning to show through the surface again. That sort of bliss was much needed, but shouldn't have been necessary. Not from a seventeen year-old girl who only a week ago had held the horrifying secrets of a dead planet. They were asking too much of her. Simon was asking too much of her.

He was asking too much of everybody.

Simon knew he was better off leaving Serenity, but River would never go for it. She loved her home, her family. She would want him to stay, which was more than Simon wanted to give. His heart was a black hole that everything rocketed towards and got stopped, trapped. It hurt, collecting all that emotional debris. It wasn't healthy, his doctor rationale said. He had to leave for a while and forget the potential consequences. River would be okay, Simon just had to clear his head for a bit. Maybe she wouldn't even know that he had left.

But his sister always knew.

"This is my husband, Bennet Arliss and my name is Lena. We scheduled an appointment two days ago," Inara said calmly. She knew her lines well, having rehearsed them in her shuttle before they landed on Osiris. Wash wasn't much help, but she didn't hold him to it.

"Mhmm…Arliss….Arliss, Bennet, prosthetic attachment?" the receptionist asked, watching the screen.

"Yes. We're here on schedule. How long will we have to wait?"

"A few minutes for the doctors to prep the OR. The procedure won't take long at all. The receptionist glanced up to give a reassuring smile. Wash—Bennet—tensed even further.

"Ta shi xian ran di ma? Ta kan wei zao pin ma?" he mumbled. (Is it obvious? Does it look fake?)

"No, not at all. Technology is very proficient at making things look natural these days," she said firmly.

"G-good. I'm glad. Happy even."

"Come, husband, let's sit and wait," Inara said gently. She touched his elbow, guiding him away from the desk, as he was seemingly unable to do it himself. They sat together in a remote corner of the room, and even that didn't make Wash feel any more at ease. Several minutes of uncomfortable silence, and Inara could no longer take it.

"Are you going to be alright?" she whispered.

"You know what? I don't know. I have no idea. I don't even really want this operation," Wash muttered.

"Then why are you going through with it?" Inara was puzzled. She'd been under the impression that Wash had agreed with everything. Though looking back, Mal had been known to lie before.

"Because. Because it'll be ungrateful if we waste all this money for no reason. Because I need it to fly. Because I don't want to be anywhere but Serenity. Because I love my wife." The more reasons he came up with, the smaller his voice got. "I can't not have this operation. It's not an option."

"W-Ben…anything is an option. You can still say no."

"No I can't. Not now. We're here and…I'm gonna do it."

"Bennet Arliss?" the nurse called. Only Inara heard Wash gulp.

"Don't do this if you don't want to," she said urgently.

"I have to." He got up, finally ready for whatever lay beyond. Inara followed him, intent of trying to talk him out of it. She'd never seen such raw fear and discomfort in Wash before and it was unsettling.

"Bennet—"

"I've got it…Lena…I promise," Wash answered. His step was lengthening, his shoulders snapping upright. Resilient Wash at his best.

"Would you like to stay with your husband before he is put under?" the nurse asked politely of Inara.

"I don't know—" Inara shook her head.

"Sure she does," Wash answered for her. He looked back over his shoulder, gesturing with his head. Inara wasn't quite sure if it was a clever ploy at looking like husband and wife, or if he really did want her there. She couldn't ask him yet, and neither did she think she ever would. Some things didn't want clarification.

It didn't take long for Wash to disrobe when they arrived at the receiving room. The nurse had left so that Wash wouldn't have to feel awkward undressing, though even that gesture didn't help much. He still looked uncomfortable wearing nothing but the hospital gown, and Inara didn't think it was entirely from the pending procedure. Something about wearing hospital gowns was almost more indecent than the initial nakedness, and the sleeve hanging limply by Wash's side was more telling than they both cared for.

"It doesn't hurt, you know. Not really," Wash offered. His voice barely crossed the two feet of air between them. "It's just…I miss it."

"You have every right to miss it," Inara said firmly.

"But I can't afford to. That's the problem. So…in a while…it'll be done and I can fly again. I won't have to miss it." He glanced at the stump that had once been an arm. Inara could only guess what it was like, but she imagined it must be akin to a lost tooth—constantly reminded of its absence, though you could pretend that it still existed for a little while anyway. Then you try to chew a piece of food and it fails you. You want to shake a hand or hug your spouse and you can see yourself doing it, but it simply isn't happening. Wash was lying; it must still have hurt him more than he cared to say.

"Wash…"

"You aren't going to talk me out of this, Inara. I'm committed. I'm like a guy who's…committed. I'm a big, strong man. I got tortured by Niska; I can live through anything, now." His smile was sad.

"You shouldn't be trying to cheer me up," Inara admitted.

"It's not for you," Wash sighed.

"Why don't you just say no then?"

"Have you not been listening these past few minutes?" His expression was small, hurt.

"Then what's so wrong?"

Wash didn't answer immediately. Inara doubted that he even knew. "Mal saved me twice now. I…I'm pretty sure I would not be around talking to you if he hadn't told me to follow him. He kept me awake while Niska fried us into crispy fritters. Now he's giving me an arm. I…I feel so damn needy. I mean, my wife can beat me up; isn't that a bad thing?"

"Mr. Arliss, are you ready?" The nurse was back, but she looked serene, able to wait if they needed another minute.

Wash nodded slightly. "I'm ready."

"Follow me, please." She waved them out towards the hallway, Inara following Wash closely, but slightly behind him. He was rigid and proud, no longer afraid of hiding the empty sleeve. Inara wasn't sure whether she should have pitied him, or felt honoured to watch him be brave. His wife would have been proud. Inara merely tried not to let her throat close up painfully.

"Onto the table, sir, thank you." They were in a relatively open room with plain white walls and fine white lights clustered about the ceiling. In the middle of the room was a whitewashed table adourned with off-white restraints. Probably so they can see them easier and get to them if they need to. Inara thought. She immediately banished the morbid thought though, as Wash looked almost piteously at the table, wondering how he was going to hop up. Inara motioned for him to turn around and helped him by supporting his torso and back. He looked grateful, if a bit embarrassed.

"The anaesthesia works quickly. You will be under in a few seconds," a doctor piped up. He had the mask ready and everything.

Wash looked at Inara. "Don't tell 'em about my crazy secret life, alright?"

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Promise?"

Inara tried to smile, and failed miserably. "Promise."

"All right Mr. Arliss, you won't feel a thing. You'll be up and about in two hours flat. Count back from ten, please…"

As Wash's eyes fluttered closed, Inara felt her heart break.

"You are a part of this world? Aren't you?" the businessman asked snidely.

"No, not really, no. We're just respectable tradesmen, nothing more," Mal answered. The proper dialect was hell in his mouth, but he managed. It was more acceptable than the stiff and unflattering clothes he, Zoë, and Jayne were sporting.

"And you aren't in trouble with the law?"

"No, sir."

The man gave them all a long look. "All right then. Follow me, I'll take you to the cargo. It'll take a few trips, even on your craft."

"We'll manage, sir."

"You aren't curious of the goods at all?" the man asked.

"No, sir. It isn't our business to ask questions."

"Good man. Lord Shuffleton on Persephone will be your contact. You'll land at dock 20, unload the crates and receive the rest of your payment then. Half now, half upon arrival." A sack of credits was produced and dropped into Mal's hand.

"Thank you, sir. We work quick. Ly." Mal gave himself a mental smack on the head for the small slip up.

"I trust you do. I needn't stress the importance of getting the cargo to its intended place, correct?"

"No, sir."

"Good man."

The last of the three crates were settled on Serenity when Wash and Inara returned two hours later. Zoë jogged over to meet them, much to Wash's embarrassment. His new, darker mood was defined by the new, darker, long-sleeved jacket that covered up the bright shirt beneath. Nobody was sure who had bought it—Wash or Inara—but nobody felt right in commenting on it immediately.

"Husband, you're okay?" Zoë asked.

"Well…yeah. Fine even. Shiny," he smiled shyly.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were still drugged," she smirked.

"Uh…maybe. Sure, why not? There's a distinct possibility."

"How'd everything go?" Mal whispered to Inara.

"Well enough. The papers were all right, credentials fine. He was in and out very quickly. They barely looked at him," she said softly. On the one hand, it was a good thing that they hadn't really noticed him, but on the other, it sure put the fine, young, educated doctors in a bad light. Inara's voice reflected that.

"So he's got a…" Mal wriggled his shoulder to clarify what he wouldn't say.

"Yes. It's functioning and in a matter of days, he should be used to it. That's what the doctor said anyway."

"Good. He should be able to pilot in a week or so."

"And that was your brilliant plan to save Wash from himself."

"Indeed it was. I even had the little light bulb and everythin'."

"Mal, I was under the impression that Wash wanted to do the procedure." Inara turned to him, her eyebrows drawn close in a scowl.

"He did. I gave him two options, he picked that one."

"You bullied him into it."

"Relative term. I did no bullying."

"He was afraid, Mal."

"Who in their right mind wouldn't be? Them hospitals is crawlin' with Alliance."

"He was afraid of the procedure, and don't change the subject."

"I wasn't!" Mal glanced at Inara, his own face reflecting great puzzlement. He'd thought everything had been shiny when they left, what'd gone wrong? Inara, however, seemed to take pity on him and changed the subject herself.

"How are we going to pay this off, Mal?"

"Well…" Mal tried to roll with the conversation, "I got some thrillin' crime lined up. We're headin' to Persephone next. Don't much matter where we go after that."

"I thought you swore off Persephone," she asked.

"Nah, just your high-strung fancy parties 'n stuff. Too rough for poor little me."

"I'm going to assume that you needed the Mule to acquire the cargo we are taking to Persephone in our high class heist, and that this scandal is completely without complications," she said dryly.

"There's a distinct possibility."

Before Inara could throw another barb his way, Zoë's voice carried throughout the bay. "Well, husband, am I going to have to wait until tonight to see it or are you going to take pity on your poor wife and show me now?"

"Well, y'know under the circumstances I'd have to turn you down because I am….modest! Yes, I am modest and I shouldn't be showing it to many people outside my bunk," Wash babbled. He stumbled against Zoë's side, his footsteps extremely uneven. Jayne snickered from his perch on one of the boxes, polishing a gun with a corner of his shirt.

"I dunno, I think I'd rather like to see it," the mercenary remarked slyly. There was a rough silence accompanied by plenty of confused blinking until Jayne cocked his head. "What? I ain't a girl. I got man parts."

"A point on which we are all keenly aware," Mal rolled his eyes.

"Very keenly," Wash added.

"That said, we're all going to Persephone. We'll be there in a day or two. Soon as we warm up, we're ditchin' atmo. Where's the lil albatross?" Mal asked.

"What, Captain, I get all prettied up for you and now you won't let me fly?" Wash frowned.

"You're still drugged, Wash, I ain't lettin' you crash my ship."

Wash snorted. Zoë hugged him tight with a grin on her face. "I think we're going to be in our bunk."

"Y'know what, I think I like that suggestion better," Wash nodded happily. Mal smiled tightly as his second-in-command led his pilot up to the cabins.

"I'm gonna find River and we're gonna leave soon. The rest of you can all…go…do whatever it is you do on long, tirin' space voyages."

Chinese:

Ta shi xian ran di ma? Ta kan wei zao pin ma: Is it obvious? Does it look fake?

Honour Roll: the prodigal chicken: It might be a good investment to start a "Save the Wash" Foundation. Poor guy needs a hug. Stormkpr: Wash may live, but it's questionable as to whether or not he's thanking me right now. Culf: Updated. Lynx Ryder: You know…this fic writes itself. I wish some other unmentionable fics would do the same, don't you? –innocent grin- Merrie: I would do more of my other fics first, but this one's almost done! Well, not posted, but almost completely written. That's a first, you know. Disappearing1: Pretzels is good. Writing believable characters is gooder. Thanks for the nudge, by the by.