NOTE: I know I've said 'part X of 6' all along, but there is an epilogue, which will be posted shortly. Like 'half an hour' shortly.

Chapter 6

"Well, as if I couldn't have guessed that part," Mal griped. Fire from Niska's men peppered the river bed's opposing wall. "Tell me something I don't know."

"He's a freighter captain," Saffron smirked. "I'm cutting him in on the job." She snatched a glance up over the bank to see what was going on.

"Your latest idiot. Right, I get that. Where's his ship?"

"If I knew, do you think I'd still be here?" she snipped.

Mal broke off an incredulous burst of laughter. "You are something else," he said, jabbing a finger in her face. She slapped his hand away. He moved in with his other hand, catching her off-guard, and wrested his pistol back, shoving her off him as she tried to cling and her claws dug through his clothes into flesh with intent. "Well, now. Reckon I'm liking this situation a mite better. Anyone ever tell you, you make life a whole barrel of fun?"

She stuck her tongue out and gave him a right mean look, ignoring the firefight going on six feet above their heads, and a cry that sounded like it came from the group including her new husband - so no change with regard to the amount the whole 'to have and to hold' deal meant to her, then.

He backed off, keeping the pistol trained on Saffron, until he reached a dip in the bank where the edge had crumbled away, far enough from her he felt safe taking a peep over the top to gage the outcome of the latest round of bullets.

Which seemed to be that Saffron's better half was down and writhing in pain while his two buddies weren't moving much at all. Niska had one remaining lackey, just venturing out of cover as Mal watched, picking his way to the downed men with one eye on the spot Saffron had done her shooting from, before.

Mal aimed and fired, dropping him in his tracks, scrambled up the side of the bank and crossed to Eunice's hatch in several quick steps to level the gun at Niska.

The old bastard tried to duck away. Mal reached him and dragged him out of cover, keeping the pistol trained. Poked the weapon right in Niska's face and watched his hands slowly rise above his head. "Mister Reynolds, please," he began, with grandfatherly sincerity.

"What, you're thinking we should be civilised now?" Mal asked. "Ain't that a thing."

"Kill me and others will come," Niska said, but his voice held a tremor and there was fear clear in his face. His lackeys were down, and Niska... Niska was a frail old man. Mal felt his lips twist, wondered what his own face must look like. "My wife - my family - my business connections, they will never stop looking for you."

"And you'd be explaining to me just how that's s'posed to be any worse an option than knowing I got you on my case all keen to be finding out about my 'true self'?" He all but jammed the gun up the old man's nose.

"Not so," Niska stuttered. "No more - I will not. We are finished, you and I, yes?" He made as though to nod keenly, 'til the positioning of the pistol brought him to a re-think on that notion. "We are reasonable men, Mister Reynolds."

Mal cocked back the pistol. "Funny thing. You see, I ain't feeling in the least bit reasonable far as you're concerned. Could be it's the torture. Always did have that unseemly weakness for getting bogged down in grudges about the little things."

"I will pay you - compensation, yes - ?"

Mal made no effort to conceal his disgust. "Pay me with what? I'm thinking your credit ain't no good with me." He stepped back a couple paces, letting the pistol relax with a recalcitrant sort of a crunch, twisting back in his hand so the barrel pointed at the sky. He gave Niska a stony look, then tipped his head to indicate the long stretch of desert headed off into nowhere that followed the course of the dry river. "Run," he said.

"I - " Niska's gaze flickered over Mal's face and he apparently changed his mind on the protesting. Turned and started clambering over the uneven ground fast as a dried-up old carcass reasonably might, keeping glancing back over his shoulder as an extra drag on his pace.

Mal watched him a long moment, until a groan from Saffron's husband of the week drew him back to the fact he still had himself a situation here. Frowning at the distant running figure, he carefully levelled the pistol and fired; watched the figure falter and fall.

"Something tells me he earned that." Less of a smirk in her voice than he might have expected. He lowered the gun, turning to see Saffron a little way behind him, her gaze crossing the distance to the black huddle of Niska's corpse.

"Yeah. Well. I sure as hell ain't leaving that old bastard alive a second time," Mal murmured. Dragged his own eyes away from the black smudge on the pale sand again, seeing as how they were displaying a disturbing tendency for straying back to it. "You best look to your husband, woman, before he starts getting all jealous on the two of us."

He thought - could be wrong, after all, had been a strange sort of a day and none too easy on the nerves, but he did think he detected a faint crack in the performance; trace of a sigh, a grimace, a suggestion that inside was a person beginning to find the pretence tiresome. Then, Saffron exclaimed, "Oh!" and scrambled her way over to the fellow's side adding to that a, "Sweetie? Honey? Are you all right? Did they shoot you bad?" Mal's ears tuned her out as she knelt down and started up with cooing noises. He crossed instead to the other bodies lying about and checked them each by turn.

Niska's pilot was unconscious with a bullet scrape down the side of his skull and would most likely live without medical intervention so long as this area of Ezra didn't have any imported predators to finish him off while he dozed. After some pause, Mal dumped him just inside Eunice and sealed the doors. The rest of Niska's men were dead, as was one of Saffron's crew. Another was too far on his way to it, a hole in his chest and one in his thigh. He stirred and grabbed Mal's hand, jerky motions and none too lucid. "Help me... I can't..."

Mal patted his shoulder. "You'll be just fine, kid. Help's on its way already. You just relax and don't stretch yourself any." The lie came easy enough after Serenity Valley. He kept his grip on the youth's shoulder a moment, 'til he was gone.

"Shame," a pain-troubled voice said behind him, as he stirred himself and made to rise. "Good gun hand. Didn't make a fuss."

"Right," Mal responded, noncommittal. He stood and faced Saffron and the fellow she supported with her shoulder despite him being tall enough to make her look a delicate little toy. Combined with the huge bag she hefted, the weight looked like to keel her over and pin her to the ground.

"You're Reynolds," the fellow said carefully. "Her ex." Managed to make a show of glaring and pawing the ground despite the evident stress of his injury.

"No cause wasting perfectly good jealousy over me." Mal tossed him a grin and a slap on the arm that likely did him no favour, and cheerfully neglected to mention she and he never had gotten that divorce. "You two got my blessing - and if you ain't just the cutest gorram couple I ever did see." A quick mock-hug on his part smushed them both together and rocked their balance. "Say, what did happen to Fenro, by the by?"

Saffron glared at him covertly. "I think we need to be going, Lane sweetie, Mal - you know, before the law arrives all a-wondering what this commotion's been about?"

Mal nodded wisely. "Second thoughts, I guess. Too bad for Fenro. Still..." He clapped his hands together. "Where'd this ship of yours be, Lane?"

"Back this way." He gesture followed the river. "Ain't far."

"Best get moving, then. Say, I could carry that if you - "

"I'm fine!" Saffron snapped, tugging at the bag full of money. The question in her face was clearly as to who'd invited him along anyway, but with the only gun between them in his possession it went unasked. Mal didn't offer to take the husband off her hands.

Might not have been far, but it was clearly far enough for the luckless Lane. When Saffron set him down inside the ship's hold (a neat little Spacebug 35I, up-to-date cousin to the firefly class with a bit more flash and a lot less guts) he collapsed with a groan and stayed where he lay, all but out.

Saffron swore in Chinese and looked as though she might've liked to kick him, but the fact she abided spoke she still had use for him yet. She hit the comm. "Jamal? Need to get out of here double-quick time. Make for Capitol City or Murssen, whichever's less like to head us into Alliance traffic."

"Right away, Mrs Rudgard," a voice floated back.

Mal turned to her as the hiss of the comm cut out and the vibration of movement purred through the ship. "Mrs Rudgard? So you'd not be going by Saffron Reynolds these days?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, narrow-eyed, hauling the bag off into a corner off the cargo deck and dumping it there. "Becky Rudgard," she added as she straightened, giving him a little curtsey for his troubles. Whipped off her little white cap with the kind of irritation hadn't realised she'd still been wearing it these past hours and flung that into the corner, too. "Sweetie, you look almost disappointed I'm not taking your name in vain."

He laughed. "Or maybe you're just disappointed that I ain't. I got no problem you disowning me... So, Lane Rudgard?" He gave her an assessing look and nodded smugly, sliding his gaze about the hold, which was a lot like Serenity's hold, then back to her. "And you chose him and this boat - hell, this whole gorram job - because?"

"They were convenient... what? Did you expect me to say, 'Oh, Mal, you know why. You got under my skin. I can't keep myself away from you! I can't stand to live without you. Take me in your manly arms and...'" Ending on a snort, she tugged at her hair and squared her jaw. Brushed down her creased and dusty white tunic and levelled her gaze to his. "Now," she said, after a moment, cocking her head. "What do I do with you?"

Mal played with the gun in his hands. "I'll make it real simple for you. You can just give me my cut and send me on my way. I got no thoughts to linger."

She gave him an incredulous stare, but he could see the hint of a smile pondering taking over her lips. "Your cut?"

"Well, I'm figuring since I had such a key role in your plan I'm owed that much. You used me. Now pay up. I ain't greedy, a three-way split sits just fine with me. That leaves, let's see... the rest for you. Doubt you'll even miss it, looking at your haul there. 'Sides, ain't like the money's ever the point."

She smiled and took a step closer. "You do know me, Mal. Maybe better than anyone. I'll say that for you."

"The truth hurts," he conceded.

Her fingers hooked in his belt and he moved his gun up to tickle it under her chin.

She tutted. "Know what I know?" Fingers stilled, but not in retreat.

"What?" he asked, less than patiently, a little too aware of her hands.

Saffron leaned forward so the barrel scraped along her neck, and whispered up into his ear. "You're shooting blanks, baby. There's no bullets left in that gun."

'Fore he'd chance to come up with answer to that or make to test the theory, she'd rendered the point redundant with a twist and throw manoeuvre ended him with a kick in the head that turned out the lights like someone threw a switch.

Someone was making a clamour fit for raising the dead smack atop his head - in fact, gorram noise reverberated so loud he wasn't too sure they weren't in the honest-to-God act of setting about his head with a blunt instrument. For certain somebody had done just that not long since. As for the rest of him, he seemed to be an uncomfortable sort of twisted up that sent twinges and cramps through his body when he tried to move. Realised furthermore he seemed to be encountering floor on more sides than he rightly ought.

Another hammering crash inches over his head tore through his skull.

Had himself a moment of natural outright panic at the idea of being encased blind in the dark, striking out and shoving at the barriers that hemmed him in on all sides. The surface above his head moved fractionally, and then thumped back into place. There was an annoyed, muffled exclamation and the tiniest fast-extinguished flicker of light. Another crash. Then -

"Awake finally? Why I do swear, Malcolm Reynolds, you must be the laziest husband in this whole 'verse," came a familiar false drawl.

Mal fair roared with the realisation of just what was happening. "You lousy gorram bitch!" Braced himself as best he might and started to pound at the lid of the crate with intent. "If you don't open up this thing right now, I swear - "

"Oh, hush." He could hear the pout in her voice. The lid sagged inward with the application of weight. Crazy hellion had gone sat herself down on it, of all the... "Fair's fair, Mal. Don't worry, I'll see you posted back to that rustbucket little ship of yours. Speaking of which, you might want to lay off anything that could persuade me to send you via the scenic route. I'd imagine much over a day in there would start to get more than a mite uncomfy."

Mal pounded at the lid. "You rutting whore! Saffron, you let me out of this gorram box - !"

"Scenic route it is." Said it with a false sigh in her voice, and underneath an unruly amount of happy. "I said don't grouch so. You know, I could have found some garbage to toss in there to make the experience all the more complete. Lucky for you I'm not that petty. You should be glad."

"Saffron, you listen up!" Mal yelled, giving up on the lid. His twisted position in the crate didn't lend much leverage for pushing. He raised his lips to the seal around the lid and put his efforts into words instead. "You do this, I promise next time we meet I will put my hands on that pretty neck of yours and squeeze 'til you - "

Another bash cut him off, as she hammered down on the seal. He hadn't noticed her weight leave the lid - hell, maybe she was kneeled on top of it to work. "Don't be such a baby," she said. "This wouldn't be anything but poetic justice, sweetie. You just sit tight and you'll be back with your crew before you know it. Heck, I even dropped you your cut in there and some rations 'case you get caught up in the mail."

"Damn it!" Mal roared. "I came to rescue you, you lousy bitch!"

Her laughter leaked back to him. Since the seal was pretty firm in place, leastways far as he could tell running his hands around the edges blind, must be air coming in from somewhere else. He hoped so, anyway. He didn't think she'd let him suffocate slow, but it wasn't a matter he'd be willing to put money on. His hands, searching lower, found the shapes of a packet full of what felt like wads of paper, a couple of ration packets and a flask, and his pistol - empty of bullets.

"My big dumb hero," Saffron waxed lyrical, a veritable flutter in her voice. "Oh, please."

A softer sounded than the banging - mayhap she'd patted the top of the box. "I'll leave you now in the hands of the fine fellows of the Allied Postal Service. Plea with 'em all you want, but they've been bribed handsomely enough not to listen - and I wouldn't be trying to counter that by advertising you got money in there, you bein' helpless in a box and all. Between you and me, those boys don't exactly come across like model citizens."

"Screw you!" He threw all his strength into a surge against the lid that rocked the whole crate.

"I don't believe we ever got that far. Ours was a very frustrating marriage for me, sexually..." Her voice sounded distant, like she'd already turned and was walking away.

"Go to hell!" The crate fair leaped with his anger and near toppled, settling back upright with a crash that rattled his teeth.

"Honey, I would if I ever thought I'd get away from you there." Another more distant laugh. "I'll be in touch, Mal. Got a job for you and your crew to make that last little heist look like child's play. You stay faithful to me, now."

"I ain't married to you!" The time, the crate did tip, squashing him down on his face and contorting limbs ways they weren't never made to bend. He kept up a tirade of cussing while righting himself, and by the time he was in any fit state for listening again, he couldn't hear nothing at all. "Saffron?" he said cautiously, and louder: "Saffron!"

Silence made itself unwelcome as his sole response. "Gorram you, Saffron, you lousy fruitloop two-bit hooker, you get back here right now and ...Saffron? Saffron!"