Chapter One: Nighttime
Stillness hung in the air, light and airy, masked with the scents of a vessel with recycled air gently wafting through atmospheric processors. There was a faint touch of warm staleness, a hint of musky sweat that the scrubbers never really cleared out of the air. It tingled and flowed, starting from the bridge and drifting backwards, accompanied by the near muted thrum of electricity running throughout the ship.
The crew corridor was quiet, lit by guiding lamps lining the walls and the string of little decorative Christmas bulbs hanging over one particular bunk hatch. The recycled gust of air pushed past, not interfering with the slumbering crewmembers in their respective beds, passing through the ship's night cycle.
It wasn't until the air drifted through the dining room that it touched a distant, giggling voice, and whispered words intermixed with quiet, hushed laughter. They were barely audible over the thrum of power running through the vessel's core and conduits. The gust continued back, winding around the table and up the service corridor leading toward the engine room. The muted rumble of the working core became louder, cutting under the voices of the two people resting in the same chamber as the ship's heart.
"So, fourteen?" he asked, laying back in the hammock she'd strung up in the little alcove on the right-hand side of the core. She nodded, her brown hair brushing against his face, and the motion sent the hammock into a tiny swing back and forth. She was half on top of him, one of his arms threading around her lower back.
"Yep. And I'm telling you," Kaylee said, and worked one of her arms from behind his neck. She held up her hands in front of Simon's face and spread them apart, and his eyes widened, before they flicked down to his trousers.
"Fourteen," Simon repeated, frowning as he considered the implications, and Kaylee giggled, patting him on the shoulder and curling a little bit closer to his chest. They were stripped down to their pajamas, which for her meant some light pants and shirt and for him meant a pair of sleeping trousers.
"Well, it might have been, ah, upgraded compared with some models," she added with a smile, "but ain't no doubt he didn't have any inklin' of how to use all the parts he had. Not like some fellas I know." He smiled back, a bit mollified.
"I just," Simon said, thinking. "I mean, I suppose its possible, depending on development and nutrition, and genetics, but I'm still amazed at . . . fourteen?"
"Yep," she said, fingers drumming on his chest. "Every jot, straight as an arrow. His folks said that, and I'm certain they wasn't lyin'."
"So, any more after that?" he asked, laying back and looking up at the ceiling. His eyes drifted over the access panels directly overhead, but he didn't see any movement in them. Not that he was terribly worried; this wasn't as compromising a position as it had been the last time his sister had gone on a duct-crawling adventure.
"A few, here and there," she replied. "None of 'em got too far past the first date, though. 'cept for Bester."
"Who?"
"Oh, I never told you how I got on the ship?" Kaylee asked, frowning, and Simon shook his head. "Cap'n never spoke of it? Was 'specting him to say something or other eventually about it, seeing how annoyed he gets when we make out in full view."
"Nope, he hasn't told me anything about it," Simon replied, turning his face to look at hers. They might as well have not been wearing any clothes, considering how their body heat flowed between the pair.
"Well, I was sittin' around the port back home, an' Dad, well, he wasn't having much to do, seeing how most ships that get out that far got a decent mechanic of their own. Kinda have to, sailin' about on the border moons, not enough folks out there to rely on to fix your ships. I was watching the sky, seein' the ships coming in an' goin', and I saw this absolutely beautiful one come down out of the sky." She paused, smiling, and looked up at the ceiling. "It was like a big piece of art, just flitting through the sky, like a . . . a metal hummingbird."
"Let me guess," Simon said. "That was Serenity."
"Oh, hell no!" Kaylee said with a laugh. "Serenity looked like a ball of tinfoil with an engine strapped to it, the way Cap'n's old mechanic ran it. This one was a new Yavell Tee-Four-Niner, all double extenders and triple-charged grav thrust. But after it passed, I saw Serenity comin' in, and it was just a big pile of junk. Wash knew how to fly her straight, though . . . ."
It was still in the middle of the night cycle, judging by the light - or lack thereof - that greeted him as he clambered up the ladder out of his bunk.
Sleep was something that Malcolm Reynolds had no trouble with and at the same time was always struggling against. On the one hand, serving in the Unification War had taught him how to grab a nap whenever possible, even in the most difficult of circumstances. One time, he'd slept through an artillery barrage, after twenty-seven straight hours of combat.
On the other hand, he'd seen way too much in his time to ever get a really comfortable sleep. Between the horrors he'd experienced in the war, the friends he'd lost, and what he'd encountered out in the Black . . . .
Memories ran through his mind as he walked up the crew corridor - and he found that almost all of them were dark ones he'd rather not remember. Serenity Valley welled up before him, mounds of corpses riddled with bullets as he stacked friends and comrades up into the only cover he could find. The tortured faces and mauled remnants of people he'd found in the wake of Reaver attacks drifted past him, and there was the man they'd broken and left to linger on with the memory, looming up with his face shredded by his own hands. He saw flashes of the woman that had reported the Pax, just as she was assaulted and torn apart by the first Reavers on Miranda, screaming and begging for mercy.
He stepped onto the bridge, and memories of the faces of his crew paraded past. There were some smiles, some laughter, but they were quickly replaced by expressions of disbelief and horror, and so much of it was directed at him. As he walked toward the pilot's chair and sat down in it, the knives of their eyes twisted at his heart, the betrayal he'd embodied as he'd stood on Haven, gunned a man down in cold blood, and showed his true self.
"Sad," came a breeze in the quiet, and Mal looked away from the Black, to see a wisp of pale white flesh and black hair sitting in the co-pilot's chair. He was so distracted and she so silent that he hadn't even registered her presence.
"'bout what?" he asked, and River kept her eyes locked on the window before her. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, pulled up against her chest. Dark, unkempt hair tumbled down into her face, but it didn't seem to bother her.
"That kind of cutting," she replied. "Same sort, the kind that lingers because you keep it inside, grating on the soul."
Mal listened to her nonsense, frowning and trying to interpret her words.
"Got a lot of history," Mal replied after a while, divining her meaning and references to his dark thoughts. "Seen too much."
They both had. Probably why they were both on the bridge like this.
"Can't sleep," she murmured, and he nodded. She was talking about the both of them, he supposed.
"See the faces sometimes," he replied. "Some dead, some still livin'." He glanced over to her, and in the dim light reflected off the consoles, he saw a pale white line poking out the top of her cotton dress, running up toward her neck. The cut mark sent sympathy pains through his chest. She whispered something under her breath, pulling her legs more tightly to her chest.
"It still hurts," she spoke out loud. Echoes of pain sounded in her voice. "Not tactile, but the memory remains. Their memories, their sickness." Mal turned toward her, and he saw River close her eyes. She shook for a second, before reopening them and looking up toward the Captain.
"Serenity makes it fade away," she said. After a few seconds, she smiled, just a tiny touch of upturned lips. "It sings a song, and I hear the beach and the rumble. I hear serenity."
"You gonna be alright?" he asked, standing up and walking across the bridge toward her. As he got closer, Mal noticed that the copilot's station was locked down, save for running lights. Had she shut it off on her own?
"Its not clear, murky and dark," she replied, looking off into the Black. "Muddy waters clouding the streams and making swimming hard." She paused, fingers tapping her legs, and lowered her head into her knees.
"Can't filter out the silt and mud," she breathed, her voice muffled. She shook a little, as if a mild chill was in the air. "She can't see what's real and what's not all the time. Thrown back to that place sometimes, when she doesn't want to be there, and she . . . she can't tell if what's truthful."
The pain in her voice cut deep, and Mal found his hand dropping down to his navigator's back. Her squeezed her bare shoulder, and stood beside her as she shook. They waited there for a while, and Mal found himself looking back out at the stars and the vacuum outside the hull. The shivering subsided slowly.
"Dangerous," she said, several minutes later. He glanced back down to her, hearing the distance in her voice, a tone he knew too well, from when she'd been almost taken by that sadistic bounty hunter. "She's dangerous, unstable. More unstable after they broke her again. Doesn't belong . . . not with normal folk."
"Don't say that," Mal replied, and he put his other hand on her opposite shoulder to steady the girl. "You belong on this ship. You belong on my crew. Said it yourself, this is home, right?"
She went silent for a long while, and after what felt like an eternity, her head rose. Mal saw her reflection in the window, and could see tinges of redness around her eyes. One of her hands rose up and wiped her face off, and she sniffled.
"When?"
"Huh?" he asked, confused by the odd question.
"When did she join the crew?"
Mal pondered that for a while, and what she meant by it. He didn't ask her for clarification, as he'd come to think that her odd, ambiguous sorts of questions were sometimes intended to be defined by the one she was asking them to. Probably a load of steaming go se, but made sense.
"I'd figure you'd know by now, bein' that sort of mind and all," he replied. She shook her head.
"Sprouted like seeds," she said, frowning. "One day, she was part of the crew, even without doing any work and making so much trouble. Doesn't understand when it happened, when the Captain chose to make her family."
He considered that for a while, and shrugged.
"Not terribly certain on that score my own self," he answered, truthful as he could. She seemed to mull over that for a while, and nodded. Then, with surprising ease, she slid forward out of his hands, and rose to her feet. River turned to face him, scratching the side of one of her arms. It made her seem just a tiny bit normal.
"Not . . . sure of herself today," she said. "Not sure what's lies and truth. Chaos, storms and hurricanes, murky waters." She paused, looked away, and seemed to visibly steady herself, and looked back toward him, her brown eyes pleading, and an echo of fear in her voice.
"Captain . . . don't let me be dangerous," she whispered.
Mal stared back, and he understood all too well what she meant. He could see the fear underneath the girl's face, and he understood why she was scared.
"I won't let you," he replied, smiling to show her he meant it, and she nodded, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face. Mal promised himself that he wouldn't betray that bit of honest trust.
He'd keep them all safe from her, especially River from herself.
"Is this what life is, out here?"
"Sometimes."
"I've been out of the abbey two days. I've beaten a lawman senseless. Fallen in with criminals. I've watched the Captain shoot the man I swore to protect . . . and I'm not even sure if I think he was wrong."
"Shepherd-"
"I believe I just . . . ." It was so absurd he managed a laugh, amidst it all. "I think I'm on the wrong ship."
"Maybe," she answered, rising. He looked up at her, so graceful and knowing, an understanding in her eyes that belied her apparent years.
"Or maybe you're exactly where you ought to be."
The fleeting memory hung in the back of his mind, brought up in the depths of sleep, and now it lingered as he washed his face and hair. As the Shepherd ran the water, he reflected on the differences between now and then.
How right Inara had been, he mused, thinking over all he'd gone through while traveling with this particular crew. Those first few days had been a shock, having spent so much time in the meditative quiet and peace of the abbey, and then thrusting himself back out into the real world . . . but he supposed that was what he was wanting, really. Sure, he wasn't doing missionary work on a large scale, but there wasn't any place that felt more right for him to be than on Serenity. Even if it had cost him . . . .
He started paging through his Bible, consulting the Word, and reflected on what he'd done the last few months. It had taken less than a year's travel out in these savage lands to force him to break his own promise and the years of pious nonviolence he had chosen, and while Book wanted to justify his actions, he understood that he'd taken life while striking in anger. He estimated he'd killed at least a dozen men when he'd shot down the Alliance ship on Haven, and five Alliance marines on Niska's vessel just a few weeks ago - and clearly remembered every single one of those men he'd had no choice but to shoot.
Their faces paraded before him, joining a very long line of similar ones, and he closed his eyes. He focused on a different set of faces, family and friends long past, his brothers in the different abbeys he'd traveled to, and most of all on the other eight people on this ship. His tiny, wayward flock, the smallest he'd ever had to care for, and yet the most important one of all.
As long as he stayed faithful to them, he supposed, he was still true to himself.
An hour after he awoke, Book made his way upstairs to the kitchen, the morning cycle already halfway past. Though they were nearly to their destination, they were still in the Black, which meant that sleeping and eating cycles were much looser than they would be planetside. Point in case, Book found himself walking into the dining room to find a few places had already been set - and cleared - on the table, and the hulking form of Jayne Cobb was looming in the kitchen over the stove.
"Good morning," Book called to the mercenary, who looked up, affording the Shepherd a nod.
"Mornin', preacher," he replied, stirring something in the pot. There were a few vegetables on a cutting board next to the big man, and Book had to stop himself as he saw the mercenary pick up a tomato and start slicing it up.
"Are you cooking breakfast?" the preacher asked, and Jayne looked up, frowned.
"Nah," he said. "Fixing some of this spaga . . . spegut . . . this funny word in this book Kaylee got."
"Spaghetti?" Book asked, stepping around the kitchen counter to look at the little cookbook Jayne had propped up beside him.
"Yeah, that's what it sounded like," Jayne replied, jaw twisting as he read through the recipe inside.
"I was unaware you were a chef," Book remarked, and Jayne shrugged.
"Momma taught me a couple of things about fixin' proper food, 'fore I left home," he replied. "Two . . . diced . . . tomootos." As he spoke, Jayne started chopping up the tomato.
"Anyway," he continued, "Someone 'round here's had to make the food 'fore you came aboard. Kaylee's got some schoolin' from her folks about fixin' a good meal, but Mal and Zoë fixin' dinner is like putting the Doc in a boxin' ring, know what I mean?"
"Perfectly," Book replied, grabbing some unions. "Mind some help?"
"Nope," Jayne replied with a shrug. "Help yourself. Hate cuttin' unions anyway. Ain't manful."
The two of them worked on the recipe for a while, exchanging small talk about goings-on about the ship, and as they were finishing with the ingredients, Jayne glanced up, catching sight of Inara as she slid into the room. He gave her a nod, and she smiled back.
"Jayne, I didn't expect to see you in here," she remarked, and he shrugged.
"Been a while since I fixed somethin'," he replied. "'sides, I'm stuck with dish duty today, might as well make somethin' to eat while I'm in here."
"Indeed," she said. "Its not like the rest of the crew is terribly busy today."
"I assume you've managed to line up some work yourself?" Book asked, and Inara laughed as she sat down. Some months back, such a question might have been delivered with a tinge of disapproval, but Book had long since chosen to let Inara do as she chose. Besides, it would be hypocritical of him to remonstrate her for her lifestyle when he couldn't even adhere to his own principles.
"Just one, scheduled for tomorrow when we hit Persephone," she explained. "Its been somewhat difficult to arrange for clients with all the unrest we've caused."
"I'm surprised we're setting down on such a populated world, so soon after what we did," Book remarked as they set the meat sauce to cook. "The Alliance is sure to be on alert."
"I actually asked Mal about that earlier," she said. "But he's got work lined up for us and he says we need the money. Mal thinks its worth the risk landing on Persephone for a while."
"Well, Mal ain't always got good notions in his head," Jayne muttered as he stepped out of the kitchen. "Told him up front that we shouldn't be dealin' with Badger no more."
"Didn't he sell us out the last time we dealt with him?" Book asked, and Jayne nodded. "And the Captain still wants to deal with him?"
"We go where the money's at," came a voice from the bow end of the dining room, and the trio looked up to see Mal walk into the room, his hair disheveled, as if he hadn't cleaned up yet.
"More like where the bullets are," Inara replied, and Mal grunted at her sarcasm, stepping over to the pot.
"I'm not likin' the notion of working with Badger anymore than anyone else," he remarked, sniffing the air. "Mm. Smells edible for once. But this deal seems solid enough, not dodgy like the last one he sent our way. We'll be in control of the deal the whole way, anyway."
"Last time you said that, we got an army walkin' up our pi gu," Jayne muttered, leaning against the wall and crossing his beefy arms. "I ain't got no notion of putting us through that again, gettin' someone on the boat hurt."
Inara and Book glanced the mercenary's way, and both of them shared a quick, understanding glance at each other at Jayne's odd - for Jayne - notion of concern for others. However, they were more surprised at Mal's reaction: the captain paused, looked straight at Jayne, and seemed about to say something, but then looked away. Instead he sat down at his usual spot on the table, a frown on his face.
Normally, that was the part where Mal told Jayne who exactly was in charge of the ship. Instead, he was quiet for several seconds, thinking things over.
"You're right that we can't trust Badger," Mal said, slowly nodding. "We're setting down on an Alliance rock, and they're riled up something fierce after what we did to 'em. Badger's already meeting us at the docks anyway, so I'm not having anyone take a step off this boat who doesn't have to. 'cept Inara, she's got business of her own, right?"
"That's right," the Companion replied. "But you're not letting anyone off for some planetside recreation?"
"Not until we've got the cargo on board, at any rate," Mal said, shaking his head. "Even then, not sure. We've got enough enemies out there without inviting trouble. There's feds on Persephone, and while that keeps some of our worries at bay, it makes a whole lot more at the same time."
"I'm for keepin' everyone on the boat," Jayne added. "Don't like the idea of anyone gettin' separated. Big planet, lots of ways folks can just vanish, you know?" At that, everyone looked Jayne's way again, and even Mal seemed to catch onto his oddness.
"Jayne, if I didn't know any better," Book remarked, "it sounds like you're actually concerned for someone else." The merc's eyes widened for a heartbeat, and then a scowl crept over his face.
"And what's so wrong about that?" Jayne said, quick and defensive, lowering his arms. "Ya'll ain't the only ones worried 'bout keepin' this boat sailing." He paused, thinking for a moment, and rapped a fist against the wall. "Lose someone on this boat, things just ain't gonna run right, know what I mean?"
With that, he cut past Mal and headed up the crew corridor, leaving a surprised and somewhat confused collection of folks in the dining room. With a curious muttering, Book rose to check on the sauce, while Mal turned toward Inara.
"I thought Kaylee was the one supposed to run off in a huff," he said, and she snorted. Book smiled to himself as he stirred the pot, but the smile disappeared as he thought on just what would make Jayne act that way. A man like him had to have seen all sorts of difficulties and hardships in his time, but what he'd gone through a few weeks back must have been worse than anything he'd encountered, to make him act so completely differently.
Still, showing a touch of concern for anyone on the ship was a good change, Book mused, even if its cause was something he wished he wasn't so familiar with himself . . . .
It was about midday by Serenity's reckoning when Mal made an unexpected call over the intercom for everyone to get together in the cargo bay. Wash and Zoë were on the bridge when the call went through, enjoying some comparative alone time, and with a few mumbled curses from the very comfortable pilot they got up and headed belowdecks. By the time they made their way down the stairs of the bay, everyone else had already assembled.
"Wash, Zoë," Mal called, standing in the middle of the bay while everyone else stood or sat wherever they chose. "Glad to see ya'll coming to join us."
"We were preoccupied," Wash replied. "Navigational duties."
"Ya'll are navigatin' familiar territory," Jayne muttered, leaning against a pile of crates. "Hopin' little man don't get lost after them years." A few of the crew smirked at the double entendre, with Kaylee laughing as she sat beside Simon on another crate.
"You got an awful smutty head, Jayne," Zoë remarked, her tone deadpan and serious, and the delivery was enough to make the mercenary quiet up.
"So, everyone's all here now," Mal said, a hair louder than usual, to get everyone's attention back toward him. "Alright, first things first. You all know we're hitting Persephone in a few hours, but what you might not know is who we're dealing with. Once we hit dirt, we're going to be meeting with Badger."
"Dung-ee hwar," Wash said, holding up a hand. "Didn't Badger sell us out the last time we met with him?"
"That, he did," Mal replied with a nod.
"So, why in the holy jangling Buddha bells are we dealing with him now?" the pilot continued.
"'cause Mal's a moron," Jayne muttered, and got a glare from several different directions at once.
"Because Badger's got the money, and the job smacks of legitimacy," Mal replied. "Simple smuggling rap, nothing serious. We've got more'n enough cash reserves that we don't need anything risky."
"Dealing with Badger is risky, sir," Zoë replied.
"Not risky enough," Mal countered. "Anyway, my call. All the same, we're going to be staying on our toes when we land. Jayne, Zoë, be ready in case something gets hairy. Everyone else, just be on alert." The others nodded.
"Doc, River," Mal continued, looking to the two resident fugitives. The former was still sitting beside Kaylee, while the latter was perched on a box past head height. Wash wasn't quite certain how she'd gotten up there in the first place; she'd apparently already been in the bay when Mal made the call. "You two know the usual, and this is Badger 'specially. I know he's already met River, so the last thing we want is to remind him she's on board. I know he'd sell you both out 'fore you can spit if he had an whisper of who you are, so, word to the wise and stay out of sight."
"Right," Simon replied with a nod. River didn't respond, but she kept her eyes on Mal, her fingers jumbled together. Wash watched her with concern; she'd been quieter than usual after her last rescue, and he knew exactly what she'd been through.
"Now that we've gotten that handled, second order of business," Mal continued. "May seem apparent to you that, more than once over the last while, we got caught with our pants down. We got lucky last time, but I don't like the idea of relying on our luck. And I especially don't like someone or somethin' sneaking up on us when we're napping. Times are dangerous.
"So, from now on, I want someone watching the bridge at all times," he said. "Daytime cycle, nighttime sleep cycle, don't matter. Someone is going to be on the bridge at all times to keep watch on the scanners so we don't get surprised." He glanced around the room, looking for dissenters, but found none, and received only understanding nods.
"Also, I want staggered sleeping cycles when we're out in the Black," Mal added, and nodded at the groans from a few of the crew. "I know, I know. Gonna screw things up mightily every time we hit port, but can't help it. We all remember getting boarded by that sack of luh suh who hit us when everyone was sleeping. Don't see a good reason why we should invite that again. I want two people awake at all times, one of 'em on the bridge. Dong mah?" There were reluctant nods around the bay.
"Okay, anyone got questions?" Mal added as he finished. There were shakes of the head for the most part, but Wash spotted Book taking a step forward, his expression thoughtful.
"Captain, I'm left wondering," he spoke up, and Mal nodded.
"Speak up, Shepherd," he replied.
"I understand the necessity of this set-up," he continued. "But I'm left wondering if there's more to this than just keeping watch against intruders."
Mal frowned, thinking for moment, and then, to Wash's surprise, he glanced up, toward River. There was a moment's stillness in the air, and then the girl gave him a slight nod, closing her eyes. Mal looked back down, exhaled, and rubbed his chin.
"Had a talk with River this morning," he said. "She's a bit worried about herself last few days. Not sure if she's able to see the truth in things much anymore, after what happened to her and Jayne." Across the bay, the big mercenary's knuckles whitened and a tightness appeared on his face.
"She's worried she might . . . seeing as how she sometimes has her . . . episodes," Mal continued, not sure what words to use.
"You're worried about PTSD," Zoë said, and Mal nodded. Up above, River's fingers interlaced again.
"That I am," Mal replied.
"What's that now?" Kaylee asked, unfamiliar with the term.
"Post traumatic stress disorder," Inara spoke up. She'd apparently dealt with it from time to time in her clients, Wash guessed. "There's the possibility she might find herself reliving what they . . . did to her."
"Especially considering the state of her mind," Book remarked, giving the girl a sympathetic look. "I've seen emotionally well-adjusted soldiers snap after the Unification War. We had to deal with more than one counseling case at the abbey. River's condition might be much worse."
"And if something like that happens there's the chance for a whole mess of trouble," Mal said, and the rest of the crew nodded grimly. "So, I want someone awake and alert at all times, just in case something does go wooly." He glanced to Simon. "Doc, I want you to make sure we all know River's sleep phrase, too."
"Of course," Simon replied, the typical worry on his face more pronounced than usual. "Its not that difficult, but . . . ." He trailed off, and the captain gave him a reassuring nod.
"I understand, Doc," Mal said, and looked back up toward River, who was still silent but watching their conversation intently. It was a bit disconcerting to have this sort of talk with her watching, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it. In fact, the honesty was a good thing in a way, not like the time they'd had that talk about her psychic powers, where she'd been deliberately excluded.
"Okay, any further questions?" Mal asked, to which there were none. "Okay, then lets' all get back to work."
The crew started filtering out of the bay, with a few lingering glances toward River. Simon walked by and patted his sister's leg, and she reached down and tousled his hair. They said something, quiet and private, and then the doctor walked away, to be rejoined by Kaylee. Wash looked back up at the girl, remembering how badly-off she'd been when they'd rescued her, and sympathy pains ran through him as those memories dredged up the experience he'd had himself.
River looked toward Wash, and after a moment she offered him a sad little smile, and an odd, tragic feeling of kinship touched his mind. He looked away after a moment, the memories painful, and not wanting to bring them up for her as well. Being paired up in the bridge meant they worked together, and Wash had a suspicion that made his mind more familiar to hers, which meant if he had bad memories, she might just experience them as well.
He looked back to Zoë, wrapping arm around his wife, and they started to make their way back to the cockpit. They passed Jayne, who was checking the weapons locker, but glanced up as they passed.
"Hey, little man," he said with a nod. "Don't blow us up this entry, alright?" Wash made a big, showy sigh.
"The things I have to put up with around here," he said, waving a hand in the air in exasperation. "'Wash, don't crash into that moon!' 'Wash, don't blow up the ship!' 'Wash, don't put your dinosaurs into the engine core!' I am completely unappreciated on this ship."
"I've got some appreciating I want to catch up on," Zoë remarked into his ear as they moved past the merc.
"Hey, we need to stand watch on the bridge, don't we?" Wash replied, and she smiled.
"There'll be plenty of watching, I think," she added, practically dragging her husband up the stairs.
"Work, work, work," Wash muttered to himself, surrendering to the incessant pull.
Mal had remained in the cargo bay after the rest of the crew had left, dealing with odds and ends with their gear and equipment. Jayne was still hovering about, tending to the ship's weapons stores as he usually did when he expected trouble. An hour or two had passed, and they still weren't completely finished with everything.
"Sir," came a call behind him, and Mal looked up from a box of spare parts. Zoë stood behind him, arms crossed, her look pensive and a little tight.
"Zoë, somethin' up?" he asked, dusting off his hands.
"We're dealing with Badger," she said, and he nodded.
"Already said as much," he replied. "Is there issue here with it or what?"
"I got issue with it," Jayne called from the weapons locker.
"You don't count," Mal shot back, then turned toward Zoë again. "Is there somethin' you wanted to say? Private?"
"Badger's a lying, treacherous little psychopath," she said, shaking her head.
"That I know," Mal replied, shrugging helplessly.
"He sells information to the Alliance if it gives him a profit, and he's turned on us before," she added. "I don't like this."
"That I also know," Mal said. "You've told me this plenty already. I don't see a problem with this other than Badger's history with us, which has been both good and bad."
"Sir," she said, her voice low but sharp. "Is your brain missing again?" Mal frowned.
"This ain't like the Sturges job," he said. "Badger's got no reason to sell us out here."
"We didn't see any reason for him to pinch us then, either," she shot back.
"Well," Mal said, and then paused. He looked away, trying to come up with what to say.
"Sir," Zoë continued, "If you want to do this job, you know I'll stay behind you. But I just do not like it."
"I know," he replied. "Got anything else useful to say?"
"I was just hoping you'd see reason this time around when I told you," she replied.
"I see plenty of reason, its just right now we ain't seein' the same," Mal explained. "Badger's got a job for us, and I'm taking it. He turns on us, I got no issue with leaving him in a pile of his own blood and piss. I've got some likelihood to just put a shot into him if he looks at me funny on this run, too. But he's got money, and we're always in need of it. Buys bygones and all."
"Understood," she replied. "But if its all the same, I'll keep a finger on the trigger."
"That's what you're here for, ain't it?" Mal said, smiling, but she didn't reply. Instead, Zoë turned and started walking back out of the bay.
"Cap'n," Jayne called as Zoë departed, and Mal glanced his way.
"Zoë's got a point," the merc said, polishing one of the pistols.
"She usually does," Mal answered.
"Then why ain't you listen'n' to her?" Jayne asked. "This deal don't feel right. None of us likes it, and I don't want us gettin' busted. Too much for all of us to lose on this."
"What's got you so worried, Jayne?" Mal asked, crossing his arms. "I know you've been acting different some lately."
"Starin' the reaper too many times," Jayne answered, and he looked away. "An' . . . didn't do it alone last time, neither." He put the pistol back in the locker and slid the door shut. "Don't get us all humped, Mal. Dangerous enough as it stands."
With that, Jayne strode out of the bay, leaving Mal by himself to consider what both he and Zoë had said.
It was some hours later on in the day, and Serenity was going through her classically temperamental routine of planet entry. At least this time Mal had the bright idea to stow all the breakables in the dining room where they belonged, so nothing would shatter on the way down. Still, the ship was shaking vigorously as Wash fought to keep her under control and non-exploding.
"Well, its just that . . . ." Simon paused as he walked up the steps leading toward the dining area. Ahead of him, Inara waited for him to continue, interested in what he had to say.
"I'm a physician," he continued. "I'm not a psychologist, and while I have a good grounding in physical trauma and care, I'm not experienced in dealing with mental issues."
"You've been with us for ten months and you're just really bringing this up now?" Inara asked, her tone curious and not accusing.
"I just . . . ." Simon thought about that for a moment. "I always thought her condition was physiological, direct damage to the brain, and while a lot of it is, there's a lot more to it than that. There's only so much I can do for River. I don't know how to treat mental illness, and there's no literature at all on how to deal with a psychic."
"I don't have any training in that either," Inara replied, letting her curiosity give way to consideration. Simon and River were family, as far as she was concerned, so of course she was willing to help, but she needed to really understand where he was going with this.
"I know, but you are trained to deal with mental problems," Simon continued. "I know you deal with issues like this regarding your clients, and I was just wanting to know if-"
"Of course," Inara replied, with a nod. "I would have helped sooner, if you thought it best, honestly." Simon nodded, and gave her a rare smile.
"Thank you," he offered, to which she waved a hand.
"Its nothing," she explained. "We're all friends, and taking care of River is nothing new for me."
By than they had made their way into the dining room to find River at one of the couches in the common room off to the side, eating a bowl of the spaghetti Jayne and Book had fixed that morning - or rather, trying to. She had a gob of noodles and sauce dangling off her fork and was trying to maneuver it down into her mouth. It reminded Simon of her adventure with the Ice Planets the last time they had visited Persephone.
"I hope Jayne didn't poison that," Simon remarked offhandedly as they approached her. River lowered the gob of noodles carefully into her mouth, and started chewing. She held up a hand to ward Simon off for a moment while she ate, and at the very least she looked like she was enjoying it. For her part, Inara could almost feel the wave of relief exuding from Simon that his sister was apparently at least a little happy at that moment.
"Its messy," River said as she swallowed, wiping some sauce from the side of her mouth. "Jayne cooks acceptably. Nobody's going to die."
"Coming from you, that's practically an admission that its horrific," Simon replied, and she smiled, raising the bowl.
"Try it?" she asked, and after a couple of seconds' hesitation, he reached out.
"If I die from this, I'm killing you," he warned. River's giggle was her only answer, and Inara was left confused at how easily she shifted gears. In the cargo bay, she had been quiet and distant, but with her brother she was playfully childish.
The Companion sat down beside River as Simon ate out of the bowl, and he gave her a false grimace at the taste, the comical exaggeration on his features belying the smell.
"Tastes like a pile of luh-suh," he remarked, to which River answered with her heel into his knee. He laughed and sat down on the couch, and Inara chose that moment of levity to step in.
"Are you feeling alright, mei-mei?" Inara asked, and River looked to her, the girl's expression shifted to one of baffled curiosity. When Inara raised her eyebrows in kind, River spoke.
"That's for Kaylee," she said, tone reflecting her face.
"Well, you've been with us long enough," Inara replied, apparently understanding her meaning. "I don't think you're just Simon's little sister now."
A smile touched River's face at that compliment, but it lasted for only a few moments. The ship shook again as Wash continued trying to convince it not to blow up, but the rumble of reentry was passing. Only a few minutes until they landed now.
"Not better," River said after a few more heartbeats of silence. Her tone was now devoid of the cheer she'd displayed moments before, and Inara felt a tinge of odd guilt over having suddenly ruined the moment between brother and sister.
"What do you mean?" Inara asked, leaning a little closer. She reached out and took one of River's hands in her own, and to the Companion's relief, she didn't recoil, as Inara half-expected.
"Came to see if I was better," she clarified. "But I'm not. There's scars . . . " Her other hand rose to her temple. "And ringing. Sounds. I can still hear them, see the blood." She closed her eyes, and Inara sensed a visible effort in the girl to push it all away.
"I'm still here, sweetie," she assured River, who opened her eyes again. Her fingers clenched Inara's tightly, and River's whole body tensed up. "I know it hurts. I can feel it in your grip, and I understand." The Companion reciprocated River's squeezing, and the shaking started to subside.
There was a stillness in the room, and in the corner of her mind, Inara realized Serenity had made another planetfall without bursting into flames.
"Can you talk to me about it?" Inara offered, and met River's baffled, pained eyes. The girl looked back, and the Companion shifted her thoughts to openness and honesty, hoping she would pick up on them and be calmed.
Inara waited for River to say something, but she looked away, her eyes becoming distant and unfocused. Simon watched his sister's face, but her gaze was locked in that familiar expression that meant she wasn't exactly on the same level as the rest of them. He reached forward, waving his hand in front of her face-
-and her hand shot up, grabbing his. She spun toward her brother, eyes widening in alarm.
"Its not safe," she gasped. Simon blinked.
"What?" She didn't reply, and instead turned toward Inara.
"Hide, hide before they come," she breathed, looking directly at the confused Companion.
"Mei mei, what are you-' she was asking, but then River shot to her feet, grabbing one of Inara's hands with her free one, and she pulled them toward the front of the dining room.
"They're coming!" she said, the alarm and fear in her voice squelching any further arguments the others would have offered.
River had sensed something, and they knew better then to argue with her as she pulled them out of the dining room and toward the cargo bay.
"So, all ready to go?" Mal called as he strode down the steps into the cargo bay. Below, Kaylee looked up from the mule, nodding and smiling.
"Everything's shiny, Cap'n," she answered. The ship shuddered one last time, and then settled to a halt on the ground.
"Jayne, loaded up?" he asked, and the mercenary, standing at the far end of the bay, patted his hip, where his very favorite revolver Boo was holstered.
"Ready to play ball, Mal," he said, and Mal nodded. He looked past Jayne, to see Zoë approach, her lever-action holstered at her hip as well. She still looked extremely unhappy with the arrangement, but as always, she stood beside him.
"Okay, Badger's time is about now, so we're splittin' hairs," Mal called, walking toward the control panel for the cargo bay doors. "Let's be prepped to-"
His words were cut off as he heard boots on the catwalk up above, and they all looked up to see River running along the upper gangway, with Simon and Inara following. Within a couple of seconds they had disappeared inside the door to Inara's shuttle, and it slid shut behind them.
"So, uh," Jayne remarked, scratching his chin. "What the fei-oo was that 'bout?"
"Not an inklin'," Kaylee replied, Mal scratched his head, not understanding what had just happened either, and then shrugged.
"Jayne, go see what that was all about," he called, turning toward the bay doors and hitting the switch. Jayne started up the stairs after the trio, while Mal looked back to Zoë and Kaylee.
"Let's be prepped to load up his cargo when he arrives," Mal continued, yelling over the rumbling hydraulics. "Don't want no trouble this time around."
He turned back toward the doors as they finished sliding open, and the ramp outside hit the landing pad. the bright glare and chaotic scents of the Eavesdown Docks entered the bay, and Mal shielded his eyes for a moment until his eyes adjusted. He lowered his arm -
" . . . hun dan."
- and found himself face-to-face with an Alliance officer, a dozen fully armed and armored federal marshals lined up behind him.
-
Author's Notes: Well, that's not shiny.
As with Business, I figured I'd open up the story with something showing off how things have progressed since the end of the last episode, as well as set things up for the rest of this particular arc.
As an aside, though River did play a substantial role in this chapter, the majority of the rest is going to be about Book, Mal, and Zoe. I wanted to deal a little with the aftermath of her experiences, as well as Jayne's, before we stomp off into the rip-roaring adventure the rest of the crew is going to go on in this arc. But first, of course, they're going to have to deal with that minor trouble outlined above.
A couple of other things I wanted to comment on. While I was writing this chapter, something felt a bit off when I was finishing it up. I put some consideration into the pacing, and I realized that I was missing something. I went back and added Zoe, Mal, and Jayne's little talk in the cargo bay last minute to smooth out the pacing and balance out the chapter, as well as give a bit more voice to Jayne and Zoe this chapter, both of whom I felt were lacking enough weight.
Also, regarding River's use of third person speech - and I'm glad someone pointed this out - I know that she spends most of the series talking in first person perspective, and I agree that all the third-person talk is heavily influenced by the fanfiction community. I'm mostly going to keep River talking first person, but moments where she's very out of it - such as her talk with Mal in this chapter - River may shift to third-person. If she's speaking of herself in this way, its a sign she is not happy in the brainpan. River is not all right, and what happened to her in the last "episode" is not helping her mental state.
Until next chapter . . . .