Matthew Mitchell Reynolds

This story and all themes and ideas contained in said story are the sole ownership of J.L. Scott. Any copyright infringements can be prosecuted in a court of law.

To borrow a phrase: Firefly no mine...no money, no sue, please?

Mal sat alone in the kitchen. The lights were off, the rest of the crew having long since gone to bed. He would have been drunk, but he'd already used up all their stores. They had let her body into space. She wouldn't have wanted to be buried, forever trapped beneath the ground. She wanted to be free, and the stars were her freedom.
It had taken Kaylee two days to put together a coffin. The raven had guarded her body until it was done. It was hard on Kaylee, but Mal was not able to comfort her.
He hadn't been able to much of anything, really. It'd been nearly a week. He'd spent the first few days in the 3 bottles they kept. Those were gone now and he'd returned to work, found them a buyer for the medical supplies they still had, ordered a course. But he still wasn't sleeping. He'd seen death before, he'd been in a war after all. But this hadn't been just death. This had been torture. To have found her, alive, and then to lose her again. To have built up all those dreams, plans, only to have them ruined. He hadn't been able to do much of anything.
He hadn't even been the one to show his son around the ship. Kaylee and River had done it. Mal had overheard the boy ask if they were his daughters, if that was how they were his sisters. He'd been surprised to hear River say:
"He adopted us" Only then did he realize what she had done. She had given him the family he'd always wanted: two girls and a boy. And here he could barely stand to be around Matthew. Physically, the boy couldn't look any less like his mother. Tall, wiry, no green eyes, no red streaks in his hair. But every move he made, every word he said, brought the memory of her burning to Malcolm's mind, blinding him to the rest of the world. So he'd been staying out of the kid's way as much as possible.
He felt horrible about it, only adding to his guilt and pain. Here the boy had been kidnapped from his home, held captive by experimental doctors, rescued, only to watch his mother die, all in the space of about a week. He was now on a ship full of quasi-strangers, looking at spending the rest of his life hiding from his mother's enemy. He could probably use his father just about now. But Malcolm didn't feel like a father. He barely felt human.
"Mal?" Malcolm looked up. Morgan stood barefoot at the top of the stairs. She looked heavenly, as always, in her white silk nightgown and her hair all down her back.
"What are you doing?" she asked as she descended and took a seat in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She smiled and brushed a hand across his forehead. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing.
"Just thinking I guess" he answered. Morgan smiled again and brushed a kiss on his forehead.
"You always did think too much" she told him, "Why don't you go tuck Matt in? He's still up you know"

"I don't know how" Mal replied. Morgan laughed, a beautiful sound.
"You don't have to know how" she told him, still brushing her fingers through his hair, "It'll come naturally"
"What if I'm bad at it?" he asked, still worried. Morgan took his face between her two hands and looked him in the eye.
"I don't think you could ever be bad at anything, Malcolm Renyolds" she whispered, "You're too good"
"I'm not sure about that"
"I am" Malcolm sighed. There was so much faith in her eyes, he couldn't doubt anymore. He pulled her head down and kissed her, such a sweet beautiful kiss. Then she cradled his head to her chest. He shut his eyes and just felt her.
"I love you, Mal" she whispered, but her voice seemed far away, "I'll always be with you...."
"Mal! Mal!" Mal sucked in a startled breath and his eyes whipped open. Inara's hand was withdrawing from his shoulder, a worried look was on her face. Morgan wasn't there. There was no Morgan anymore. He had been dreaming. But it had felt so real. He wouldn't put it past Morgan, to visit him in his dreams, to come and reassure him.
Inara still had that worried look on her face. Funny, but she was wearing that same white silk nightgown.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly.
"I'm fine" he answered, and he really did feel fine. Inara took the seat next to him.
"Morgan gave this to me" She slid a folded parchment over to him. Mal immediately recognized it as his wife's handiwork. His name was written across the front in her delicate, feminine handwriting.
"She asked me to give it to you" Inara told him. Mal picked it up. He didn't understand. Morgan left a letter with Inara? Why, unless she had....known.
He was almost afraid to break the wax seal. It crumbled when he did. There would be no resealing it. But Malcolm wasn't worried. She was dead, but she wasn't gone.

Dear Mal,

I don't know what to say to you. This may come as a surprise. It does
to me. I've always known exactly what to say, and not to say. But I
don't know what to tell you.
Yes, I knew it was going to happen. There was nothing either of
us could have done to stop it. I was just a ghost, Mal. A walking,
breathing ghost. I think I died at Serenity, with the war. I didn't
notice at first. I've been living with death since I was 15, and
perhaps I got too used to it.
I've been living on borrowed time, Mal. For who knows how long
now? When I saw you, though, I knew my time was up. I knew you'd come
for Matthew, the only reason I was still here. But it's all right,
Mal. I'm tired. I could use the rest.
Take care of Matt. I kept him safe for you. I always knew that's
all I was doing. Don't worry about what to do. You'll have all the
help you need. You have an entire family now. Your crew is just that.
Did you think I came up with all that just for the Alliance? I've
always been a sneaky devil! They may be trouble sometimes, but they're
more than just your men, Mal. And we never leave our men behind. Don't
give up on them, any of them.
Freedom was all I ever wanted. Finally, I can have it. Remember
the only freedom is the sky, Mal. And they can't take the sky from
you.

With all my love, forever,
Your wife,

Morgan Mitchell Renyolds

Malcolm carefully folded the parchment back up carefully. She'd always refused to write in the higher form. She wrote in the language she spoke, just like every other settler out there. Mal let one corner of his mouth lift at the memory.
"Mal?" Inara asked. She was still sitting there, worry in her beautiful eyes. Morgan must've known. She must've approved. But he'd have to wait. It was still too soon.
"I expect we'll be planet side early tomorrow" he replied, standing, "Best we get some sleep" The worry left her eyes. She smiled gently and floated away.
But Mal didn't go to his own bunk. Instead, he found himself in Matt's darkened room, watching his son sleep.
"Dad?" his young voice called from the heap of blankets.
"Yeah" Mal answered right away, not finding it so strange anymore, "Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Light spilled in from the hallway and he could see Matt sit up a little.
"I had a dream about Mommy" he said.
"That's funny" Mal told him, "So did I" He could see Matt smile.
"One time, when Mommy took me camping, we both had the same dream. She said it was because we loved each other"
"Did you go camping a lot?" Mal asked.
"Yeah. Mom liked camping. She said it was good for the raven to be out in nature. This one time...."
They traded stories for a while. Mal was surprised at how natural it felt, just to sit and talk to his son. He was every bit as fascinating as his mother.
They both fell asleep, Matt's head in Mal's lap, the raven perched over their heads, and dreamed of a happy ending.