Beep.
Camille moaned softly and rolled onto her side.
Beep.
She was so tired. Did she really have to get up? She didn't even remember setting an alarm, so there couldn't be anything important for her to get to. Couldn't she sleep just a little bit longer?
Beep.
Wait. Wasn't she on some ship? Serenity or something? She shouldn't have an alarm to wake up to.
Beep.
She opened her eyes. Her body was one big ache and her side felt like it was on fire. God, she hated getting stabbed. Hated anything that caused serious injury like this. If she were normal...
But the Alliance took care of that, didn't they?
Beep.
"Gorramit," she swore, realizing what was wrong. Carefully, she sat up and took stock. She was still hooked up to the monitor above her head, but the IV was gone. She vaguely remembered Simon waking her up a few hours ago and having her drink some sort of sugary water. That's when he'd taken out the IV and asked a few question. He'd just been making sure she knew where she was so she didn't start panicking. He'd also asked her to tell him what happened to her.
The latter part had been difficult to do since she'd had to remember her cover story instead of the actual event. And since the captain had basically come up with the story himself, it'd been even harder to remember exactly what she'd agreed to being. Still, she had a lot of practice with this sort of thing, and Simon was as easy to lead as anyone else she'd ever met. A few well timed pauses and hesitations, and Simon had helped her explain that she'd killed her boyfriend while he'd been beating her, and run away, wanting to get off planet.
Not a bad identity. Not one Camille would ever have chosen for herself, since she hated being a victim, but it was simple, straight forward, and pretty easy to remember.
Beep.
With a groan, she clambered off the cot and looked around the room. The ship was dark, and the infirmary was empty. The monitor had changed to reflect her conscious status, and she wondered if Simon would be coming to check on her. If so, she needed to act fast; she had a feeling he'd object or at least question what she had to do.
Her bags were under the bed, thank God. And they looked undisturbed. Not that there was anything incriminating in there; if they had found any of her weapons, she'd be able to explain they'd belonged to her boyfriend. As for the wigs and clothes... she hadn't told them her profession. There'd been enough bars full of exotic dancers on Persephone for her to pass herself off as one if it came to that. Fit with the persona, too. Go to a bar, strip for the customers, then go home to the boyfriend to get beat on a bit. Besides, if anyone wanted a demonstration, well, that's where some of her training would come in.
Beep.
At the bottom of her rucksack was a thick, leather bound book. She opened it to the back and pressed against the back inside cover.
Beep. Beep.
"All right," she hissed, pressing her hand to the back of her neck. "I get it. Hang on." Of course, the beeping didn't care, and it wasn't going to stop until she did what she had to. But, since she was awake and taking care of it, the ringing in her head was annoying.
The back cover of the book swung open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside were one hundred twenty tiny vials filled with a yellowish liquid. She removed one, closed the compartment, and turned to the front of the book. Opening that compartment revealed a hypodermic needle. She plunged the needle into the stopper of the vial and filled the chamber.
Beep, beep, beep.
"Gou le!" Camille exclaimed, exasperated. Her heart was pounding, and the veins in her temples was throbbing. She wondered how long her monitor had been beeping before she'd awaken, and she wondered if Garrison had already sent a ship out to get her. Three beeps wasn't good.
Camille bent her head forward. With her left hand, she felt along the base of her skull, pressing into the hard metal that was lodged into her occipital bone. In the center, underneath her hair, was a small depression, just big enough for a needle. Taking a deep breath as her chin-length hair brushed over her cheeks, sticking against her sweaty skin and lips, she raised the needle and, after a moment of blind fumbling, slipped it inside the hole.
It didn't hurt. It was designed not to hurt. And, if she were telling the truth, she really couldn't feel it. But, she could. Camille swore she could feel the needle sliding inside her bone, brushing against skin and hair and nerves.
Beep, beep, beep.
The echo reverberated inside her skull, shaking her. With another deep breath, she pressed down the plunger of the hypo, injecting the medicine into her monitor. Then, she slid it back out, feeling nauseated.
She hated this. Hated the monitor, hated the medication, hated the fucking beeping. But, she needed all of it. It worked. It had worked for three years now. The monitor and medication kept her on an even keel, kept her abilities under control, and kept the damage the Alliance had done to her mind and body from stopping her from living.
That didn't mean she couldn't resent it, though, at least for what it represented.
She put the needle away and closed the compartment on the book; then, she leaned back against the cot, closing her eyes. Her monitor was still beeping, three beeps every few seconds. A three beep alarm meant the chemicals in her blood were nearly depleted and, sometimes, one dose of medication wasn't enough. She'd wait another minute before doing it again; better too much than not...
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeep.
There.
She relaxed. Crisis averted. Her body chemistry was normalizing, which meant that Camille wouldn't have to go back to base. Base was nothing but a bunch of classes to hone her abilities in everything from martial arts to ballet and even seduction. It wasn't bad, especially since everyone there was just like her, so she didn't have to hide, but it was just... boring. Regimented. The schedule was so strict and so regular, she could practically sleep through the whole day and no one would notice.
The rest of the 'verse, though, that was the battle ground. That's where the theoretical became real. Camille traveled to planets both in the Core and the Rim. She took on a variety of personas suitable for the jobs Garrison assigned her. She wasn't paid exactly, although she never wanted for money. But money wasn't the reason she killed, stole, smuggled, and saved for Garrison. She did it because he'd saved her from the Alliance and changed her from a confused experiment to a balanced human being.
And, she did it because she loved him.
Not that that mattered anymore. Almost a year ago, Garrison had made it clear that their physical relationship was over. Just like that, no warning, and that made the idea of staying at base intolerable. Part of the joy of being at base was sex. And Garrison had taught her everything she knew about enjoying sex. And she'd enjoyed it with him better than anyone else. But then, one day, he'd just said, "I'm not comfortable with it, Camille. Go sleep with someone your age."
She'd slept through half the base before she realized he wasn't going to relent. And that's when she left for good.
It wasn't fair. Not fair at all. Garrison wasn't even sleeping with anyone else anymore, not like he used to. The rumors were that she was the last recruit that he'd trained personally. And that he'd slept with her longer than any other girl he had before.
She loved him. Garrison was her savior, her boss, and her lover. Or had been, at least. Not anymore.
That was why she preferred to be out in the galaxy. She traveled, did jobs the rob-from-the-rich jobs Garrison liked doing, met new people, saw new places. As long as she kept her medication and blood chemistry at a steady level, she could continue to travel. Garrison wouldn't be coming after her and taking her back to base, which meant she could get to know the strange crew that she found herself among.
Serenity. Midbulk transport, standard radion-accelerator core, class code 03-K64, Firefly class. Captained by Malcolm Reynolds who, for some reason, desperately wanted her to be the victim of abuse at the hands of a man who didn't deserve her. That was a little disturbing, especially since she'd become exactly what he'd wanted. Camille the Chameleon, as Prophet had named her; whenever she was in a pinch, she picked up cues from those around her and became what they thought she was.
If she'd known that this was the direction her persona would go, she would have given Kaylee another name. It was insulting to imagine that she, as Camille, would ever put up with anyone laying a hand on her. She should have said she was a Mary or Sarah or something ordinary and plain. Someone meek and quiet, who would let a man tell her what to do and beat her up when he was angry. And someone with mousy brown hair, instead of red. And long. Braids, maybe.
Camille touched her hair with a wry smile. Ah, well. This was a break between jobs; how was she to know that she'd fall flat on her face before they'd even left? It certainly hadn't been in the plan; after all, it had been an easy job.
She snorted.
Malcolm Reynolds wasn't going to be a problem, though, not really. She'd understood that it wasn't that he liked to perpetrate violence against innocents, but he'd been hoping that she wasn't going to bring any trouble--Alliance or otherwise--on his ship. He had to have his share of trouble with them, too. He looked like a smuggler, if that was possible to simply look like one. A criminal, but a good man, nonetheless. And fiercely independent as well. If he hadn't fought with the Independents during the Unification war, then he must have wanted to. She couldn't see him supporting Unification at all.
As for the rest...
Kaylee was a ray of sunshine, pure and simple. She was as good as she appeared, as friendly and open-hearted. A little jealous, though, so Camille had to make sure not to lose her head around River. It was going to be hard, too. It'd been a long time since Camille had been around so powerful a psychic and one with so very little control.
She was amazing, though. River. She was out of Alliance hand and she was still in one piece. Still sane, too, pretty much. Camille remembered when Garrison had found Jaden. Jaden had been escaped on her own a bit after Camille had been liberated; after three years, Jaden still wasn't talking. She never left the base and was a continued danger to herself and anyone who went near her.
So, the fact that River had escaped the Alliance and was actually coherent was remarkable. She was obviously brilliant-- they all were--and there was just something about her. Beyond the fact that she was beautiful. Just like her brother.
Which brought Camille around to Simon, who was currently in bed having very confusing dreams involving loud, bawdy songs, a bar, and some kind of mud pit. She pulled away from the chaos of his mind as best she could, but she still hadn't regained enough control over her powers to go away fully. The confusing jumble of songs rang in her head as she thought about the beautiful doctor.
He was very young, younger than you'd normally expect a competent surgeon to be. Camille was surprised that he hadn't wound up in Alliance hands like his sister, but, then, she didn't exactly know how the whole thing worked when money was involved. And Simon was definitely money. He wasn't just Core. He was rich Core, or had been. He seemed so out of place on this ship, all pale and beautiful and graceful. And his hands... The best doctors had the hands of an artist; Simon's were that of a master.
She wondered how he and River had wound up on Serenity. She wondered why he wasn't taking River home, or to somewhere she could get real help. Okay, yes, she knew River couldn't go back to Alliance territory; they were all wanted--needed she was sure the Alliance would say--back at the horrible place they'd escaped. But there were places River could get care. Like Garrison did for Camille and the rest.
River was different from her, though. Not like Camille and the kids from her school; River was like Prophet. Prophet had come from a different school. It'd still been called the Academy, but it was different. His training, what was done to him, it was off from what had been done to Camille. Not only that, but he was smarter than they were, more intuitive, and a lot more powerful. He knew things about people in a single glance that it took Camille minutes to get. From the look in River's eyes when they'd met, River was the same way. She had known Camille in a glance, and Camille was still trying to unwrap River's mystery.
Her mind shifted. Suddenly she was in the desert, surrounded by dinosaurs. A beautiful black woman in a slinky dress stood on top of a cliff, looking down at her. There was a gun in one hand; the other she held out towards her, a welcoming smile on her face. Camille took a step towards her and...
Guns. Mudder's milk. Whores in stockings and nothing else. Blood. Knife. Someone named Vera, and...
Beauty. Culture. A room full of people, dressed in silks and satins, dancing in each others arms. She whirled around the room, professionally happy, perfectly charming, but... but... but standing in a corner was Mal, looking angry. Frustrated. And Kaylee, with River in her arms, kissing, and Camille watched them, knowing that she was forever in a box. Forever apart and denied her own feelings because as a Companion, she'd chosen her path. She'd chosen and she loved it and it was her calling, but...
In the infirmary, Camille sighed and tried to sink further into the beauty and silk of the Companion's mind. Despite the melancholy, she was so centered, so wonderful. Camille could stay in her mind forever, basking in the calmness. She wanted...
"Camille?"
Slowly, Camille opened her eyes. Simon was standing over here, feet bare, wearing loose pants and a baggy shirt. His hair was mussed and there were lines on his face where it'd been pressed into his sheets.
Idly, she wondered how hard it'd be to seduce him. He had such gentle hands, he'd probably be good in bed. And it'd been awhile since she'd been with someone gentle.
She dismissed the thought. Her side was still on fire and her blood felt like it was full of fizz. Besides; having sex with someone while her psychic powers were so open was incredibly intense. It wasn't something she liked to do with just anyone, not even beautiful Core-trained doctors.
"Hi, Doctor," she said tiredly. "Did I wake you?"
"It's part of the job. Don't worry about it." He crouched in front of her. "What are you doing on the floor?"
"I'm hungry. I thought I'd try to find the mess and see if I could get something to eat, but I got tired. Thought I'd rest a second."
Simon's lips twitched. "I see. Are you hurt?"
"Well, I got stabbed yesterday. Twice. And beat up pretty bad. That hurt." Then, smiling at Simon's raised eyebrow, she said, "Oh, you mean now."
He laughed. "Yes, now."
"I'm fine. I mean, I'm in pain, but that's expected."
"And there's nothing I can give you?"
She shook her head.
"All right," he sighed unhappily. "I'd like to look you over. Then I can get you something to eat."
Camille nodded and let Simon help her stand. Carefully, she climbed onto the bed, for the first time aware that she'd been dressed in an oversized button-up shirt and a pair of baggy shorts. The shorts were hers, but the shirt didn't belong to her, but it smelled nice and was real comfortable and soft.
"I have clothes," she said as Simon pulled the shirt up.
"I know," he said as he checked her stitches. "But, other than the flannel you were wearing, nothing was button-up. I didn't want to have to pull you hands over your head, and the infirmary doesn't have hospital gowns. Mal had this one spare."
"I'll have to thank him later."
Simon nodded as he continued his examination of her. He took her pulse and blood pressure, listened to her heart, checked her pupils, and took her temperature. Finally, he pulled away and said, "You seem to be healing well. Stay here. I'll go get you some soup." He tugged her shirt down and pulled a blanket to her waist.
"Thanks." Camille laid bad and closed her eyes. She was wiped out from everything that had happened that day so far. She heard Simon leave, and pulled the blanket further over her. He was a good doctor; the captain was lucky to have him. She wondered if Mal knew that.
Just thinking about him was enough to draw Camille's mind to Mal's. The captain intrigued her. For someone who so obviously wanted to keep a low profile, he was generous enough with his ship. Technically speaking, she hadn't given him any money for passage when she'd passed out. He could have just left her. Most people would. He could have even taken her somewhere to get help, then left her. Instead, he'd actually carried her in, helped out during the surgery--even though it was obviously the last place he wanted to be--and comforted her. That was above and beyond.
He also had an Alliance experiment on his ship. One that the Alliance would kill anyone who got in their way in order to get her back. And, unlike Camille, this one wasn't constantly changing her looks and her name and her personality. She hadn't been trained to change, to blend. She remained the same, beautiful, brilliant girl that the Alliance had lost.
Camille wondered about River. Who had she been before the Alliance got a hold of her, and who was she now. Was she fragmented like Camille felt she was? Was River even her real name?
But Mal. A mystery. A simple man involved in so many complicated things. What made him tick?
He was dreaming now, sitting on a horse in the middle of a sun drenched field. In front of him was a herd of cattle, grazing on deep green grass contentedly. Mal shared the same contentment. He was simply leaning against the saddle horn, smiling at his herd, looking very satisfied.
Definitely an Independent. He was wearing the brown coat and everything. She bet there were battle scars on his skin, remnants of a war he'd given everything to.
That so many people gave everything to.
Serenity. As in the battle of. Oh.
In his dream, Mal sat up. It was a slow smile, happy, that lit his face until it rivaled thesun. With a loud almost bellowing sigh, he stretched like a person whose entire concentration was just on the feel of his muscles as he moved them, reveling in the fact he was alive. When he turned towards Camille, he had a drowsy smile on his face.
"Hey," he called, smile growing impossibly wider.
Ai ya! He shouldn't have been able to sense her in his mind, especially not with her being so unobtrusive. Mal must be a sensitive. Damn.
"Hi," she heard herself saying. She knew the drill. When invading someone's mind, there were two choices to make. One was to force your way in, to take control. Depending on how strong the psychic and how strong the resistance of the mind invaded, it could either be very easy or very hard. It always, though, left traces behind.
The second choice was to play along with the thoughts and impulses of the mind you were in. A trace of the psychic was left behind, but it was insubstantial, like a ghost. Since she hadn't meant to be here, it was better to play along and let Mal guide her.
He slid off his horse and walked over to her. "So. How are things back at the house?" His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close.
Oh, wow. She wasn't just in the dream. She was playing a huge role in the dream. Wife? Lover? What?
"Good," she answered, returning his smile. "I finished goin' over the harvest totals. We have enough to keep ourselves fed for the next year. And, we can sell some of the surplus for a tidy profit, plus have enough left over for them that need it most. Just like you always wanted."
Mal smiled, his arms tightening around her. "When can we take it out?"
"Day or two? Enough to get Serenity prepped, make sure Jones can take over the ranch for a few weeks."
"More than a few weeks." He kissed her softly. "Seems to me I still owe you a proper honeymoon. What do you say we sell the crops, play hero a bit, then you and me take off a few days and disappear."
This desire for her better be because Camille had been invading his mind while he was having this dream. She wanted to like Serenity. She wanted to be comfortable here. Having to worry about the captain lusting after her wouldn't make her comfortable.
Wo de tian a. He was still kissing her, gently, softly, with a light tongue that played over her bottom lip. Fire raced down her spine, and she pressed against him, feeling his body against hers even though it was just a dream. His hair threaded between her fingers, his mouth was wet and warm, and he was...
"Camille?"
Her eyes flew open. Simon was standing over her, holding a tray.
"Are you all right?"
She sat up slowly, hot and flustered. "I'm fine." She took the mug of soup Simon offered her and sipped it slowly. "It's good."
"You're lucky we're just shipped out. We have fresh food on board. Normally we only have packets of protein. We try to make it taste better, but there isn't much you can do with protein packets."
"Yeah, I know. Ship food is awful."
He looked at her. "I was under the impression that you didn't travel much."
People and their assumptions. "I never said that," Camille pointed out. She took another sip of soup. "I haven't gone off on my own. Every time I've moved, it's been because someone else wants me to. So my experience is defined by theirs. I wanted to see everything on my own."
"Ah. That makes sense."
"What about you? How'd you end up here?"
A guarded expression fell over his face. "I left home. River came with me. We wanted freedom, and, well. After talking to people, I decided that maybe Unification hadn't been the best thing after all. River and I found Serenity on Persephone. We were lucky."
"Oh?"
He nodded. "Captain Reynolds is a good man. Better than many." His eyes gazed into infinity and he repeated softly, "We were lucky."
"I'm glad," Camille said. She just hoped her luck on this ship would be good as well.