Disclaimer: Main characters owned by Joss Whedon.

It was the end of their first day of labor work, and Mal clearly remembered why he was a captain and not a lackey. First off, he wasn't good with taking orders. Much better at giving them. Second, manual labor has no rewards whatsoever. He'd been moving large piles of scrap metal all damn day and what did he have to show for it? Someone else coming in as soon as he was done to dump more scrap. It never ended. But at long last the day was done, and the supervisor (if he could be called that) had said Mal was good enough to come back again tomorrow.

Now, in the back alleyway of an old warehouse that'd shut down for the "winter months" (some kind of sick joke, Mal believed. All months were winter months, and if they weren't how in hell could you tell the difference?), Mal wondered if he actually could go back tomorrow. His leg was killing him. He felt old. He couldn't remember being this tired over something as meaningless as moving crates. They were heavy, sure, but he wasn't old enough to be feeling this way. Was he? His cold fingers traced a few well-known lines on his face- one across his brow, small ones by his eyes, the infamous 'smile lines' by his mouth. Jesus. Was he too old?

River plopped down beside him and handed him a steaming mug of something. He drank it, spat it out and readied himself to drink it again. "What're you giving me?" he asked.

"Broth," she said simply, taking a small sip from her own mug.

"Wait… where'd you get broth?"

"I got it from an old woman selling it on the corner. I found some money in the street today."

"Okay," Mal accepted. It made sense. And if she had stolen it, she would have just said so. "Thanks." The only redeeming factor of the broth was that it was hot. "What's this broth of?" he asked, hesitant to take another drink.

"Don't know," she said simply. "Probably warm soot broth."

"Soot broth?"

"Ashes, fire remains. Serenity."

Mal looked down at the warm liquid cupped in his hands. "I could be drinking my ship?" River nodded, sadly. She too looked at her cup. Suddenly, Mal wasn't anywhere near hungry. Instead he swirled the liquid around idly, warming his hands.

"Did Mal cry when he lost his girl?" River asked softly.

"You mean Serenity?" She nodded. "Yeah, sure I did. Lost some of my best men. And women."

"Does captain mean the ship, or the battle?"

"The ship." He paused. "And the war. Both." He'd forgotten about the war. Why had he named his ship after a lost battle? For what purpose? He knew all the reasons, but didn't it just make sense she would go down in flames, just like his troops? Did he have a way with leading men to their deaths? It'll stay with you the rest of your life, he'd told Zoe, so proud of his new ship. He'd fallen in love instantly. Zoe had given him that look she always gave him and said That's because it's a death ship, sir. Simple as that. And simple as that, she'd been right. It occurred to Mal he'd left the war without any scars. Mental ones for sure, but nothing to show. Nothing tangible. Now he had a limp and age lines and a crazy girl to prove he'd lost his ship.

"Not old," River said, scattering his thoughts. "Aged. Not old. Mileage, not years."

"Whatever you call it, it shows. It's all over me."

"Mal was not made to be old?"

"I don't know," he told her. "Maybe not. Maybe I'm too proud."

"Mal was not made to be a father?"

He looked at her, puzzled and not yet alarmed. "Say again?"

"A father. A brother. Caretaker. He is scared he's reckless. Scared he takes lives. Scared he can't nurture, can only destroy."

Underneath the crazy babble, as always, River knew exactly what she was talking about. Mal was afraid he wasn't meant to nurture anything, just destroy it. After the war had ended he'd wanted to sustain life, just keep on going. Not destroy anything anymore. But he had destroyed so much, taken so many lives. Book. Wash. Zoe, Kaylee, Simon. They'd all gone down because of him. River was all he had to show for himself, and she scared him witless. He didn't want to be so well known without her even trying.

As though reading his thoughts (which she had been), River took Mal's hand and held it in hers. "River will be okay. She trusts him."

"But," he said, choking on threats of tears, "he don't trust himself. What if River goes down too?" It was funny how in order to talk with River, he usually adapted her third person way of speaking.

"Trust," she said simply, starting to cry herself. "River trusts Mal will care for her. Mal must trust she will too." She kissed his cheek and curled up beside him, her broth cup long since dropped into the snow. "Family."

"Family," Mal repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. Family. She was his family, and he was hers. Until he brought her home, anyway. "Well, sis, we can't stay out here and freeze to death." The wind was picking up and he didn't want to spend another night freezing to death and not wanting to sleep for fear they wouldn't wake up. At least this time they had parkas and wool fur-lined pants, but the problem was still there. "Wanna help me break in to a factory?"

Without a word, River punched the glass window behind her. It shattered neatly, leaving an almost fist-shaped hole. She reached in, unlatched the hook and pulled the tiny window open. Mal smiled at her proudly. She smiled back, admiring his age lines. They made him look dignified and perfect.

"You wanna climb in and open the door for me? Don't think I'll be doing any climbing, what with my leg."

River slipped out of her coat and nimbly crawled into the small window, the frayed chicken wire scratching her arms and back. She ignored it. Inside it was enormous and dark. Huge machines threatened to crush her if they fell. But they would not fall, and in her mind River told them so. They would not fall on River and Mal, they would protect them. She broke the lock to the small delivery door and opened it. Mal was still waiting beside the window they'd broken. River called softly to him.

"Here," she said. He turned abruptly, then scurried over and came inside. The door shut behind him, and silence clamped itself over their ears. It was tomb-like in this place. Shadows played tricks on their minds, and River was scared. She couldn't help it. It was silly she knew because there was nothing in here that could harm them, but her mind would not let go of the images of monsters and dragons that could swallow you whole. She screamed.

Mal grabbed her and clamped a hand on her mouth, then placed the other over her eyes. She quieted in his embrace. "You cannot do that," he scolded. "I know you can't help it, but you gotta learn to. We can't get caught here."

"Scared," she whispered. "The dragon eats her soul. So much blackness."

"Ain't nothing in here to be scared of. Remember trust? Don't you trust me?" She nodded. "Then trust me you ain't gonna get hurt." He hugged her tightly, slowly uncovering her eyes. She looked around and tried to see what things were, not what they could be. As her eyes adjusted to the dark it became easier.

Mal found a place for them to lay down- a conveyer belt wide enough to carry a truck. What kind of factory is this? he wondered. It didn't matter right now. He pulled up his hood, laid down and motioned to River to do the same. She did willingly enough. He tucked one arm under his head as a pillow, and the other held the girl tightly to him. We're safe now, he thought to himself. More for River's mind reading benefit than his own. Safe.

If River calculated things right, she and Mal could afford a ride on a ship not meant for human transportation in about six months, being paid what they currently were. And she wasn't sure she could hang on to her job much longer. It kept her away from Mal, and Mal was the only thing that was familiar to her anymore. But in regards to pay, she needed to think of a way they could make more money or they'd never get off this planet. It stood to reason why the people who lived here (and who would want to in the first place?) spent their entire lives here. It was poor here, it was desolate and no one could do anything to change it. In a way it reminded her of the small muddy town where Jayne had been a hero. She missed Jayne. She missed Simon most.

It was getting bad. She was underneath the wing of a jet, scraping pieces of dead birds off the engines. Detail work, like she'd told Mal. So far she was doing okay. But this was only day three, and things were starting to get worse every day. Lots of alone time gives you lots of time to think, and for someone trying to escape their brain, alone time is not your friend. She kept thinking about Simon, about Kaylee and the children they were going to be having. Twins, most likely. Ran in Kaylee's family. River had cried all day yesterday while weaving her way through the inner workings of a commercial jet. Pluto was one of the last planets that still used them. Someone had seen her and asked what was wrong, and she'd screamed at them that the twins could never be born now. God wasn't fair. They gave her a strange look and walked off, indifferent to her suffering.

Tossing down her scraper, River decided she needed Mal. If he couldn't be with her, then this would not work. And they needed more money. She approached the supervisor (Eddie, she remembered) and tapped him on the shoulder. He awoke from his nap, startled.

"What?" he snapped.

"Detail won't work. Need to scrap."

Eddie looked her once over, and laughed heartily. "A skinny girl like you? Too dangerous. Get back to detail."

"Need Mal!" she shouted. "Need Mal! Can't be abandoned again!"

"Cool it, little lady," Eddie said, trying to patronize as much as possible. "Reynolds!" he yelled across the yard.

Mal looked up, annoyed. Oh, God, he groaned to himself, down to boot licking last name status? But aloud he called back "Yeah?"

"Having troubles with your girl."

Mal sighed deeply, a sigh that touched every part of him. It was the sigh of knowing he was about to lose this job and they'd be stuck here forever. He made his way across the junkyard, stepping over bits of planes and spare parts. Eddie looked down at him from the supervising platform. River was by his side, looking distressed.

"Says she won't do detail no more," Eddie informed Mal. "Wants to be with you."

"Okay…" Mal didn't quite see the problem. "So, put her on scrap?"

Eddie shook his head. "Women can't scrap, they're too weak. Tell her she's got detail or she's got nothing. And from what I hear about her crying and yelling all the time, she's damn close to nothing."

Mal chuckled. "Actually, she ain't as weak as she looks. She took on a pack of (Reavers) thugs all by her lonesome. Think she'll be okay with me."

"Well you ain't making that decision, Reynolds. I am. And I says no."

Mal held his tongue, but oh, to hit that man would be sweet. "Okay," he conceded. "River, back to detail." She shook her head violently. "Come on, beibei, please?"

"Don't abandon me," she told him sternly, her eyes teary. "Don't scrap her."

"Oh, hell," he moaned. Truth be told she'd be a lot more productive with him that scraping gunk off motor parts. But he had to convince Eddie of that. "Look," Mal reasoned with the supervisor, "Truth be told she can't be any worse than I am, limping around out there. Just give her a day, all I ask."

"No."

"You give her this day, and if you don't think she can do it, I'll…" He thought at what he could possibly give this man since he'd lost absolutely everything. "I'll give you my pay for a month."

"A month?" Eddie asked skeptically. A month was a long time, and while it wasn't much pay, it was more than this guy had now. Seemed like a shiny deal. "Deal," he said proudly, and they shook on it. "You got a lot of faith in this tiny thing."

"Yeah, well, you would too if you seen her do what I've seen." He looked at River and smiled a little. "You coming or what?"

She hopped down from the platform gladly, all smiles now. "Does he think she can do it?"

"Beibei, he knows you can do it."

As they walked across the junkyard together, Eddie watched them and shook his head. "Damn fool," he muttered, settling himself to go back to sleep. The odd foreign pair were heading over to the metal pile to help budge the pieces of iron that hadn't moved in weeks. There weren't enough men to get the one piece of scrap holding everything up out of the way so everything else could be moved. Eddie watched as Reynolds leaned over and said something to the weird girl, who nodded. The other men were laughing at her, and with good reason. What in the hell could a tiny girl like that do in a scrap yard? Get herself cut up, that's what.

River gave one swift, simple kick and the ten foot pile of iron came crashing down. The men stared in amazement. Eddie bolted upright in his chair, his mouth hanging open like a dumb fish. It was quiet in the junkyard for a while.

Mal smiled proudly at his girl, then grabbed a thick chunk of metal and heaved it onto his shoulder. "Need help?" he asked, smirking.

"No," she told him, lifting a scrap larger than the one Mal was carrying with some ease. She walked off toward the melting area across the way. Mal followed close behind, trying not to laugh too much.