The Hole in the 'verse

An alternative Firefly story

Rating: PG-13, for violence and mild cursing

Summary: AU, post-BDM fic. Kaylee went back to fetch Simon and learned a lot about the doctor she wished she hadn't. While they try to reconcile their differences, it turns out that the Hands of Blue will take what they can get.

Disclaimer: I think I finally get to own someone! This may or may not be a good thing, but I'll take it. Still don't own anyone of Serenity though.

Author's Notes: Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse…well, they do! Settle back, snap in and hang on, Honour Roll's always at the end.

The Book of KAYLEE

part 2

"How much farther to Osiris?" Mal mumbled around a yawn.

"Couple of hours. We're not using conventional space lanes now, we're ducking by all Alliance patrols," Wash answered promptly. Mal had already ordered the very same thing; Wash was just confirming what had already been decided.

"And nobody's following us?"

"Not a living thing."

Mal nodded absently. "Good. Shiny. You have a lock on the shuttle?"

"Yes, sir. It's at the docks where we first landed. I tried waving her, but she's not answering."

Mal sighed unhappily; he didn't really expect Kaylee to answer anyway. She probably thought he was a fierce old hump for not going back to fetch Simon with her. Hell, even he felt like a fierce old hump. She was probably staying quiet out of spite.

"How are our passengers faring?" Wash asked, still rather uncomfortable with any form of silence.

Mal shrugged. "Still alive. Prolly a lil worse for wear. Still camped in the empty bunks, last I checked."

"Are you gonna let them out?"

"Possibly."

Wash didn't press the matter further. While he didn't like silence, he still wasn't entirely confident talking to Mal alone just yet. There was just something about having your captain go through hell (this whole mess with the box people) to make your life easier (purchasing your prosthetic arm) that put a damper on the relationship. He didn't see that there was any need to tease the lions. That was the idea, at least, until River skipped up to the bridge.

"One of the little ones threw up in the bed," she announced carelessly. "Turned into water and evaporated up into the sky. It became rain and protein chunks."

"Well, isn't that charming?" Wash asked. "I'll go clean it up since I'm no longer needed."

"Wash, stay and keep watch for Alliance patrols. I'll take care of it," Mal cut in.

"You haven't got better captainy things to do?"

Mal gave him a long, tired look. "Keep watch. Don't let us crash."

"Yes, sir," Wash answered. Neither of them was in a fighting mood. None of them had been since Miranda. Mal left the bridge as briskly as ever for appearance's sake, but River stayed to watch the pilot go through the motions of scanning the radar and checking for enemy ships. Wash wasn't exactly uncomfortable with the arrangement, but he did tense somewhat. River was unpredictable and a very good fighter to boot; it was sheer stupidity to let one's guard down around her completely.

"I'd compliment you on your hotwiring capabilities, but I don't think the captain would appreciate that," Wash said blandly as he could manage.

"The captain is dark. He feels too much," River answered.

"Generally the mark of a good captain."

"The captain is an open vessel. He hurts and floats and can't help but be buffeted by his crew. He's too open. It's going to hurt him someday."

Wash wasn't going to disagree with that, but it almost seemed disloyal of him to agree out loud. "You've been flying a lot; you want to take over?" he asked instead.

"The pilot doesn't trust the girl." She grinned knowingly, which wasn't an inaccurate statement given her proclivity for mind reading. "He will keep a close eye on her and make sure she doesn't move them from their course."

"Well…yes, but it's not anything against you," he remarked quickly.

"We weren't off course. We're spiraling in a cosmic dance, closer to Nirvana but never reaching it. It's too elusive, too profound. Only she knows that this was the right path and no one believes her." She laughed then, one of those creepy, otherworldly laughs that meant all was not right in the brainpan. Wash tried to shine a reassuring smile at her.

"I wouldn't take it personally. No one believes anything Jayne says and he could kill us all on a whim."

"The man with the girl's name wouldn't kill; he is a puppy who's been told not to bite too often. Toothless and clawless now."

"Doesn't make him any less scary," Wash answered guardedly.

"Him or her?" she asked cheekily. He understood she knew the real answer. Knew full well he'd almost said "her."

"We'll be on Osiris sometime tomorrow. You may want to hide until we get out of orbit again. Hopefully, Kaylee will have fuel enough to get her and Simon out of atmo so we don't have to pick them up planetside—"

"They've been captured," River interrupted. It was abrupt and unexpected, but it wasn't so much that she had been speaking loudly; Wash had been babbling. The pilot didn't have many opportunities or reasons to babble.

"Captured? Like 'tag, you're it,' captured or what?"

"Two by two…" she whispered.

Wash's eyes widened. "Okay, if this is a joke, it's a little tasteless, but you can still quit while you're ahead."

River shook her head violently. "Two by two, hands of blue!"

"Gwai-gwai long duh dong!" Blue Hand. Simon and Kaylee. River never lied about that kind of stuff and even she would never tease about it. "Are they still on Osiris?"

"Still. Not for long. Soon they'll be gone, poof."

"How long?"

"They will resist," River said blankly. "Make it hard. They will not like that."

"Okay, don't tell me." Wash leaned forward, pressing the button for the intercom. "Mal, vomit can wait, you're needed on the bridge. Faster would be appreciated."

As soon as he depressed the button, he began running checks on all Alliance ships within range of the radar. He located the cruiser Cortez, but it was too small, too out of the way, and too harmless to be utilized by people like the Blue Hand. There was something that Wash was missing: either the prisoners weren't about to be taken off world, or Serenity was going to be far too late to be of any help. The pilot seriously hoped that it wasn't the latter. He glanced at River who was sitting dazedly in the copilot's chair. She didn't look exactly fazed by the news she had just confided, but she certainly wasn't her usual, cheerfully crazy self either.

"Where would the Hands be taking them if they were to be shipped off world?" Wash asked.

"The sun is darkened, veiled in cellophane so it cannot shine. It's dark! It can see us," River cried. Her thoughts were getting more troubled by the moment as her face clouded with anxiety. "She did not foresee it."

If she was going to say more, Wash didn't know. They were interrupted by the sound of boots bounding up the half flight of stairs to the bridge. "Now what is so gorram important it can't wait till the ship's in workin' order?" Mal griped.

"Well, sir, our little River's gone and seen something pretty darn interesting if I do say so myself," Wash remarked. "Something that you might want to be included in."

Mal turned towards River. "Well, li'l albatross, what of it?"

River didn't return the look. "They're knocked out, passed out. They'll wake up afraid and alone. But they'll have each other."

"I do so hope this is someone we ain't carin' about," the captain said gruffly.

"Seems that Simon and Kaylee got themselves caught by some friends of ours. Got little blue gloves, scary as all hell?"

Mal's eyes darkened. "Yer makin' light a this. Either it's bad or it ain't, but I won't have you sugar-coatin' it."

Wash sighed. "According to River, the Blue Hand has our crew. According to me, that is kind of a bad thing."

The captain went still; though if one were watching close enough, he'd notice that Mal's muscles had tensed to the point of shivering minutely. "Are they still on world?"

"I think so, yes."

"Good. We'll fetch 'em. They better not be the worse fer wear."

"Mal, I have no idea where to start looking for 'em," the pilot warned.

"They're still on Osiris 'n we got our own trackin' beacon right here. River'll pick em up. We'll bail 'em out."

"Mal—"

"Not a word, Wash. Get us there quick as ya can. We're big damn heroes, 'n we ain't late."

"Okay, Captain, boo yao ming duh soo doo it is."

"Damn right it is. River, where's our fine crew members at?"

"They're being detained until the hands come marching. You will know them by the trail of screams," River whispered slightly. Her eyes were glazed, a sure sign that she was clearly not in her mind right then. Mal nodded acknowledgement anyway and turned to the pilot.

"Well, see, there you go. Wash, follow the trail of screams."

"Sir, I'm kinda deaf when it comes to voices not inside the ship," he remarked.

"Then just get us to Osiris."

"Can do that, sir," Wash answered cheerfully. Mal glanced over, trying not to think of the events that had recently transpired. Less than a month ago Wash had had two healthy arms; less than a day ago, the pilot had but one arm to speak for. Now that he had two again, the pilot was using the new one as efficiently as the original. It caused Mal to wonder whether or not it was right that people could get over a hump like that so quickly. Maybe they really were just damned lucky.

"Buzz when we get close," the captain finally replied. "I'm gonna free the folk so they get some exercise. It's a long trip from the core to the border."

"Sure, captain. Might even take River with you," he suggested.

Mal rolled his eyes. "C'mon lil albatross, we're not wanted here."

"Being wanted is like selling your soul. If you ever see it again, it'll be crushed up into little tiny pieces and smushed up into a soup."

"That's the spirit."

XXX

He didn't want to open his eyes. Opening his eyes might hurt and he didn't want to hurt anymore. His wrist was blue and red and hot and cold and generally unbearable. That was more than enough feeling for now. He tried lifting his forearm to assess the damage in a tactile manner, but he had to stop immediately when he felt his wrist flop heavily backwards. It was no more than several floppily joined together pieces. He shuddered and curled further into his protective ball, more determined than ever not to open his eyes.

"Simon? Simon, you're alive, but are you all right?" a voice asked tentatively. It was familiar in all the wrong ways.

"No, go 'way," he mumbled. It wasn't true; it couldn't be true.

"Simon!" His shoulder shook, agitating his wrist and causing him to hiss in pain. The voice moaned miserably. "Simon!"

"I won' let you tease me," Simon slurred.

"Simon, please open your eyes?"

He whimpered. It was going to hurt; he knew it. Simon cracked open an eyelid, trying to make sense of the blurred shapes swimming above him. Eventually, the brown and pink blob sort of resembled a person, and he dared to open his eye a little further. It was definitely hair that was definitely brown: not the black he'd originally feared. The kind, worried eyes, the parted mouth…they didn't even slightly resemble Candace.

"Kaylee," he breathed.

"Simon," Kaylee sighed. "Ya had me perfectly worried back there. Weren't sure you were gonna wake up or not." She looked afraid, if still slightly blurry, but Simon attributed it to having just woken up.

"You shouldn'a been. 'M sorry you were…perfectly worried, was it?" Simon's eyelids dropped closed again. They were so heavy and he was so tired.

"That's right, Simon. I was perfectly worried. Please open your eyes again. Simon, just open yer eyes for me?"

Simon complied again so that he was able to see just how worried she really was. She either didn't try hiding it, or the feeling was too intense to overcome. Simon thought it was endearing.

"Kaylee, I'm sorry for getting caught. But…if I'm caught, where are—"

"We're humped," she said softly. Nevertheless, she smiled for him.

Simon felt his spirit sink a bit more. "How did you find me? Did Serenity turn around?"

She shrugged. "Mal 'n the others will be along eventually, it just might…take 'em…awhile."

"What do you mean, 'awhile'?" he asked cautiously.

"Well…I didn't exactly see 'em turn around, but I bet they're gonna when they get the job done," Kaylee answered confidently.

"How long does that take?" Simon asked dully. He didn't think it mattered in the long run if his captors intended to torture him. Given his criminal record, he didn't doubt it, but maybe the others would make it back before torture became an option. He hoped it was far more than just another pipe dream.

"Well…judgin' by how far out we were 'n how long I been on Osiris…another seven hours. Maybe." She looked apologetic. Simon couldn't help but sigh.

"I don't get it. I really don't. I…I saved her…I never let her out of my sight. I'm trying to heal her. Why didn't River tell them to wait?" he whispered. It had been a topic he'd been mulling over for hours—ever since he'd gotten left behind, really. Why had River abandoned him? Simon had given up thinking of her as anything but extraordinary: she knew things that she had no right to know. So why hadn't she alerted someone to Simon's disappearance? Unless…unless she'd known that he hadn't wanted to be found.

Kaylee looked as downtrodden as he felt. "I knew you were gone. The cap'n tried ta turn around, 'cept River fixed the controls so's we couldn't 'n said we weren't s'pposed ta go back."

Simon stiffened. Of course River had known that he was gone; she knew that he needed to be alone and had left him as such. He pulled himself up into a sitting position with his good arm and slid away from Kaylee.

"Simon, we really tried ta turn around, we just couln'. Ain't it enough I came back?" she asked despondently.

"You shouldn't have," he muttered. "You're better off with them."

Kaylee frowned. "Oh, I see now. You wanted ta get left." Her voice was hard and cold. "Couldn' 'ssociate with us live on Serenity. Had ta stay on Osiris cause ya couldn' tell us to our faces."

"Kaylee," Simon sighed.

"No, really, it's all right. I understand. It ain't yer home 'n never was. Ya left a pretty girl ta rescue River 'n now yer gettin' chummy again. I see it perfectly, right in front a my nose. Maybe she'll bail ya out so's the sentence ain't severe." She couldn't hide the hurt on her face, something she wasn't sure she regretted. She and Simon had had this silly argument several times and Kaylee wasn't about to have it again. If he didn't like Serenity, maybe it was about time he left.

"Th-that's what this is about?" he stuttered. "You saw me with Candace?"

"Kinda hard ta see with all the face suckin' goin' on," she replied. Her expression was dark.

"F-face…Kaylee!" Simon frowned.

"I was all ready ta give it up 'n fergive ya, y'know. But ya ain't the centre a the 'verse 'n yer life weren't all bad on Serenity. Or if it was, ya sure done a good job hidin' it."

"Kaylee…"

Kaylee withdrew to the opposite corner of the room, ignoring Simon's plea. Simon had been trying to get her to leave him alone since he had woken up, and it was about time she complied with his demand; Kaylee could give him that much. Incidentally, that wasn't what Simon had wanted at all.

The doctor groaned, hugged his knees to his chest, and gave it up.

XXX

Our footsteps are perfectly synchronized. It was not something that was taught to us, but rather something it was assumed we knew. The simultaneous click of highly polished shoes on tile or metal or wood is supposed to strike fear into the hearts of vics. It usually works, too: the arteries in their necks swell up like balloons, engorged with plasma and cellular matter; and the blood vessel begins to thud violently, trying to break free of the restraints and just…pop. Sometimes that happens, even though it's not technically supposed to. The vic then hemorrhages to death and we move on. After all, we probably would have killed them manually anyway.

Even if the vic continues to live, they are not quite so stupid as to be unafraid. They will die, but in the meantime, it is amazing to watch their bodies light up like a children's toy. Every muscle tenses until something threatens to snap in half or come unattached while heat floods the body. They tend to shake a lot: a fine shivering that starts in the extremities and spreads through the body until the vic is completely overtaken by his bout of tremours. It is something akin to watching the string on an instrument vibrate and having the blurred movement be too fast for the normal eye to see. The whole transformation is fascinating to watch, especially when one considers that the same reaction occurs for a multitude of reasons. The same fine vibration of the skin and muscles that occurs after satisfying sex or extreme stress is nothing short of eye candy. People are fascinating creatures.

Cli-click!

My shoe strikes a wrong step; his hits a beat after mine. I had let myself get distracted.

"Easy," he warns. One word, muttered under the breath. I have seen others speak without words before, seen the lesser jerk minutely back to position. He is still uneasy as dominant, even seven years after the fact.

Our steps merge again and there is no longer an issue. I will not step out of turn again, until the next incident. Despite his height advantage, I tend to walk faster than he does. He would have me believe that it is more menacing to go slow, but I know better. He cannot stand watching the vics as I do; he finds the process vile and disgusting. His reasons for becoming a Hand are much different than mine.

There is a clot of people milling about and blocking the hallway. They intend to keep visitors and prying eyes away from the inner cells. If they are the clot, we are sent to disband them: we are the antiplatelets.

There was no order to stop, but our movements are synchronized to perfection. I do not botch the step again. He smirks slightly, telling the clot with a charmed and cold look, that it is in our way, but if they would kindly move, we would spare their lives. In truth, I would spare their lives because he tells me to. Nevertheless, I do not fight him on this.

"We were told you'd be coming," one says, a brave one. The heat bleeds from his fingers into the major muscles in his body and his heart is working faster. Much faster. The anxiety is overwhelming him. "We've orders that you aren't to see them without proper signatures."

He glances at the brave one, presumably the leader, and fixes him with a faintly amused stare. "We've been sent to take them with or without struggle. You are inconsequential. We will have them."

I remain quiet, as is my duty. The leader of the clot flounders, searching for reasons and logic and answers. He is unsuccessful; for in the face of fear, there is no reason or logic: just a firm order to flee as fast as humanly possible. "Y-you can't have them. You can contact my superior and h-he'll tell you the exact same thing."

"We aren't concerned with your superior; your superior isn't the one denying us entrance, is he?"

"Technically, he is, sir," the man pointed out feebly.

I break my silence.

"He is not standing here in person waving political red tape in our eyes and demanding we see the bold text," I say coldly. My shoes are loud and sharp against the tile as I cross the small space and grip his neck in an unyielding fist. I doubt my expression slipped once; that much of my training has been ingrained deep.

Stop! Now! he orders. I feel a desire to let go, willing me to free the rebellious man. I almost resist, but too late I see that I've made an impression. His face is burning in anger and fear and a throbbing pulse of trapped blood. My hand releases, and he crumples to the floor without a whimper.

My name is Ian, I am an instrument of the Blue Hand, and I kill people.

Chinese :

Gwai-gwai long duh dong!- What the hell!

boo yao ming duh soo doo - Life risking speed

The Omnipresent Honour Roll: garden-crafter- No, I don't think Mal was at all pleased to hear about the trouble they're in. Or course...there's more trouble to be had still or I wouldn't call this an angst fic. Lynx Ryder: Phew! I updated! You can sit back in your chair now. Unless you...fell already, in which case, whoops! -sheepish grin- lion-of-judah: Save Wash Foundation...now that's a telethon I'd watch. BlueEyedBrigadier: I never liked Candace anyway. Something about them shafted loves is a turn off. I actually think we get some apologetic Mal eventually, and it won't be pretty.