"Can you get through it? Find some way?"
The pilot was running experienced fingers over the controls. "I don't know, Mal. Maybe. If I can bounce the signal somehow –"
"Do it. Whatever you need."
"I'll get right on it. Could maybe use Kaylee to help."
"Get her if you do."
"Mal –" Hank turned concerned eyes on his captain. "They don't put a quarantine order on a planet without good reason."
"Sickness," River said, having ghosted up the steps.
"You can see it, little one?" Mal asked.
She nodded, her face pale. "Lots of people. Sick. Dying."
Mal swallowed. "Frey?"
"You dreamed right."
It was the last thing he wanted her to say, even though he expected it. Closing his eyes briefly to try and regain some control, he swallowed hard, and glanced back at Hank. "Start work. And get us to Persephone soon as you can." He looked at River. "Can you … look to Ethan? He's likely to be picking up on this."
"I will." She ran silently back down into the corridor and climbed down the ladder into the captain's bunk.
Hank had already input new co-ordinates, and the stars were swirling past the window. "Full burn?" he asked.
"Can Kaylee drop those safeguards again?" Mal asked. "Like she did before? When Ethan –"
"We can get more out of her, Mal. She's been working on making sure we can without blowing us up."
"She's a good girl."
"That she is."
"What's going on?" Simon asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stepped onto the bridge. "Bethie's in a state, keeps saying something's wrong."
Mal span on his heel. "Those records Hank found. Have you got anywhere?"
"Well, no, not yet. I haven't had a chance to –"
"Frey's sick. Back on Persephone. They've quarantined the whole gorram planet."
"Quarantine?"
Hank turned up the volume.
"…first and only warning. Persephone has been placed under quarantine by Federal order. All vessels are ordered to stay at least 20,000 kilometres distant until further notice. Any vessel approaching the planet without proper authorisation will be fired upon. This is the first and only –"
"Wuh de mah." Simon stared at Mal.
"Just get me Dillon." Mal strode off the bridge, passing Zoe on her way up the steps. She'd probably heard the noise and wondered what the commotion was, but he couldn't speak to her. Didn't even look at her.
As he went he heard Hank calling Kaylee, telling her to get her ass into the engine room. Then Zoe's voice, asking what was going on. But he couldn't be there, not just waiting.
Pausing outside his bunk for only a moment, he turned down the stairs towards the cargo bay. Probably not a good idea to be around his son, if he really was picking up on things. River would be able to distract Ethan better, and Mal was grateful. He couldn't really be doing with worrying about the boy right now. Especially since he was being consumed with fear over his mother. He could feel it, like a hard stone in his belly, alternately freezing and burning.
As he reached the bay, he was glad to see it was empty. No-one to offer platitudes or ask how he was, what they could do, if there was any way they could help. He couldn't take that. Not now. Not yet. Not knowing … He began to pace.
Everything that had happened over the last year seemed to roll down onto him, from what Wing did to Freya, and Ethan nearly dying, then Hans taking Hermione and Inara, let alone the slings and arrows of normal life on board the Firefly. So many obstacles they'd overcome, got through. Survived. And now this. And he wasn't there.
He stared at the bulkhead in front of him, and smashed his fist into it, letting the pain cut through him. Again, and again.
"Mal." Hank's voice over the com, just one word.
Dragging his handkerchief from his pocket, Mal wrapped it round his bruised and bleeding knuckles, and ran up the stairs.
"Hank?" Mal realised the doctor had gone, probably to the infirmary, and he knew he'd stay there until he had the answer. Praying it was the right answer. Zoe stood back, silent.
The pilot turned to look at him. "It's not pretty, and I don't know how long it'll last, but I've piggy-backed our signal onto the quarantine message, and … well, you've got maybe two minutes. Probably less."
"Then we won't chat. Get him."
Hank nodded, dialling up.
There was a long delay, then the screen crackled into life.
"Mal?" Somehow the older man didn't seem surprised.
"Dillon. How's –"
"She's sick. Very sick. My doctors have seen her but … how did you get through?"
"I got good people." Mal was holding onto the console so hard he expected to see indentations in the metal. "What do they say?"
"It's … whatever's been knocking people out. That's why the quarantine. You know about that?"
"It's all we could get. Dillon, is she …" He couldn't finish.
"She's holding her own."
"And the baby?"
Dillon's face, even over the static, was set. "They're good doctors, Mal."
"That wasn't what I asked."
"You need to be here."
Mal's heart seemed to stop beating, suddenly crashing from the racing it had been doing ever since he'd heard the broadcast. "We're coming."
"But you won't … the … get shot down … have …" The signal was dying, wavering, just one or two odd words getting through.
"Dillon?"
"Safe … vaccine … trying … get …" He was gone and there was only white noise.
"Sorry, Mal. Told you it wouldn't last long. But … vaccine?" Hank asked.
"I don't know. Sounds like they know what it is. Can you try and find anything else out?"
"I'll get on it." Hank glanced at Mal's hand. "Better get that seen to," he added.
Mal looked down, realised blood was dripping onto the decking. "Guess."
"You won't do her any good if you let that get infected. And you're making a mess." He didn't ask how it happened. Didn't need to. "Besides, you ain't gonna make Serenity go any faster by looking over my shoulder." His eyes darted to Zoe, standing solid just inside the doorway.
"He's right, Mal." Her use of his given name made him look up.
Mal stared at her, then nodded, just once. "You hear any more, you call me." It wasn't a request.
"Yes sir."
"I'll be in the infirmary."
---
Dillon looked down at the woman in the bed, tossing on damp sheets, her hair stuck to her head with sweat.
"Sir." Callum walked up quietly behind him.
"I don't know if he heard," Dillon said. "But knowing Malcolm Reynolds he's almost destroying his ship to get back here to her."
---
"You haven't broken anything," Simon said, putting the scanner away. "But you're very bruised."
"Just bind it up."
"I'm going to give you some antibiotics as well. I imagine the wall of the cargo bay isn't the most hygienic of places."
"How did you –"
"We heard, Mal. We all heard." He busied himself with a hypo.
"Dillon said something about a vaccine," Mal said quietly, trying to maintain an icy semblance of calm.
"Vaccine? That suggests it's something they know about." The young man nodded, exhaling heavily. "It gives me a starting point."
"Hank's searching too. He'll send down anything he finds."
"Good." The young man injected Mal, then turned to pick up a bowl. "Mal, I know you won't mean to, but don't be hard on Kaylee. She wasn't sleeping very well as it is, and now the worry … she's doing her best to get as much speed out of Serenity as possible."
"I know."
"She may think she's a superwoman, but she isn't. She's my wife." He put a slight emphasis on the word my.
"I said I know." Mal's voice had dropped down to the lower level that everyone knew not to mess with.
"Well, good." Simon started to clean the wounds.
Mal ignored the sharp stabs of pain, just waiting in silence until he'd finished.
Wrapping the abused extremity in a bandage, Simon added, "And try not to bend it. Or put any strain on it."
Flexing his fingers, Mal nodded and walked out.
Simon watched him leave, and shook his head. As much as he admired the captain's devotion to his wife, there were times when he wished it wasn't quite so … total. Turning back to the information Hank had managed to get for him before, he continued with his research, the deep line between his eyebrows getting more pronounced as he read.
---
Jayne had cleaned the blood off the wall in the cargo bay, wiping it down until there was no sign Mal had nearly broken his hand on it. Carrying the bowl up to the kitchen, he threw away the soiled water and washed it out, drying it carefully before putting it back in the cupboard. Every action was precise, measured, just like he was when he was hunting a wild animal, or tracking a man. No movement was wasted.
He felt her enter the galley behind him
"How's Ethan?" he asked, keeping his voice soft, almost as if he was in church, drying his hands as he turned to look at her.
"Asleep. At last." River stretched. "Bethany's in with him too."
"Short stub okay?"
"She knows what's going on, Jayne. I don't think there's any stretch of the imagination that could let her be called okay."
"I know that." He placed the towel carefully on the counter. "Just wanted to know she's … well, that there ain't anything I can do to make it better."
"Not at the moment." She sighed. "She loves Freya."
"Hell, we all do, moonbrain. Like I know you do."
She nodded sadly, then glanced towards the bridge, but only Hank and Zoe were visible. "Where's Mal?"
"Shuttle one." He peered at her. "Can't you feel him?"
"Too tired to try." She pushed her hair away from her face. "Too many nightmares."
"Yeah." He pulled a chair out from the table, the legs squealing on the deck, and dumped his body into it, his neat movements of a few moments before gone. "I'd'a thought he'd want to be in with Ethan. In their bunk."
"He can't. Not yet. Not knowing how she is, the scent of her would kill him."
He pulled her onto his lap, and she moulded to him, her arms linking around his neck. "Ya know I feel the same way 'bout you, don't ya?"
She nodded, and touched the bullet hanging at his neck, then the one at her own throat. "More than reciprocated," she murmured.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, using each other for strength. "She gonna be okay?" he finally asked.
"Heaven and earth …" River breathed.
"Yeah. Figured." Jayne held her tighter. Yeah, that'd be the way. Mal was gonna move heaven and earth to try and make sure she was okay.
---
Inside shuttle one Mal sat on the small bridge, staring out at the stars, but he didn't see them. Shipboard romances. Divided loyalties. Not doing what he should to protect his crew. All these thoughts and more were spinning around inside his head, cannoning off each other, maybe knocking one out occasionally, but it slunk back, its tail between its legs. And every thought was tinged with the taste of her. Shouldn't have taken her on board. Then he wouldn't be feeling like this, be so afraid he'd never see her again. Never talk to her again. Never tell her he loved her again.
And yet. And yet. That was the terrible part. The and yet. Not knowing. Fearing the worst, but not knowing if it was the worst, or there was something out there that would knock that worst into a cocked hat.
And they were relying on him. Believing he would know what to do, planning and plotting, his strength holding them together to get through, his leadership leading them out of the darkness. But what strength and leadership? What if he gave up? Zoe could lead them, but would they follow? Hank, sure. Into the fires of hell and out the other side. Simon … Simon had said something about Kaylee, but he couldn't remember what. But they'd follow Zoe. And if Simon went then so would River, and that meant Jayne, and … He shook his head. Where had this train of thought started?
Of course.
"Frey, you die on me and I'll never forgive you," he muttered, all the while fingering the gold cross on his chest, praying that he would be in time, that she'd be okay.
He didn't know if he dozed, or just slid into a stupor, but suddenly Simon's voice was on the com.
"Mal. I think I've got something."