Chapter Seven
That Had to Hurt
"Kaylee, you keep watch, good like. Don't want none interuptin' us, dong ma?" Mal tried hard to keep his voice steady, and to hide the disgust and nausea that was rising fast in his stomach. Bewildered, Kaylee glanced from Mal toward the bend in the hall, then back into the warehouse.
"O-okay, Cap'n," she wasn't wholly comfortable with this idea. Biting her lower lip, she edged back down the hallway. Zoë closed the gap just as Simon tried to step beyond Mal.
Mal's grip was like iron on his wrist. "You step in that room, you do everything you can to save someone. Dohn luh mah?"
Simon's forehead beetled as he hesitated, looking from the captain to the bend in the hallway and back again. "I don't…" he trailed off, uncertain of the dark look in Mal's gaze.
"You will." Mal gave the doctor a shove, pushing him beyond the bend, and nearly into the wall. Simon stumbled and pulled up short, fumbling to recover his bag as he caught sight of just what had paled Mal so badly.
There was no blood. None at all. But somehow the room was still filled with bodies, heaped in a haphazard pile of arms and torsos and legs just behind the overturned table. There had to be at least twenty of them; from what little Simon could make out, they seemed to be nothing more than limp, broken bodies. Arms dangled at angles that could only be achieved by a break, or the complete pulverization of bone matter.
Half-turning to the sound of Mal's approach, Simon's eyes widened to see instead, a wall pockmarked and pitted from small arms fire. He stared in complete confusion at the shape of a man huddled in that farthest corner from the carnage.
Zoë breezed by Simon, giving him a nudge. "Less lookin'; more savin'." She jerked her head toward the obviously living man in the corner.
Simon scurried then, making haste toward the huddled figure. Mal and Zoë moved deeper into the office space, stepping over sprawled arms and legs. The captain couldn't shake the feeling like he'd seen something like this before. Like at the Maidenhead. Particularly how badly this looked like the carnage wreaked by his little albatross… the weapon unleashed.
An unpleasant chill ran up his body.
"Mal?" Simon's voice was strained, but oddly relieved. "I think I found Badger."
"Think?" Zoë mouthed the word as Mal stepped around her. He shrugged in response and left her to sort things out for herself. Mal joined Simon where he knelt before a figure that could hardly be described as a coherent man. Badger huddled back in his corner, teeth bared in a frightful grimace. The petty little crimelord held nothing more than a knife in his hand, which he brandished at Simon.
The doc for his part, knelt nearly a meter from the little man. Mal knew the look in Badger's eyes; he'd witnessed an atrocity, and was hell bent on keeping it from happening to himself. After a few moments, the former lieutenant stepped a little closer to Badger.
The glare was shifted quickly to him. And softly, Mal chuckled.
"Well. Hate to say it, but… there goes yer credibility."
Jayne was funny. He hid it well, but not when the fuzz spoke for him. The empty bowl rested just beside his left arm. The IV drip pulsed steadily, administering a slow but steady stream of drugs into his system. The drugs kept him buzzed, like a combination of a good beer, and the warm after-sex haze.
He wasn't even sure what he was saying that was keeping the crazy girl giggling so hard. But it was working. He was getting what he wanted. She hadn't stopped smiling. Even through the fuzzy haze, he knew that everything was alright if she was smiling.
And suddenly, she stopped. And Jayne shut himself up. She wasn't watching him anymore. Instead, her gaze tracked to the ceiling and across. Blurry eyes tried to follow her gaze to see just what she was seeing. Up from the stool she went, leaving a sudden coolness under Jayne's hand. Up onto the little pallet to the side, she climbed like a little cat, curling up in the corner.
"RIVER!" Mal was bellowing her name even before he burst into the infirmary. Simon was hot on his heels, frantically trying to stop the captain's mad quest. No one even glanced in Jayne's direction as the rest piled in.
Before Mal could be stopped, he had grabbed River by the arms and yanked her down to the floor.
"Hey!" Jayne barked suddenly, getting at least the girls to look in his direction. His brow wrinkled, as he fought to remember just what he was going to say. Until finally, he managed to mutter: "Yer blockin' mah view."
Kaylee scowled at him, and stepped right back into his view. While Zoë shook her head, it was Inara who stepped back to stand beside the central bed, giving a small window that Jayne could watch through.
Mal was roughly shaking River, hard enough that her hair tousled and flung about. Simon grabbed Mal's arms, but got shoved off with a hard elbow. Kaylee stepped over to catch the doc before he fell completely over.
"Cap'n, what is wrong with you?" Kaylee protested, holding tight to Simon's arms.
"She ain't so bad…" Jayne's voice joined with the mechanics protest. "Lest, when she ain't crazy…"
He was being ignored again. That made him… upset more than anything else. Everything began to blur as he fought to keep his focus. And then everything jumped into crystal clarity with the resounding smack of flesh against flesh.
Jayne twisted, pushing himself up with his right arm to see. River was on the floor; Simon kneeling beside her. Mal lorded, and glowered down at the both of them.
"Thought we had an understandin'. No secrets. So… why don't you conjure us the truth? Or do I have to get angry?"
River's eyes swept up from the floor. For a moment, they caught on Jayne's staring at the scene from behind them all. Jayne felt the fury like a hot poker in his chest. It hurt to draw breath suddenly, and between River looking to be nearly in tears, and the sharp reminder of just why he was lying in the infirmary, Jayne began to growl.
"You shot me!" he griped suddenly into the silence.
Mal's head jerked up, and he spun to face the laid-up merc. River began to tremble on the floor.
"What?" Zoë voiced the question before Mal could. Jayne had eyes for no one but the captain.
"You gorram shot me…" Jayne's voice was weaker this time, and he gave his head a slight shake.
"I did no such thing!" Mal looked suddenly at the accusing stares that were directed at him. Something moved past his leg, and suddenly River was slithering out from the ring the crew had formed around her. Her cheek was red and had to sting from the open-handed slap Mal had laid upon her. But she still stood bravely between the merc and the captain.
"NOT Mal." She stated hard, poking a finger at Mal's chest. "No blame. Not Mal."
Things just kept getting more confusing. Simon was torn between River's need for her brother, and the possible need Jayne would have to be knocked out again. River swayed on her feet as Simon fretted between his duties, and she took a step back. Everyone half expected her to fall. Her hands caught against an arm, and she found an odd strength in the straight lines of muscle and sinew.
No one had time to ask her what she had meant. River knew what they all wanted to voice, and she just kept going, shaking her hair back from her face. "He spoke through the Mustalidae. Spoke poison to Captain Daddy. Pieces that are absent; the girl does not remember."
She held a shaky hand up to her face, fingertips touching a single spot between her eyes. Simon tried to move forward, but found himself hedged out by a nearly impenetrable wall formed by Zoë and Mal.
"Who, River?" Simon managed to ask around Zoë's shoulder. "Who are you talking about?"
Jayne was tugging lightly at her hand, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense out of who's appendage was attached to his shoulder. He plucked lightly at her fingertips, as though trying to make them move. Then his hand poked at her forearm, and he seemed to realize just who was touching him. River's eyes widened, and she caught a sharp breath. Confusing boxes, crumpled notes and patternless waterfalls all fell away as a giant paw clamped down over her hand. Her mind filled with straight, unerring lines, a little fuzzy at the edges, but solid.
Suddenly, the weight of the accusation in the room fell on her shoulders, heavy and livid with putrescence. It smelled ugly and gangrenous, and River ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward. She wanted to be shielded from the fear and the worry, and the uncertainty. Lines filled her thoughts, between which words crawled in crooked childish handwriting. Crazy's losin' it ag'n. River tried to pull her hand free, but Jayne's grip only tightened.
Simon's hands grabbed her shoulders. And boxes squashed the lines. Three-dimensions taking the place of two, confusion wrapping her thoughts into knots, Simon tried to make her thoughts into boxes too. "River, you have to tell us who."
She began to shake and tremble, tried to shy out of Simon's grasp. Jayne's lines were getting fuzzier, threatening to fade away into black as he too struggled to hold on. River knew his pain, even through the threat of being swept away into her memories once again.
"Chase…" she finally choked out, her voice breaking. Her free hand grabbed onto Simon's wrist, as she begged with tear-filled eyes for him to remember, so that she wouldn't have to.
He narrowed his gaze and searched her eyes. River was there, he concluded; which meant she knew what she was talking about. He paused, and glanced around for a moment, searching his memory while looking at anyone but his little sister. "DeLongpre?" The name came to his lips before he realized he remembered it. She had written about the other students in many of her early letters, before the Academy began to steal his sister away. River's visible deflation, the tension that rolled off her shoulders, told Simon he was right on the money with that one.
"He was… a student, along with River." Simon tried to explain to the questioning faces nearby. "Second in the class, right behind River." Beyond that, Simon couldn't recall much more. He had only had two months of letters before she had started to drift away. He could count the number of times he remembered DeLongpre's name mentioned on one hand.
The silence in the infirmary was thundering as the news sunk slowly into everyone's thoughts. River fidgeted, wriggling her hand out from beneath Jayne's with an industrious fervor. Suddenly, Kaylee made a little sound, and spoke what everyone else was thinking.
"The-- … there're more?" Her voice was shaking as much as River's body was. But the Reader managed to nod her head, mutely, as she stepped sideways, her hand finally freed.
Oddly, the merc practically pouted when the physical contact was broken. But the expression was lost as he struggled to keep his eyes open. They should have been fawning over him; he was the one Mal shot after all. Simon reached out, and took Kaylee's shoulder, as well as River's.
"We should all let Jayne rest," he directed.
Mal agreed, and waited for the others to exit before him. Pausing, he glanced down at Jayne, whose eyes rolled back in his head for a moment. "You heal, hear me? 'Spect we'll be needin' yer gun-hand soon."
Mal barely heard Jayne's answering grunt before the merc was out cold again. Stepping out of the infirmary, he followed the trail of Zoë's herding up to the mess. Everyone settled down. Well, at least everyone tried to. River was instantly beneath the table, huddled in the center, as far from everyone as she could get. Simon and Kaylee were on their knees, trying to coax her out. While Zoë watched with a carefully impassive face, and Inara resolutely set about making tea.
Mal dropped to his knees, and peered under the table at his albatross. Her mouth opened before he could even pose his question.
"Two by two. Always. Neurons and proteins. Hero and sidekick? No. Villain and lackey." She wrung her hands together so hard that Mal reached out suddenly and grabbed them. He did not need, want, nor could handle a self-destructive psychic on his ship at the moment.
"Speak straight, li'l one." Mal caught the glare Simon sent his way, and chose to ignore the breech. "Can't rightly help ya if we can't understand ya."
He got riveted by that stare. That know-all, tell-none stare. Of all the things in the black, he hated that particular look most of all. It had always boded trouble.
"Must see Badger."
