Chapter 18: In which Mal is worried, overjoyed and worried while Simon is just worried

Mal sat at a desk in his small, dirty, little room in their small, dirty, little hotel and looked over all of Book's notes on the Governor's villa's layouts, guard placement, windows, roof accesses and exits. He couldn't help but feel discouraged. His attempts at making a plan to save Kaylee were not going overly well. They were, more or less, 'Have Jayne do it' which was considerably better than his 'Have Zoë do it' plan. He had intended to use Zoë as a distraction as he and Jayne grabbed the Tam's. He didn't trust Jayne alone with the kids, which is why 'Do it yourself' was not a viable option for the save-Kaylee plan. And he didn't like the idea of Zoë getting into any action, but if he were there to protect her, he'd be able to handle it a little bit better, maybe. Perhaps she could do Wash's job and Wash could help Mal, or Wash could help Jayne, as snagging Kaylee was likely to be the more difficult task. Or maybe Wash could get the Tam's by himself.

Book was an untapped resource, as far as that went, but Mal didn't like the idea of using the preacher to take the tour twice. The guards were obviously on their toes. If they recognized Kaylee, they'd probably recognize Book, too and they couldn't afford even the slightest bit of attention drawn to them.

There was a gentle rapping on the door.

"What is it?"

"Got a message for ya Cap," a muffled voice that sounded very much like Kaylee's said. "Can I come in?"

"Gan xie feng hou nai zi zhi zao hua," Mal said, jumping up from his seat so quickly that he tripped over his chair and, as a result of the aforementioned smallness of the room, fell hard against the door.

"Cap?" the muffled voice said uncertainly. "You ok?"

"Kaylee," Mal said, finding his feet and unlocking the door with some difficulty. The locks were old and rusted. "Tell me it's you, girl."

"It's me sure enough," Kaylee laughed as the door flew open and a disheveled yet overjoyed Captain Reynolds. "Ya look happy ta see me."

"Am I ever," Mal said, grabbing his little mechanic and wrapping her in a ferocious bear hug.

Kaylee giggled in her adorable way and, after a second, said, "Cap'n, I need to breathe."

Mal released her from his embrace but kept his hands firmly on her shoulder, as if he were afraid she'd be spirited back to the governor's villa if he let go. "How'd you get away from the Governor's guards?"

"Oh, Cap'n ya ain't even gonna believe," The girl said, stepping into the room as Mal let his arm's fall off her shoulders. She couldn't step far, though, before running into his bed. She did, flopping down on it with a secure comfortable, familiarity.

Mal closed the door and leaned against it. His relief at finding Kaylee was quickly overshadowed by his eagerness to find out what had happened. "Why don't you go on and tell me?"

"I don't even know how ta start," Kaylee said, staring up at the ceiling.

"Beginning tends to be a good place," Mal prompted. "Like, say, when you were arrested?"

"Well," the young girl said, throwing herself whole-heatedly into the telling of the story. "The tour was done, and I was just 'bout to walk inta the gift shop after Shepherd Book when this guard comes up ta me and says 'Miss, would you come with us please.' And, let me tell you, I think at that very second my blood ran as cold as ever it did. I was sure they knew exactly what I'd been doin', even though there was no difference between me and all them other tourists, still . . .

"And they took me to the private wing of the villa, ya know, I think it was where the doctor's wing was, if I'm remeberin' the map right."

"Can you show me where that place was?" Mal asked, leaning over to his desk and handing the girl the tour book filled with the shepherd's notes.

"Ah yeah," she said, looking at the map for a second before pointing out a room and continuing seamlessly with her story. "They send a guard in and I thought I was gonna faint 'cause out came the governor! Can you believe it, Cap'n?"

"The governor hisself?" Mal asked, believing it regardless of his surprise.

"Yun-huh," Kaylee nodded, wide eyed and slack jawed, as if she barely believed it still. "And he looks at me and says, 'Do you know Simon Tam?' and my heart jumped to my throat and I couldn't of spoken a word ta lie even if I'd of had the presence of mind to think of it. I just nodded. And he turned to his guards and told them ta take me to his office and see that I was comfortable.

"Not five minutes went by and the door opened and who ya suppose was on the other side?"

"The governor?"

"Simon," Kaylee said flatly.

"You saw Simon?"

"Yeah," the girl nodded. "He looked so sad, Cap. I mean, more than usual. Remember how he was when he first came on, all starchy and stiff and hopin' that would make it so we didn't notice. And then when he'd smile it'd be a real effort, you know, like he was doing it more for you than for him, but not patronizing, like I'm making it sound, just, even sadder."

"I know the look," Mal admitted. He'd hated that look; it was the main reason that for boy's first few months on Serenity, Mal had strongly disliked Simon. Mal didn't like people who couldn't find something to laugh about, even in the worst situations; to him they seemed ungrateful or, possibly, unable to be joyful. But as the days wore on and constant, unavoidable contact made him more familiar with the boy and with his moods, Mal realized that it wasn't a lack of gratitude or even ability to be joyful, it was just that he was grieving. It all came down to an off-hand conversation he'd had with Zoë one day on their latest trip from Persephone to Jiangyin as they were shoveling manner into the air lock to be sucked out into space. Simon had offered to help, Mal had refused.

"You should have let him, sir," Zoë had said.

"Why?" Mal'd asked. "You and I can do this job just fine."

"He could have done this job with us just fine," Zoë'd pointed out. "And maybe speed us up a bit."

"Are you trying to tell me that haulin' manure is not your definition of a good time?" Mal'd asked.

"That's not my point sir, no," Zoë'd said. "But since you bring it up—"

This was not a conversation he'd wanted to have for fear that she might abandon her shovel. "You were saying about Simon."

"Just that you should have let him help," Zoe'd said. "I think it'd do you both good."

"Do us both good?" Mal'd scoffed. "How's that?"

"I don't know," She'd shrugged. "Busy hand happy heart. He'd probably be a lot more cheerful if he could do somethin' and feel like a part of the crew. Then you'd probably like him a lot better if he were more cheerful, and then if he though you liked him, he'd probably be a little more open and a little more likable."

"You know, you've thought way to much on this."

"Actually, sir, Kaylee has. She asked me to mention it to you."

"Well, ya have," Mal'd said, curtly, as if the observation had gone in one ear and out the other. He'd hoped that would the end of it.

"But I think she's probably right, sir," Zoë'd ventured.

"Do you?"

"He reminds me a lot of you, sir." She'd said with a very well played casualness, as if the comment was off-hand and in no way inflammatory. "Just after the war."

"What!" Mal'd practically yelled, stopping his shoveling all together and looking at her utter disbelief. "Zoë, I think you've been sniffing the cow pies a little too close."

"I ain't the only one to see it," Zoë'd said, still working diligently, as if their conversation hadn't thrown Mal into some sort of alternate universe where up was down and wrong was right. "Wash and Inara think so too. 'Course," She'd said, pausing to look at him. "They don't know what I know."

"And what," Mal'd asked, his voice clipped and furious. "Do you think you know?"

"That the forlorn look in that boy's eyes, the I-don't-have-a-place-in-this-'verse-everything-I-knew-is-gone-life-stoped-making-sense look."

"Yeah."

"That look was in your eyes," Zoë'd said with so much frankness Mal hadn't dreamed of nay-saying her. "From the moment you'd realized we lost on Serenity Valley to the moment you saw this ship."

And that was all she'd said. And it was all she'd had to say.

They'd finished the chore in silence as Mal'd struggled to convince himself that he and Simon were not similar in the least. That the boy's reclusive, mopey ways were nothing like his behavior after the war. Sure, Mal had sulked a little as he reevaluated and rebuilt his life, but the trauma of war was so much more, well, traumatic than the young doctors troubles. But after a good deal of resentful soul searching, and a little kindness on Mal's part, which lead to a little openness on Simon's part, Mal realized that it wasn't the trauma that they shared, it was the loss.

They both had lost everything they were sure they'd never lose, things they thought were so integrated into them that they didn't consider it possible to lose. Simon had lost his social position, his money and his job; losses he could probably have handled. But for all intents and purposes, he'd lost his sister, too. The River he had now was not the same girl, and she could never be the same girl. He'd given everything up, and gotten more suffering in return. Mal had lost the war, lost his home, lost his ability to be an upright member of society; again all things he could have handled. But he'd also lost his faith in the power or goodness, and in the goodness of God. Just like Simon, he'd given everything up for his cause and had gotten only suffering in return.

Mal hated to think that the I-don't-have-a-place-in-this-world-everything-I-knew-is-gone-life-stoped-making-sense look might come back to the young man's eyes, probably more than Kaylee did, because he knew what was going on in a person's heart when they had that look, and Mal had grown to care for the young doctor enough to wish him spared that kind of pain.

"Anyways," the girl said, oblivious to Mal's introspection. "The three of us sat and talked for what felt like forever. You'd of been so proud of him, Cap'n. He hadn't let a word out about Serenity, not even about where he'd been, not even to defend himself."

Mal was proud of Simon, although no one would know it by the look on his face. "What you three talk about?"

"Well, I explained the ship, kinda," Kaylee said, for the first time her tale was becoming a little deflated, as if she were afraid that she'd done something wrong. "You know, that we like him and that we only want what's best for both him and River."

"Did you, now?" Mal asked.

"I didn't give no details," the girl said quickly. "No names."

"Except yours?"

"Cap'n," Kaylee said very seriously, which was appropriate, because Mal had his mind on very serious matters. "The Gov'ner's a real Ci xiang. He's not gonna hunt us down. Fact, he told me ta tell you that he understands."

"He understands?" Mal said. "I don't suppose he told you just what he understands."

"Well," Kaylee admitted. "No. But he's gotta mean why Simon and River have been through, ya know, why they've been hiddin' and why we've gotta get them back."

"Tell me you didn't tell him our plan, Little Kaylee," his voice was a warning.

"'Course I didn't," Kaylee said. "I ain't stupid. But, Cap, neither is he. He knows you've taken risks on Simon and River's account before, don't take much figuring to figure you'd do it again."

"You told him?" Mal asked, a little horrified.

"Not much!" Kaylee insisted. "Only so much as to convince him that we weren't bad. He loves them, Cap. You'd know it if you saw him. And he knows we love them too and what were doin' is what's best for them. That's the thing he understands."

"That could very well be," Mal said grudgingly. "But after your little pow-wow, Kaylee, I'm fairly sure he understands that if he wants to keep the kids he loves so much, he's gonna have to keep them under double guard."

Kaylee continued to protest and to argue her point, but Mal didn't give credence to a word of it. He couldn't. He knew enough about people to know it is a universal fault of human kind that each individual believes other individuals are just like them. Kaylee was sweet and innocent and pure and good; and that was how she tended to see others, at least until they'd proven themselves not to be so.

He had to be ready for the worst; that their plan had been somehow discovered and that the children would be ten times more difficult to capture and Kaylee had been set free to make him aware of that, to scare him away. And if, by some miracle of luck, Kaylee was right about the old man, well, then, all for the better. But, the situation being what it was, Mal couldn't trust on a miracle of luck.

* * *

"I want to know," Governor Comworth said very seriously. "What you intend to do."

He was dining in a smaller, more intimate dining room, with Gabriel and Regan. Genie was eating a much more elaborate supper with Inara so they could focus on formal table manners. River was sick and tired after a day of testing to go to dinner, or even eat, and had been sent to bed early. Simon's company had been unwanted, so he was in his guarded room with no windows and no crawl spaces and yet another sandwich.

"What do you mean?" Gabriel scoffed. "What is there to do? We'll have to admit Simon and send River back to her school."

"You must be out of you're mind," Comworth gasped. "That is ludicrous."

"Now Gabriel," Regan soothed. "Let's not be hasty."

"I'm not being hasty," Gabriel said defensively. "I have given much thought to this and I'm convinced this is what's best for the children."

"But," Regan said weakly. "River's brain."

"When we toured the school they told us that some of their teaching methods were going to be state of the art in regards to brain functioning," he reminded his wife.
"But slicing up her brain," Regan said, horrified. "How could we send her back to that?"

"How could we not?" Gabriel demanded, a little angrily. "Simon ripped her from that school when whatever they were doing to her was half done. He's been playing with her brain, with her body, with no real aim. What ever they were doing at that school, they were doing with a purpose. Whatever procedures they performed were undoubtedly performed by leading specialists in the field, not a green ER doctor."

"Simon is brilliant," Regan said defensibly.

"I'm not saying he isn't," Gabriel said, his voice a little calmer and gentler as he talked to his wife. "But he is not a specialist with twenty years experience in brain surgery and chemistry. River cannot get better under his care. Simon simply does not have the experience or understanding to help her. But if we take her back to the school, let them finish what they started, I'm sure the River we get back will be better."

"Dr. Westland gave her medicine," Regan continued to argue. "She's already improved. This afternoon she was almost like the child I remember."

"Do you really what her to depend on medication all her life?" Gabriel asked, clearly disgusted with the idea. "Letting them finish their work is the only way she'll ever have anything like a normal life."

"Even if what you say is true," Comworth said, trying not to sound as angry as he was. "Why send Simon to a mental institution. Obviously the boy is only doing what he thinks is best. You may consider him misguided, but you can't believe him insane."

"I don't," Gabriel clipped. "Clearly River didn't understand what was happening to her any more than Simon currently does. She felt afraid and sent letters. Regan and I were wrong about that. We probably should have listened to his concerns more intently, instead of dismissing them.

"But the fact remains that he kidnapped her. That is a crime, regardless of circumstances. I don't want to see my son in Jail."

"You'd rather see him doped up?" Comworth said. "Treated like a child, a fool?"

"He's fortified his life," Gabriel said. "I hate that fact, but it is a fact. If we can convince a judge to rule him insane he could go for treatment, get a lighter sentence, he would have a better chance of rebuilding some of the things he's so thoroughly destroyed. Mental and emotional insatiability in times of great stress is much easier for society to accept than wanton criminal behavior."

"Surely Simon could not be called wantonly criminal," Regan said.

"Why not?" Gabriel demanded. "He committed a crime. He was of sound mind, he knew his actions were wrong, that didn't concern him. And we ought to take into account the company he has kept over the last few months. If that prairie harpy was any indication --"

"Now, I liked her," Comworth said. "She was sweet."

"She was di ji," Gabriel spat. "Simon could do better."

"I'm by no means convinced of that," Comworth said. "Neither, I suspect, is River."

"This is the Kaylee girl, isn't it?" Regan asked, interjecting herself into the conversation. "All afternoon River wouldn't stop talking about her. Simon didn't say a word."

"The boy has resigned himself to his fate," Comworth said with a curious tone in his voice. "Whatever path his is forced to go down he will trod it, regardless of how much pain it puts him through. I must say I respect how very resolutely he's accepted this whole, damnable, situation."

"Respect it?" Gabriel scoffed. "He's sulked like a child."

"He's forfeited his life, you said so yourself. And the new life that he was just beginning to forge, the life that Kaylee Frye was part of, has been snatched away. He has nothing now, not even River, because he knows we'll be sure to snatch her away as well. I, for one, can't fault him for feeling morose. I'm actually relived he's secure enough to let his feeling show."

"That was a very fine speech, Reginald," Gabriel said. "But nothing anyone could say will convince me that Simon is some sort of tragic hero. I wish to God he were, you know that, he is my son, and I do love him. But I'll never be able to accept his actions."

"So, I suppose your relationship with your son is over then?" Comworth said coldly.

"He's the one that ended it, not I," Gabriel said. "If is further is full of troubles and he has no one to turn to, that is on one's fault but his."

* * *

Simon stared at his half-eaten sandwich in disgust. He couldn't imagine any meal looking less appealing, and after his stint on Serenity, his imagination in regards to unappealing meals had been greatly expanded. It wasn't that the sandwich wasn't good. There was real meat, real bread, real mustard and sprouts. But as Simon's stomach churned and the boy considered forcing himself to get the last half down, he realized it wasn't the food itself that made him sick, it was what the food stood for. He'd been given sandwiches because he was too crazy to be trusted with butter knives and salad forks. All his parents distrust in him, all their disappointment, all their unwillingness to listen to reason seemed to be personified in that half a sandwich.

As he considered eating at least the pickle, whose symbolism was somewhat less clear, there was a knock on his door. Simon looked up, shocked that anyone would consider his privacy worth observing. "What is it?" he called.

"I just want to talk to you for a moment," the governor's kind voice said from the other side of the door. "Is that all right?"

"Do I have a choice?" Simon asked.

"Of course you do," the governor said. "If you don't want company, I'll leave."

"No," Simon said quickly, trying not to sound as surprised as he was. "Please, come in."

The door opened and Governor Comworth entered. The old man looked tired and though the smile he offered Simon was genuinely warm, it did seem a little forced. "I thought you might like some coffee," Comworth said, stretching out a mug towards his hard-eyed godson. "Decaff, black."

"Thank you," Simon said, looking at the mug coldly. "But I'm not really thirsty."

"Nor hungry," Comworth sighed, setting the mug down on the table near Simon before walking over to the bed and sitting down on it. "So it would seem."

Simon glanced at his half eaten sandwich, which looked more unappealing by the minute and then turned back to his godfather, "I just don't have the stomach for it." He said simply.

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Comworth spoke. "I liked her."

"Kaylee?" Simon asked. For a split second a warm expression tempered his face, but just as quickly it was replaced by foreboding. "You didn't follow her, did you, or –"

"I didn't do anything," the governor assured the younger man. "I just let her go."

"I don't understand," Simon said.

"You were right about River," Comworth said simply. "She was suffering and you did give up all you had to end it. You did save her."

Simon couldn't believe his ears, he just stared at the governor, dumbfounded.

"And you were right about the criminals you fell in with. Kaylee and, ah, Mal?"

Simon nodded dumbly, too shocked by his godfather's admission to notice the subtle use of the captain's first name, nor even wonder how the old man came upon it.

"You told me they took care of you, that you both 'would be dead if not for their aid.' And, as much as it pains me to say this, I find that I have to believe you."

"Pains you?" Simon asked uncertainly. "Why would it?"

"Because," the governor said, taking a deep breath and pushing himself up. "It means I will have to do things I do not want to do. Hurt people I do not want to hurt. Betray things I never thought I would betray."

"What are you talking about?" Simon asked wearily.

"I don't know," the governor sighed. "I should . . . it's been a long day." He clapped his hands on his legs and pushed himself up so that he was standing. "One of the longest of my life."

"You can't just leave," Simon said, standing to face the governor eye-to-eye. The governor's eyes were heartbroken, about to cry. Simon was too concerned about his fate and River's to give a damn. "You've obviously made a decision about what you're going to do with River and me."

Comworth looked at his godson, tried to say something, and then took a deep breath and shook his head. Turning towards the door, he said, "I don't know what will happen. I won't know until it does."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't find that comforting," Simon said. "You have all the power, why play these games?"

"I'm not playing, Simon," Comworth said, pausing at the door and looking at his godson very seriously. "This is your life, not a game."

"Then stop dropping clues and giving hints," Simon demanded. "If you're going to send us off to the Alliance tell me!"

"I won't give you to them, Simon," Comworth said very seriously. "I couldn't."

"Oh," the boy said, once again shocked. "Then, does . . . does that mean . . . ?"

"I can't think about what that means, just now," the governor said. "As I said, it has been a long long day. I just wanted to come in here, give you coffee and let you know that I really did like your friend. That having been done, good night."

"Good night," Simon said as the older man closed the door. He stared at it for a moment, wondering what the whole conversation had meant. As he stood there, the doctor felt himself swaying on his feet. He was exhausted, emotionally if not physically, and probably hungry he reasoned with some amusement. But the sandwich still looked horrid and the bed, on the other hand, was inviting. Simon sank into it and before he could be bothered to take off his shoes or get under the covers he was asleep.

* * *

River woke up screaming. She wrestled with her thick blankets, trying desperately to detangle herself. After great effort she managed to fall off her bed and onto the floor.

"Simon," she sobbed. She was cold and the darkness seemed to be coming closer, rushing in on her. It was going to swallow her, she was sure of it. The darkness, which looked like some sort of mean dog or a Chinese dragon, smiling at her horribly, would rip her apart and eat her up.

"Simon!" she called again, louder. He had the power to turn on the lights and scare the beastly darkness away. He had the power to transform the blankets that had been smothering her, strangling her, into warm soft wrappings that comforted her. He had the power to make the nightmares go away. But he wasn't coming. The darkness got closer. She could feel its horrid ice-cold breath and her body ached where it would bite into her. Terror closed her throat so she couldn't scream; all she could do was sob softly. She was abandoned to the darkness, utterly alone.

Outside the room a guard patrolling the hall had heard her second cry to her brother, and then the beginning of her sobs. He called it in over his transmitter, "Base, this is Alpha three twenty, there's an odd noise coming out of the blue room."

"Blue room," the base crackled back. "That's where that girl is, the one Genie's age."

"Oh, yeah, what's her name, Rainbow?"

"Something like that."

"Should I check it out?"

"Can you describe the noises?"

"Well, it sounded like a scream and then some crying. It's quieted down now."

"Nah, kid probably just had a nightmare. Nothing to worry about."

"Ten four, talk to ya later."

To Be Continued . . .