Hey guys, here's the second story. More slash, but no ncs. This has the next stage in MalxSimon, introduces a new old villain, and bumps up the supernatural stuff. This one took me longer to write than I thought it would, so I didn't edit as much as with the first story—so if something doesn't make sense, let me know.
It will probably be a while before the third (maybe final?) installment in this arc is finished, so bear with me. Thinking about doing a quick interlude—but, then again, I was expecting this story to be shorter.
I decided to put the separate stories in this arc as separate chapters—it will make it easier to find them, since they're all one chapter. They are written as separate stories, though, so they won't flow like regular chapters. But they do follow a logical order, so that should confuse anyone too much!
Warnings: Slash, some violence, mentions of child abuse (indirect), creepy villain (he's supposed to be, anyway). Oh, and heavy on the supernatural/sci fi stuff.
Nannon—Glad you liked the first story so much! Hope you like this one, too. Let me know!
Rea—Glad you liked the story. I'm also glad you noticed that about Simon's recovery. I did that on purpose—Simon will actually have to deal with it later, but he seems the type of person to me who would try to get over it as quickly and completely as possible, for River's sake. But, of course, it's not as easy as that. Expect a breakdown in the next story, but that's all I'll tell you for now.
On Whispered Wings
Of Broken Dolls and Baby Birds
On Whispered Wings,
A Spider pulls the Strings;
Till Broken light of day's Last Warmth
Doth clear Dark Death's cobwebs,
And create Forever Feathered Fire
From which Cruel Cold must ebb.
Baby Birds grow strong
And Dolls are put away;
With Warmth's sweet kiss,
Freedom Flight
Meets the brand new Day.
Aboard Serenity—
The Boy Doll dreamed that he was a bird.
He had only a suggestion, a rumor, a whisper of wings, but knew he could fly on them. He could spread those wings and fly from star to star, as free in his own way as Serenity
He was not alone. The Broken Doll grew wings and flew with him. Her wings were different. While both were feathered, hers were a chaotic riot of colors, and quite large. There were reds, yellows, greens, and blues, though the primary color was a deep, bruised purple. The rusty red of dried blood tainted the soft, nearly opaque feathers and they moved in a jerky, crippled manner. His heart ached and he reached out to soothe their hurt. But he had to be careful, for sharp claws peeked out from between the feathers, weapons that would rend and tear.
His own wings were far more translucent than hers. They were predominantly a soft blue—bright as day at the tips and darkening to a deep midnight where they met his back. They were small, but he somehow knew they were growing. Unlike the Broken Doll's wings, they were healthy and beautiful and soft. There were no hidden traps in his wings; they were designed to fly; to comfort. Though they were fragile now, they would one day be strong.
The two baby birds—and he knew they were still babies—flitted from the ship (nest) and drifted in the cool currents of space. Despite the state of her wings, the Broken Doll (Bird) flew gracefully, and the Boy Doll (Bird) tried to emulate her. It was not as easy as she made it look, and she laughed at his first clumsy attempts, but still helped him correct his flight. Before long they were both soaring.
The Broken Doll (Bird) laughed at the joy of flight. Her laughter was soothing to the Boy Doll (Bird) and her joy infectious. He found his usual fear of the black a pallid, distant thing. After all, the black was not nothingness, as he'd believed, but full of currents and movement. He reveled in it. But all too soon the Broken Doll (Bird) insisted that they return to the ship (nest). He wanted to protest, but bowed down to her greater experience.
The ship (nest) was quiet, but something was not quite right. The Broken Doll (Bird) looked at him questioningly, but he soothed her and sent her to her own little nest. She went, but not without misgivings.
The Boy Doll Bird) hesitantly trailed down the corridor to find the source of the disturbance. He was sure it was nothing. He was wrong.
As he turned a corner the came face to face with the Dark Man. He screamed silently, even though the Dark Man did not see him. He was free, had escaped his confinement. The Boy Doll (Bird) knew he had to tell someone, but was caught up in nightmare memories (You're mine, Angel
Aboard Serenity—
Simon sat up with a gasp. He was cold and a bit sweaty and shivered as he gasped for air. It was odd how quickly a pleasant dream could turn into a nightmare. First the dream about flying with River—though the state of her wings in that dream was disturbing—then….what? What had set him off? Even as he tried to remember, the dream faded until all he was left with was impressions. Wings, joy, flight, then terror.
Simon sighed. His mind was working overtime now, and he was still disturbed from his nightmare. He was only two thirds of the way through the sleep cycle, but there was no way he was getting back to sleep. Resignedly, he stood up and stretched. He winced at the sharp tug of pain in his still-healing back.
His hand went to the kanji symbol carved into the small of his back. It was healing far better than he'd dared to hope, but it was still quite noticeable and would always be. The other injuries he'd recently acquired had faded. Most of his scars from his misadventure with the slavers were on the inside.
Simon dressed warmly before heading to the galley. It seemed he was always cold these days. That wasn't really new, he'd never been good with the cold—Osiris was an extremely temperate planet—but it bothered him more now.
Simon had almost reached the galley when he stopped. He felt as though he were being watched, but that was ridiculous. The corner that would take him to the galley was just ahead, but he suddenly dreaded approaching it. The darkened corridor suddenly seemed more ominous than homey, and he had the irrational sense that something horrible was just around that corner. He tried to make himself move forward, but something (terror) held him back.
But whether or not he made the move became a moot point. That something horrible he had sensed came around the corner all on its own. Cain.
Simon had known that the man survived the attack on the slaver ship. He'd known that he was being kept locked up in the hold. But he'd pushed that knowledge to the back of his mind where he didn't have to think about it; to think about Cain, and all the memories attached to him. Those memories crowded into his mind now, each shouting for his attention (Angel, my Angel, my…).
It distracted Simon long enough for Cain to make his move. He lunged quick as a striking snake and grabbed Simon by the wrists, twisting the smaller man around until Simon's back rested against Cain's hard stomach and Cain's strong arms imprisoned Simon as sure as any bars. One huge hand wrapped around both Simon's wrists, pinning his arms, and the other covered his lower face. His mouth was completely covered and his small cry of surprise muffled. He tried to breath as well as he could through his nose, but it was partly covered, as well. He grew light-headed and his struggles lessened considerably.
Distantly he felt Cain dragging him along and his mind shouted at his body to fight, to do something! But it seemed to be a lost cause. He was too dizzy and confused and in shock. It was all he could do not do black out.
Cain reveled in his unexpected find. The fury of the past few days dimmed a bit. He'd managed to work his way out of his bonds and out of his room, but thought he'd had have to leave empty handed, stealing a shuttle and finding himself destitute. But now he had his Angel, at least. That satisfied his dark soul in many ways. Not only would he be escaping with his precious Angel, but he'd be taking something personal from those on this ship.
It hadn't taken him long to learn that this was the very ship he'd abducted his Angel off of; that the people who killed his ship and crew and destroyed his operation were mainly after Angel. They cared enough about him to take on a whole boatload of strangers; they'd care enough about him to be upset when he was gone. It was the most revenge Cain could get for the moment. But he swore to remember this ship—Serenity. One day, he would destroy it.
They made it to the catwalk over the cargo bay before being noticed. The cargo bay, though, was full of ex-slaver victims. There had been no where else to house fifty three people, really, so they were made as comfortable as possible in the little bay. Still, Cain did not expect any trouble from them. They were traumatized, and civilians for the most part.
Cain considered himself an excellent judge of character. He was quite good at judging what a body was like to do; but he was surprised sometimes. This was one of those times.
From the cargo bay a small, thin form moved to intercept Cain. After only a moment's thoughts, Cain recognized one of the 'goats'—a street child he'd kidnapped for the purpose of distracting his crew from the more profitable cargo. Cain released his Angel's mouth and reached into his pocket to pull out a long, sharp knife he'd stolen from the kitchen. He put the blade against Angel's neck and smiled cruelly, amused at the desperate way his captive gasped for air now that his hand had moved. He was pretty sure that he hadn't noticed the knife at his throat yet.
"I think you might want to move, little goat," Cain let his voice go dark and ominous.
"And I'm thinkin' you might wanna reconsider whatever it was you're plannin' on doin'," the deeper voice came from behind Cain and was every bit as ominous as his own.
Simon recognized that voice and felt a soul-deep gratitude. It helped him swim out of his suffocation darkness. He almost wished he hadn't; Cain's strong arms were still around him, his steely, merciless hand still clamping his wrists together tight enough to bruise, and now a cold, metallic twinge of pain at his neck informed him that he was in more danger than ever. Cain turned the two of them and he opened his eyes.
There was the Captain, standing tall and firm. He held his trusty pistol out and Simon knew the man was good with it; maybe even good enough to get Cain before the man could slit his throat—maybe. The steely glint in Mal's eye hid any worry over the matter the man might have.
Movement above and around them caught Simon's attention and he looked to see Zoe and Jayne stealthily moving out to high-ground positions, rifles trained on the tableau blow. Inara and Kaylee emerged from the Companion's shuttle and froze, horror in their eyes. Below, Book carefully made his way towards the stairs. Simon even thought he saw a slim, wispy shadow watching from the spare shuttle, but he couldn't be sure. All he could be sure stood between them and the shuttle was the frail form of Jimbeam, the young goat he'd befriended.
"Don't even think about it. I'm not an idiot. Twitch and I'll slit his throat. If I'm going to die, I'm taking him with me." Cain's tone was deadly earnest and the blade slid across Simon's throat just enough to make a thin slice. He could feel blood seeping from the minor wound and saw the skin around Mal's eyes tighten. The man was angry, but unwilling to make a move that might get Simon killed.
Simon caught Mal's eyes and tried to convey to the other man that he trusted him. At long last, he trusted Mal to do the right thing for him and his sister. It was a moment in time as blue eyes gazed into blue.
That moment was broken by Cain backing up towards the spare shuttle. He pulled Simon back with him, dismissing Jimbeam as a serious opponent. Jimbeam took that inattention as a chance and rushed forward, hitting Cain in the kidneys. Cain bellowed in anger and swiped the knife down and around. To Simon's great horror, he saw the deadly sharp blade swipe across the boy's throat, followed by the macabre arc of arterial spray.
Surprising Cain, Simon threw himself forward and caught the boy, putting his hand over the wound in an attempt to staunch the blood, even though he knew it to be futile. At this point he just allowed his instincts to take over.
He was so focused on Jimbeam that he barely noticed what happened around him. He was only distantly aware of Kaylee's shriek or Inara's outcry; of the gunshots that rang out from three separate guns, or the bloody holes blossoming in Cain's chest. He barely saw Cain stumble and almost go down, but somehow manage to keep his feet despite wounds he knew to be fatal. He didn't see Cain's face contort in anger, or see the man raise the knife to stab him in the back.
He did see, though only just, the small shadow he'd noticed early dart out and kick Cain—a blow as graceful and delicate as any ballet move, but full of deadly force. The man reeled from the kick and fell back over the railing, hitting the floor of the cargo bay far below. It was probably a blessing that he didn't see what fifty two angry, confused people did to his body.
All Simon really saw was the blood pumping between his fingers and the boy's scared eyes. He felt the sheer heat of that dark blood. He'd done enough surgeries to know the heat of arterial flow, but somehow it always surprised him. He was a good enough doctor to know what was going on beneath his hand; he had a good enough imagination to picture the reverse happening. In his mind, flesh knit itself and the blood flow was redirected to where it belonged. It was such a vivid picture that it took him a moment to see the blue glow underneath his hand.
It was beautiful. A soft solemn blue that Simon had seen somewhere recently (a whisper of wings), that others would have recognized as the same color as his eyes. It felt soothing and light, somehow warm and cool at the same time. Simon worried that he was hallucinating, but one look at Jimbeam's wide, awed eyes discounted that theory. He heard the Shepherd murmur a prayer behind him.
Suddenly he felt movement under his hands, in that deep blue glow. It felt as though the flesh was knitting, just as he'd pictured it. He once again stared into Jimbeam's eyes and saw the boy's answering confusion. After a few moments, it ended and the glow faded.
Simon didn't feel any new blood pumping out rhythmically. He didn't even feel the wound anymore. There was only the raised bump of a scar underneath his hands. Slowly, Simon released Jimbeam's throat.
The boy's throat was covered in blood, but whole. There was a livid scar where he'd been cut, but even as Simon watched it faded a bit. It was as if the cut had happened weeks ago. In a few more weeks, the scar would barely be noticeable. Simon was lightheaded with disbelief.
He wasn't the only one. He heard the preacher giving thanks to god, and Mal cursing in surprise. Jayne cursed as well, and Zoe just gave a quiet noise of thanks. Kaylee was looking for an explanation and Inara was, thankfully, silent. Only River was not surprised.
"Knew you could do it. Only have to spread your wings. Have to practice flying, or they atrophy. Pretty bird." To the rest of the crew, it must have sounded like little more than gibberish, but Simon remembered bits of the dream from earlier—flying with River on wings the same blue as that glow. He looked at his brilliant, beautiful, lunatic sister in wonder.
Funny, she seemed to be standing crooked. In fact, the whole room was crooked. No, wait; that was him. He was listing to the side. Didn't seem to have the energy to right himself, though. His last thought was that they all looked taller sideways. Then he passed out.
Secret Senate, undisclosed location, Osiris—
"I have said it time and time again; we should have kept them in stasis until they were ready for use!" The Senator was a large man, rotund and flabby, with a walrussy face that tended to turn red when he grew upset or excited.
"The stasis chambers are not meant to be used for such long periods of time. Besides, it would have stunted their growth even further, and god knows they're still small enough as it is," another voice spoke up, belonging to a Senator just as pompous, but thin and bony.
"Their size matters little when you consider their potential power!" This was a scientist, arguing the veracity of a project to which he'd given thirty five years of his life.
"Neither their size or their power matters, gentlemen, if we cannot find them," a cold voice broke through the room crowded with powerful men who had even more powerful egos. The men were cowed by that simple statement.
This was a secret senate, one of dozens designed to work on secret projects that the citizens of the Alliance—indeed, the vast majority of the government, as well—would never know about. The particular project in question was called Project Starling. Most of the men had no clue where that particular name came from, only that it was the choice of the Director, a man so coldly commanding that not a one of them had the wit or where-with-all to question him.
Gabriel Tam, a prominent member of the Senate, knew that the name Starling referred to a myth. No one was quite sure where the myth originated, but it told of mythic birds that flew through space and possessed incredible powers. They were called Star Birds, or, more commonly, Starlings. Gabriel had only the slightest clue why the Director had chosen that name for the project—it had to do with the strange and mysterious powers that were carefully cultivated in the project's subjects.
Project Starling had begun some sixty years ago, starting with the Director's vision and building quickly with the support of powerful members of Parliament. Gabriel himself had only joined thirty years earlier, when he was brought in by the Director himself.
The man had intrigued Gabriel with the idea of the project; with the prospect of becoming an integral part of the process within a few short years. The project itself was astounding.
Genetic engineering, years beyond the mainstream science. The senate was attempting to genetically engineer children with talents that would put the Alliance's current operatives to shame. While the pragmatist in Gabriel had been inclined to scoff at the 'talents' they were trying to breed into those children, the Director had convinced him that it was entirely possible to create a child with the ability to read minds, or the future, to move objects with their mind, or heal with a touch. The secret, the man had confided, was certain genetic material the Director had gotten his hands on. While it was a mystery to everyone, as far as Gabriel knew, from whence that material had come, early tests did show that it, indeed, affected the carefully chosen embryonic cells to which it was administered.
There were problems, of course. The chief of them that a viable embryo had yet to be created. Thirty years had passed before Gabriel had ever even heard of Project Starling without a single viable embryo. That in itself was astounding; parliament did not often over look such continuous failure. But the Director was a force in and of himself; one even parliament seemed to fear.
By the time Gabriel had come along, they'd been close to completion of the initial stages. Four viable embryos had been created within six months and were kept in stasis. For a further ten years they were kept in stasis while Gabriel was groomed to become their caretaker.
He'd been given a new name—Tam, which amused the Director for some reason—and a business. With the Senate's quiet support he'd become a major player on Osiris within five years. He'd also been married to an attractive, quiet women with the family connections he'd needed to move into the Osiris ton. Between her family name and his business savvy and money, the 'Tams' had become rising stars among the Osiris elite who seemed to lack only one thing. Children.
Under the bland excuse of a vacation, Gabriel and Regan had snuck of to the Senate's science facilities to have Regan implanted with a Starling embryo. Unofficial rumor on Osiris was that the Tams were infertile. It was becoming a common phenomenon among the Alliance elite, and was politely ignored.
The first embryo did not take, nor did the second, nor the third. The first two were rejected by Regan's body and quietly flushed out in a matter of days. The third rejected her instead, and very nearly killed her. Regan had known, of course, the risks. She'd been as carefully groomed as Gabriel, after all. It was hardly coincidence or even Gabriel's native charm that brought them together; it was the Director.
Regan did not hesitate to have the fourth, and last (at the time) embryo implanted in her womb. Hesitantly, the embryo stuck. It was a touch-and-go pregnancy, but ultimately produced a beautiful baby boy. The first Starling child had been born. Gabriel named him Simon.
Simon was a remarkable child. He was bright and quick and beautiful. Regan dressed him up like a doll to show him off, and Gabriel was eager to show his peers how brilliant the boy was. Neither Gabriel nor Regan ever forgot that Simon was not truly theirs, but the rest of the ton did not know that. They were amazed at the doors that opened to them because of Simon.
On Simon's fifth birthday, that happy little illusion was damaged. The Director came to meet Simon, to investigate his talent. It was then that Gabriel had realized the Director had Talent of his own. A healer, he'd named the boy; a disappointment. Though healing was a talent, it was not one that currently interested the Senate or the Director. Gabriel came to understand on that day that the Director was looking for something very specific, and not in the name of science. He had some hidden agenda. Gabriel was smart enough to keep that revelation quiet, and ambitious enough to want another chance.
He was given that second chance. Another embryo had been created using the same material as Simon's, yet given enough genetic variation that it may prove to have different talents; talents more in line with what the Director was looking for. A girl, this time. One genetically close enough to be a legitimate sibling.
Simon was not put completely aside, of course. In the eyes of the ton, he was still Gabriel and Regan's son; in the eyes of the Director, he was still an object of curiosity and study. So the Tams raised him as a child of the ton should be raised. And the Director did continue to stop by, two or three times a year, until Simon was ten. He'd spend an hour or two alone with Simon, supposedly testing his gift. Gabriel was chilled to realize that Simon never remembered those times nor the Director. He was quite happy to not know exactly what went on in that room.
The girl was implanted in Regan's womb immediately. Like Simon, her pregnancy was iffy, but she survived. Regan named her River. It was after her birth that Gabriel learned that he and Regan were not the only 'parents' the Senate had trained. There were several others, but none had been able to bear living Starlings. Simon and River were the only two to survive past birth.
River was, if anything, even more remarkable than Simon. She was as quick as he, and often quicker; for everything he learned to try and earn his 'parents' love, she learned for the sheer joy of learning. Gabriel and Regan were disconcerted to realize that their approval meant little or nothing to the girl. She may have not been able to put it into words, but from a very young age she knew that they were not her true parents. That they did not love her the way parents should. She, in turn, did not love them. Their only true hold over River was Simon.
Simon adored his sister from the moment he first saw her, and she adored him in turn. They were far closer than most siblings; most twins, even. By the time she was three, they'd created their own language. It was with the matter of the language that Gabriel and Regan learned how to control River—through Simon. They told Simon, then ten, that he was too old to speak nonsense, and punished him every time he did. Caught between River and his parents, gentle Simon was confused and depressed. It was River who abandoned the language to save her brother from his distress.
It was River who was responsible for the Director's decision to stop 'testing' Simon. Though she was only three, she knew that something bad was happening to her brother. She confronted the Director as soon as he left Simon's room.
It should have been laughable to see a tiny three year old girl stare down the tall, venerable man; it was chilling instead. The Director had tested her then and there, two full years before the testing was scheduled. Then he'd laughed. He'd declared her perfect; exactly what he was looking for. She'd grown angrier, and threatened the Director. Gabriel hadn't understood what she'd said, but the Director had. He'd promised the girl that he'd leave Simon alone. In exchange, she'd go to the Academy when she reached fourteen. She'd agreed.
Simon never knew, of course, and River wanted it that way. Simon had grown up fairly normal after that. Gifted, of course, and a proud feather in the Tam family bonnet. He'd gone off to Medacad, which Gabriel encouraged, hoping to secretly stoke Simon's healing talent. River had gone to the Academy as promised. Things had been going perfect for the Tams, for still no other Starlings had been born.
Then Simon had sensed something was wrong with River. He'd gotten her letters and found a code. Then that dratted boy had ruined everything. He'd stolen his sister and gone into hiding. It shouldn't have lasted long. For all their brilliance, Simon was horribly naïve and sheltered and River's mind had been shattered. But somehow month after month, operative after independent contractor after bounty hunter, they'd managed to elude the Alliance and the Senate.
Gabriel and Regan were able to hide the disaster among the ton; Simon had gone on sabbatical, he'd explained, overstressed by having too much responsibility at too young an age. Tragic, but reparable. None of their peers even need know that River was missing.
The Senate was another matter. Many had wanted to lay the blame squarely at Gabriel's feet, but, surprisingly, the Director had stepped in and defended him. Still, that did not stop the squabbling and squawking. Every one of their meetings had dissolved into this. One Senator would loudly proclaim how things should have gone differently, another disagree. Those in charge of the raising of the Starlings would have heated debates with the scientists who'd designed them. And they'd go around and around in these meaningless circles until the Director stepped in and stopped it.
Just as the Director stepped in, however, something happened to the man. He paused and stared off into space for a moment. The room full of Senators that watched with baited breath didn't even seem to exist for him. Gabriel worried that the man was having a stroke or something. After all, he had to be well into his nineties by now, even if his vigor and strength denied it.
Suddenly the Director snapped to as if his attention had been harshly recalled. He looked around the room and the Senators withered beneath his harsh glare.
"The Senate is dismissed! D'Mar, Anteel, you stay behind. You too, Gabriel."
Gabriel waited nervously. D'Mar and Anteel were the two Senate members who were responsible for studying the talents of the Starlings. He'd not seen them since River had confronted the Director all those years ago, but they'd been by his side every time he'd 'tested' Simon, fading into the background. They frightened him even more than their quiet, creepy core of blue-handed 'independent contractors'.
As soon as the room was cleared, the Director got down to business. "The binding I put on Simon's powers is gone."
"How is that possible?" Questioned D'Mar. "That binding was solid; he shouldn't have been able to break it without your help." The man's voice was, as usual, completely monotone.
"The girl, of course," the Director replied bitterly. "I don't know how she knew to do it with no training, but there can be no doubt that the boy just performed a full-fledged healing."
"Are you sure?" Anteel's audacity shocked Gabriel.
"Of course I'm sure! I've felt him perform minor healings many times over the years, aided by what he learned at medical school. I doubt he had any clue what he was doing, and he's a skilled enough surgeon that the many lives he's saved that he shouldn't have been able to do have been attributed to that skill. But this was different. He healed a wound with his powers alone; a major one, too. The binding is gone."
"Is this good or bad news?" Gabriel was hesitant to put his voice in, but he had no expertise in this matter and honestly did not know.
"Good, I think. I have his pattern now. His essence. I can trace it to a location every time he uses his power. The more he heals, the closer we will get to finding him, and, through him, his sister. It is only a matter of time."
"That is good news, Sir. Why not share it with the Senate?"
"Most of them don't truly understand the Talents these children have. They also fail to realize that I, myself, have some meager talent."
"Not just meager, Sir," put in Anteel.
"Enough. I don't need flattery. My skills are nothing compared to those of the Starlings. I doubt I could have bound the boy had he not been so young and docile. I could not have bound the girl, at all. It is only her own dementia that holds her in check now."
Gabriel shivered. He'd never realized how strong the children were.
"No, the Senate could never understand. Do you know, Gabriel, that many of them think I am grooming you to take my place on the Senate?"
Gabriel did not know how to respond to the sudden shift in topic. He was, of course, aware of the rumor, but was hesitant to give it too much credence.
"Sir, I am sure you'll be in that place for years to come."
"Come, now, I said no flattery. The truth is, Gabriel, I am dying. I am ninety-six years old; I should have died years ago. Your son staved off my death."
Gabriel was shocked. He had not known…had not imagined.
"Yes, that is how powerful he is. Even bound, his talents were capable of restoring my health. But it's been too long, and this body fails me. Those rumors among the Senate, they were half right."
The Director gave a cold little smile, and Gabriel stared in confusion. Half right?
Suddenly D'Mar was holding his right arm and Anteel his left. They were both rather small men—short and quite slender—so Gabriel was shocked when they manhandled him to a kneeling position with no trouble whatsoever. Their grip was iron.
He looked up at the Director and saw the old man's shark smile. For the first time since he'd met the man, Gabriel truly feared him—was not simply cowed or intimidated or worried for his fortunes, but was in mortal fear.
"Come, Gabriel. I will show you how alone you are, and how weak. And then you will never be alone or weak again." The smile widened and Gabriel tried to scream, but no sound emerged.
Half an hour later, Gabriel, Anteel, and D'Mar emerged from the conference room. Most of the rest of the Senate waited for them, eager in their jealousy to learn why the three men had been kept behind. The solemn expression on the men's faces quieted the room quickly.
"I am saddened to announce that….that the Directed has succumbed to old age; he is dead." Gabriel's voice was grief-ladened.
The room exploded into an uproar. None of the others quite believed it; they wanted to know what that meant for them, and the project. The three men allowed the hubbub to continue for a moment, then D'Mar stepped forward.
"The project will continue. The Director kept us behind to discuss his will. He has made arrangements for the continuation of the project; Gabriel Tam is the new director."
The Senators were quiet. Not a one of them did not want to protest Gabriel being chosen over them; not a one of them wanted to be remembered as the voice of dissent if Gabriel managed to hold and maintain that power. Gabriel let an appropriate amount of sadness show as he dictated plans for a funeral and the continued meeting of the Senate. Soothed by the flow of commands, the Senate drifted away. Had they looked behind them as they left, they would have seen on Gabriel's face the Director's familiar, cold smile.
Aboard Serenity—
She was doing it again. It had taken Simon so long—and not a few faux pas—to get Kaylee to stop looking at him like he was the shiniest thing in the verse and she was a magpie just ready to take him back to her nest. But he had gotten her to stop, and been so much more comfortable with her ever since. 'Had' being the key word.
Following the near miraculous way he'd healed Jimbeam, she'd started staring at him and sighing again. It was disheartening to have gotten so far he could honestly call her friend, only to be pushed back into a position on a pedestal by an act he was pretty sure he could never repeat.
He had not a clue what he'd done. It was a fluke; maybe even the miracle the Shepherd insisted upon: God had worked through him. Simon knew that he was a damned good doctor, but because he put in the time and effort to be one. Not because of magic or whatnot.
Back to the problem at hand. Kaylee. What to do about her. She'd reached a point where she waffled between shy and aggressive. She'd stumble over her words and blush one moment, then make a wholly lavicious comment the next. And she was always there, watching him, staring at him. More than once he'd turned to catch her gaze locked suspiciously low on his body. He wasn't sure which of them was embarrassed more every time he caught her staring at his butt; not that that stopped her. The crush that had been fading was back stronger than ever.
If Kaylee's hero worship made him uncomfortable, most of the rest of the crew compounded the problem. The Shepherd seemed convinced that Simon had been God's vessel, and watched him closely for further divine presence. Jayne seemed almost frightened of him, a disconcerting reversal that made Simon recall his bullying with a kind of fondness. Inara insisted that Simon try to learn what he'd done so that he could repeat the act in the future. She meant only kindness as she tried to help him discover what power he'd used, but it made him increasingly uncomfortable. Wash made jokes about saints and wizards and all manner of related subjects that did nothing to dispel the tension.
Only Zoe, River, and Mal did not disturb him these days. Zoe reacted to Simon's little miracle as pragmatically as she did to anything else—little surprise there. She agreed with Inara that Simon should see if he could repeat the event, though only for practical reasons. Other than a quiet comment to that effect, she left the matter alone. River said next to nothing on the subject as far as Simon could tell—he wasn't always sure exactly what she was talking about. For the past few days all she'd been talking about was birds and wings growing. The dream had all but faded from his mind, and he had only the vaguest sense of what she meant.
Mal was no surprise, either. As usual, the man was a master at ignoring anything he couldn't explain and didn't want to think about—such as divine intervention or magic. To Mal, the moment was over and the man had moved on. At least, that's how it seemed to Simon. He treated Simon with the same brand of affectionate amusement, inattention, and irritation as always. His presence was a balm to Simon's nerves, and the man had even taken to chasing Kaylee away from her lusty, worshipful staring back to work, much to Simon's relief. It didn't even prickle his pride that much that Mal obviously found his discomfiture at the hero-worship 'funny as hell'.
At least today the bulk of Simon's 'followers' would be disembarking—the slaver victims. They'd reached Redwood. Simon would be sorry to see Jimbeam go, but would not miss the others. They'd seen what happened same as the crew, and had reacted much like Kaylee (though less lustfully, for the most part). Simon had spent the past few days thinking of any reason he could to avoid the cargo bay. Honestly, had he wanted he could have started a cult.
And then there was the body. Cain's body. He'd only caught a glimpse of it. He'd woken in the infirmary and had been weak for hours. As he'd stumbled to his room in the middle of the night (you could only sleep on the infirmary bed if you'd actually been drugged, it was that uncomfortable), he'd passed as storage locker and seen a sheet-swaddled form.
Though the body was covered, it didn't take much thought to realize whose it was, and Simon's imagination supplied him with a gruesome picture: Cain, his chest a soft, mushy, bloody area thanks to three powerful gunshots; contusions changing the bulk of his flesh to black and blue where it wasn't that pallid grey color that dead flesh became; bones broken, contorting the body to grotesque shapes and piercing the flesh in places; and hundreds of thin, jagged scratch marks made by the nails of his victims as they tore at him in his last moments of life.
He'd had nightmares that night, revolving around the body coming after him much the same way Cain had. He'd woken with a scream frozen in his throat and the feel of cold dead hands on his skin. Thank God for River. She'd been there, to comfort him as he so often comforted her. They slept together that night, curled up in innocence. It was the only way Simon would have been able to sleep. The next night, Simon had given himself a soother when he was ready for bed and slept soundlessly. He didn't know what he'd do tonight; he didn't need to get into the habit of drugging himself to sleep, but dreaded more nightmares.
The ship entered atmo and Simon felt the change even before the Captain made the announcement. Simon sighed and headed towards the cargo bay. He needed to say goodbye before they docked. He intended to stay in the galley with the bulk of the crew during their stay on Redwood. The only ones who would be getting off were Mal, Zoe, Jayne, and Book. And, of course, all their passengers.
Mal, Zoe, and Jayne would deliver the bulk of the passengers to the Mayor's home, where they could seek refuge until they found a way to get to their own homes—many of them came off ships that may have left berth in their absence. They'd also turn in Cain's body for the rest of the reward—the Mayor had only given them half in advance. If the man tried to stiff them, they had fifty witnesses right there.
Book was to take Jimbeam and collect his little street gang. He'd then lead them to the local abbey that was waiting to take them in. Simon was happy for the boy that something good had come of his ordeal. He'd bounced back so quickly that Simon envied him a bit, though he was glad for him as well.
Simon steeled himself as he walked into the cargo bay and was met with exclamations of joy.
Aboard Serenity—
The day had gone smooth as silk for once. The Mayor had wanted to stiff them, but couldn't; not with fifty witnesses watching and waiting. So they'd been paid. To Mal, getting paid was the natural conclusion to doing a job. So it was somewhat odd to him how hard it was to reach that conclusion betimes, and gratifying when they did reach it with little fuss.
They'd been paid and gotten back to the ship to find none of their crew'd been kidnapped yet. With the three of them there, that eventuality was far less like to happen. Shepherd Book was back with happy news; they'd found Jimbeam's little gang and the kids were now at the abbey, snug as a bug in a rug. The crew was all here, they had money, and, pleasant surprise, a job offer from Badger.
"Wash, call Badger. Tell him we'll be in Persephone in about a week, and we'll hear his offer." Mal's voice had that pleasant tone it got when things went well and he was unlike to be blowing up at anyone. "The best part is, if we don't like what that huan dan is offerin', we made enough cash just now to tell him just where he can stick his job."
Wash sat back in the pilot's seat and grinned with his beautiful wife hanging over the back of the chair to embrace him. Mal was happy; Zoe was happy; they had money and the prospect of work. Things were good.
Which was when things went wrong. Wash started the entry sequence for Serenity and pulled up the cortex to wave Badger when an ominous bang came from the engine room, followed by the annoying buzz of an alarm. Mal closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"KAYLEE!" The little engineer came running into the room, even more grease and soot than usual marring her pretty face.
"Want to tell me why my engine won't start?" Mal could never quite bring himself to threaten Kaylee the way he did others. Hell, he could even do his damnedest to intimidate Inara and Simon, but couldn't bring himself to be that mean to lil' Kaylee—and he'd place money on Kaylee over Simon if it came to a fight, provided she had a wrench in her hand.
"Compression coil busted, Captain," Kaylee was upset, which was normal when something was wrong with Serenity, but not tearful, meanin' she didn't feel guilty and it was fixable.
"Well, fix it and get us in the air."
"Can't. Compression coil is busted. We need a new one. We been needin' a new one, like I told you time and time again." So that's why she didn't feel guilty—she blamed him. "We's just lucky that we was on the ground, not in space, when she busted."
There wasn't much he could say to that. She had told him, more than once, but he'd kept putting it off. As for lucky that they weren't in space; well, that was a fact. He still had the occasional nightmare about be alone on Serenity when the catalyzer blew. Haunting nightmares about her bein' a ghostship, and he was the ghost. He let loose a string of mandarin curses that would have had his mamma smackin' him up the back of his head had she heard him.
"How much is a new one gonna cost?"
"Depends. If'n I can get us a good deal on a used one—maybe thirty thousand. A new one'll be forty thousand, at least."
Mal felt his mouth drop open. Damn, that wasn't much less than he'd paid for Serenity herself.
"They's necessary parts, Cap'n. Every ship's gotta have them, and a good one'll run you for at least ten years. That's why they's so expensive. I'll do my best."
"I know, xaoi mei mei. Wash, wave Badger. Tell him we'll be on Persephone in a little over a week, and we'll be ready to hear about the job. Zoe, you're with me and Kaylee. Everybody else stays with the ship."
Mal followed little Kaylee to the nearest part shops, cursing a steady stream of Mandarin under his breath.
"It never goes smooth."
Tam Family Manor, Osiris—
The Tam Manor was an elegant estate, situated on a quiet, well-designed plot of ground. Gabriel Tam had loved its well-groomed garden and tastefully understated grandeur; the creature that Gabriel Tam had become liked it also, but found it a bit boring. They always wanted more excitement when They became a new creature; entered a new host.
They were invariably driven to a new host by the failure of the last; in this case, the Director. That dried up old body had failed to amuse Them for years; its sex drive shriveled up, its sense of taste disappeared, and sight and sound became dull and lifeless. Still, it had served its purpose by maintaining Their power and Their mind. Yes, the mind was the most important factor. They had discovered long ago that the decay of the body's mind led to the decay of Their own consciousness with near disastrous consequences.
Yes, entering a new host was always exciting, but this time had been something of a disappointment. They'd hoped to be entering the body of a twenty-something boy or a teenaged girl; instead, They'd had to make do with their 'father'. But even if Gabriel Tam's fifty year old body lacked the powers or the vigor of the children, it was much more vital than the last had been. They wanted to use it to experience those thrills they'd done without for so long. Even Gabriel had done with out, as intent as he'd been on gaining power and standing. It was something he'd never have to worry about again now that he was part of the Whole.
They always had to be careful when testing out a new body that They nothing too spectacularly out of character. Unfortunate in this case, for Gabriel had the reputation of a staid and dignified business man. Oh, well. There were at least a few activities They could engage in with little risk of discovery.
They entered their new home with much pomp and the faithful presences of D'Mar and Anteel. Those two had lost their own sense of free will many years earlier, when the Director had cleared it from their minds. It was such a relief to not have to rely on loyalty. Humans could be so fickle.
They told Their wife the good news and she did rejoice. They were not shocked at the callous manner in which she reacted to Their supposed death. She was a vain, ambitious creature who was willing to grab onto power any way she could.
On to the celebration. They imbibed the finest foods and alcohol, indulging Themselves, before turning to the woman. That had surprised her. Gabriel had never been so forthright about sex. He'd slept with Regan the appropriately rare occasion, then suppressed his sex drive in order to focus on business, indulging in only the occasional whore or secretary. That was foolishness in itself, They knew; one should enjoy life's pleasures while they could. Regan was a lovely woman, even if she had passed the flower of youth. She was also Their wife; Their property, even. She would do her womanly duty.
That night had held surprises for both of them. If Regan was surprised at 'Gabriel's' insistence on their joining (and his stamina; no hunger) They were also surprised at her perception. She recognized Them. She was not the first to see different eyes looking out of a familiar face, but people were amazing in their ability not to see what they did not want to see. But she saw.
"D..Director?" She'd whispered in horrified awe.
"My dear, do you feel quite well? The Director died today."
"You're not…you're not Gabriel. You're him. Oh my God, how? How?"
"My dear, that's crazy talk. Do you know what others would say if they heard you? They'd say 'poor Regan Tam, she's had a breakdown. Its been stressful for her lately, and that fragile, aristocratic blood that lends her delicate sensibilities leaves her vulnerable to just this sort of thing. Its just like what happened to poor little Simon.'" He allowed fake honeyed concern to drip into his voice. "You could end up in a madhouse, if you're not careful."
Regan was a sensible woman, They'd always liked that about her. She was quick to make a deal that benefited her. She'd keep her mouth shut and stay by Their side, sharing in Their greatness. She'd also find Them entertainment. Young or old, male or female, They didn't particularly care, though attractiveness was important. She'd have new flesh for Them to indulge in every night, and They'd stay out of her bed as long as she did. It seemed that she hadn't enjoyed the experience much.
On the work front, D'Mar and Anteel had their blue-handed agents spread throughout the verse. As soon as the boy healed again, they would be able to pinpoint him and it would be a simple matter to command the agents to his position. Get they boy and they'd get the girl. If she wasn't with him, she'd follow. It was only a matter of time now.
Aboard Serenity--
The repairs were fixed 'quick as spit' as Kaylee'd put it, and Serenity was on her way to Persephone. To a potential job from a man that had never been nothing near reliable. Mal hated taking jobs from Badger. Wasn't just that he didn't like the man; plenty of contacts he didn't like, but he'd do business if he could. No, the problem with Badger was that the man just wasn't trustworthy. In the business sense. Time and time again that little weasel had screwed them over just for the pleasure of it. If he didn't get them the occasional big payday—like with Sir Warrick Harrow—Mal would have cut ties with him long ago. He was still only about an inch from looking for a new Persephone middleman.
They were about three days out when they hit trouble. 'Course they hit trouble, that was no question; just the when, where, and what kind ever seemed to be in doubt. This kind of trouble wasn't so bad, though, at least not at first.
They picked up a mayday with a familiar transponder signal—the Dolphin, Monty Burke's ship. Monty was an old friend from the war, proud Independent and fellow smuggler. He captained an old but serviceable G-23 falcon class ship. A good bit larger than Serenity, and with a sizeable crew, Monty made his money transported large quantities of illegal goods. Because he could transport so much, he made a pretty penny and was able to do safer runs. The downside was that the falcons didn't come with all the hidey holes of a firefly; Monty got stopped by the Alliance and the jig was up.
The Dolphin was a sturdy ship, not the kind to break down easy. So it most like wasn't somethin' harmless as happened to them. It left Mal feelin' the itch of unease as he answered the mayday.
"Dolphin, this is Serenity. What is the nature of your problem?" It was the dead of night—such night as they had—and Mal was the only one up as far as he knew, manning the bridge while Wash and Zoe got some sleep.
--Mal? Mal, is that you? Thank God! We got hit by Reavers. We managed to get away, but Dolphin took some pretty bad hits. I sure as hell hope you've got some spare parts.—
"Wode ma! Reavers! Yeah, we got some spares, hopefully what you need. Let me get little Kaylee up here so's you can tell her."
--Thanks, Mal. We'll pay you back.—
"Don't you go worrying about that, now. Anybody hurt?"
--Reavers never made it aboard, but a few of the crew got banged around. Georgie—you remember him? Young fella, missed bein' in the army by about five years but always wishin' he had been?—he got hit hard. Some equipment fell on him. I ain't sure he's gonna make it. As I recall, Zoe was a fair hand at first aid. She available?—
"Don't worry about Zoe. We got a ship's medic, a real doctor. He's good. Fixed my own sorry self up a time or two. I'm sure he can help little Georgie."
Twenty minutes later Kaylee'd gotten on the horn and found out exactly what it was Dolphin needed, and scrounged her little engine room for spare parts. Simon was the professional he always was when it came to medical emergencies and ready to go with his bag in hand. Zoe, Wash, and Book were up as well, helping where they could. Inara drifted in, awaked by activity.
The only one not present was Jayne—Mal made a command decision not to wake him. If the man could sleep through Early—shouting, fighting, and a gunshot not twenty feet from his bunk—he could sleep through this. Mal didn't even want to know what he'd think on the matter, sure it'd be somethin' along the lines of 'I ain't goin nowhere Reavers done been!'.
As they got ready to dock, they noticed a hitch.
"Monty, your docks working? They look pretty banged up."
A moment of silence was followed by a string of curses.
--Damn it! The docks are outta order. I hate to ask it, but could you come over on a shuttle? We'll open the cargo bay doors and you can fly her right in.—
For anyone else it would have been an automatic no, it sounded too much like a trap. But Mal had known Monty to be trustworthy since the war, and he wouldn't start distrusting him until he was given a reason. So Mal, Kaylee, Simon, and Shepherd Book packed themselves into the spare shuttle to head over to the Dolphin. Mal hadn't been sure on bringing the Shepherd along, but the man had been insistent.
"Its not soundin' like too many of these good folks need a shepherd, Shepherd."
"Shepherds can be of comfort to those who believe, Captain, in times of peril. Besides, we don't know how badly this boy Simon is going to help is hurt. If he is beyond even Simon's considerable…talents, then I may be needed, after all."
"Yeah, you're just a barrel of laughs tonight." Mal had a sneaking suspicion that a large part of the preacher's desire to go along revolved around the chance to see Simon do that thing he did again, but Mal wouldn't call him on it. Mal may not have believed, but he remembered what it was like to be a believer; the comfort that it could give in adversity. As disingenuous as he found that comfort to be, he'd not deny it to those who sought it.
The shuttle ride was quiet and a bit tense. No one was happy when dealing with Reavers, but things could have been so much worse.
Georgie was hurt bad. He'd a broken leg and both his arms were broken, as well as several ribs. He was a bruised mess all over, and he'd hit his head hard. The biggest problem, though, was a busted spleen. In Dolphin's under stocked little infirmary, Simon performed emergency surgery. If Simon hadn't come along, Georgie would have died.
It was a long, delicate process, and kept Simon's agile mind focused. Kept Simon from imagining what would have happened to these people if they hadn't escaped the Reavers—or spend too much time considering the way Book had watched him like a hawk for the first half of surgery. When the man had decided that Simon would be performing no more miracles, he'd wandered off to help the crew put their ship, and their lives, back together.
Simon had no sense of time when performed surgery. At the hospital, it had been sort of a joke for the nurses to tell him what time it was—how long he'd been in surgery—as soon as he took of his gloves. His focus was so notoriously intense that he honestly could not tell the difference between a surgery that took an hour and one that took ten. He was also somewhat famous for giving the same level of expert care after ten hours that he gave during the first. It had made him a star of the emergency room, because most surgeons with that level of focus chose to go into more lucrative practices than emergency medicine, leaving most ER's lacking the proper staff to deal with certain emergencies.
Simon had gotten better at it since coming aboard Serenity. Oh, not at telling time during the surgery, but, rather at figuring out how much time he'd spent afterwards based on how exhausted he was. After Georgie's surgery, he was very exhausted. Part of the reason was that he was still recovering from his ordeal with Cain and his fainting spell, but another part was that it took no less than four hours to deal with all of Georgie's injuries.
Luckily, no one else on the Dolphin was seriously injured. Twenty minutes of cleaning cuts and only two or three that needed stitches or anything more serious than a weave, and Simon was done—and done for. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.
It was fortunate that Mal had kept close to Simon. The Captain still hadn't gotten over his guilt with the whole Cain thing, and was a little extra-protective of Simon. It was heart-warming in its own little way; Mal wouldn't be feeling protective if he didn't think of Simon as part of his crew. Still, it was also annoying. Simon didn't need a babysitter. Usually. Right now, that might not be such a bad thing. He just needed to rest a little, that was all. Oh, look, the world was tilting again.
Mal noticed Simon swaying to the side, and reached out and caught the boy before he could hit the deck. Top three percent, able to perform amazing surgery and recall a thousand little details at the drop of a hat, and the boy still didn't have the good sense to know when he'd worn himself out. Mal sat the boy down and firmly told him to stay put while he went and met with Monty.
The big man was dealing with his problem well, but there was that look in his eye that said that he was seein' all the horrors that could have happened. Mal expected that they all were, a bit.
"Well, Monty, lil' Kaylee says that it'll only take a few more hours to get the engines repaired."
"Thank you, Mal. You've always been a friend, but today you were a godsend."
"Nothin' to it. I'm actually gonna head back to Serenity for a bit. Our medic's done wore himself out and I wanna make sure he gets back safe and settled. I'll be back, though, and Kaylee's gonna stay right here and keep workin' on your engines. Shepherd wants to stay and help clean up, too."
"Of course. Thank your medic for us, too. Georgie's a clumsy little oaf, but we'd have been heartbroken to lose 'em."
"Yeah, we've been lucky with the Doc. He's a good one, really something' to see, though…don't tell him I said." Mal added a sly little grin with that last.
Getting Simon on the shuttle was a bit more difficult than Mal was expecting. The boy kept insisting that he needed to check all the crew, someone could have internal bleeding, but Mal somehow managed to herd him into the shuttle and strap him in. It helped that he was exhausted enough that he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open.
Before much longer they were out of the Dolphin's cargo bay and headed home. One minute they floated through the serene dark of space to the warm comfort of Serenity, the next they spun tail over nose as the shuttle was violently struck by an energy beam—an EMP. The little shuttle shuddered and then stopped completely. They had what warmth and air was already in the shuttle, but they were dead in the water—literally, if they didn't get a pick-up soon.
Out of the darkness a new ship swam like a shark coming from the depths of the ocean; a nightmare looming out of a dream. A Reaver ship.
It was a mish-mash of put together parts and a conglomeration of ships, so that Mal couldn't even tell what it had been originally. Spikes stuck out on the top and sides of the ship and bloody red slashes were the mark of war-paint. Even as Mal watched, the EMP turned on Dolphin, a glancing blow that was enough to take out her engines. Mal could tell by the way she floated. They were, both of them, sitting ducks.
Mal glanced to the side at Simon, who was white as a sheet. The boy's expressive eyes were big and dark against his bloodless face, but he had that iron control of his in play. He was afraid, but he wasn't going to panic, which was all to the good, in Mal's mind. If they were gonna get out of this, they'd need to keep their heads.
Through the window of the shuttle, Mal saw the Reaver ship start towards them. He saw the much smaller figure of Serenity fly right up to the Reavers and maneuver around the ship at the last moment before hitting full burn and darting off into space. The Reaver ship, larger and faster but far less maneuverable, turned slowly before hitting full burn itself and giving chase.
The shuttle was caught up in the Reaver's wake. It was tossed about violently for a moment before the wake passed. Its inhabitants were tossed about as well. Mal heard Simon give a surprised 'eep' and turned to see the boy fly towards the back of the shuttle. Mal himself fell hard against the metal bench in the back and the last the he saw was blossoming red stars before he lost consciousness. The little shuttle, with no thrusters with which to stop itself, tumbled on endlessly through space.
Tam Family Manor--
The Whole that was Gabriel Tam felt Their frustrations mounting. The boy had used his power for the first time—They had expected that he would be in awe of the power and find a way, a reason to use it again in short order. But he had not. Now They were no closer to finding the boy and his sister than They had been.
Their anger got the better of Them (They were still adjusting to Gabriel Tam's violent temper), but fortunately They were alone with the floozy of the night; a boy, maybe nineteen, with the familiar track marks and crass voice of a streetwalker. Regan seemed to have run out of maids and servants to send Them; just as well—no one would miss this boy. They put D'Mar and Anteel to work cleaning up after Them. Might as well make use of the two; their blue-handed followers had done Them no good lately.
Yes, They were frustrated. But not ready to yet give up. They would find the children, the Starlings, one way or the other. And when They did, nothing would be able to stop them.
The Boy Bird (Doll) dreamed.
He was in pain. His body felt broken and cold. He was afraid. He was alone.
But he wasn't alone, not really. The Warm Man was with him. But the Warm Man was hurt, too. Hurt worse. The Boy Bird (Doll) couldn't ignore that hurt, so he stretched out his wings.
They had grown since he'd last used them. They now stretched as far wide as he was tall. They were still translucent (would always be), but they had a solidity to them now, a realness that they had lacked before. They pulsed with a blue color, a shade as bright as the day's sky; as deep as his eyes. The blue was cool and serene and warm and peaceful all at once.
The glow began to spread through his body and what was broken mended. His pain stopped.
Shuttle Two—
Simon woke up with a start. The last thing he remembered was…Reavers! They'd been attacked by Reavers! The little shuttle had gotten tossed about like so much flotsam, and he'd been thrown from his seat. Mal, Mal had been with him. Where was…
The cold steel blue of the emergency lights cast the shuttle into ominous shadows, and it took him a moment to locate the Captain, crumpled up in the corner as if he'd been tossed there by a careless child. He was frighteningly still.
"Mal! Captain, can you here me?" Simon rushed to Mal's side as quickly as he could.
The Captain had a large gash above his left eyebrow and was most likely suffering some head trauma. Simon carefully felt along the larger man's body, searching for breaks and signs of internal trauma.
Only a couple of ribs had been broken, but they'd been broken badly. The jagged shards of one rib were hard to find, and Simon feared they'd turned inward and pierced a lung. Other than that, Mal suffered multiple contusions. But the head wound and the rib had Simon worried.
Oh so carefully, Simon turned Mal so that he was lying flat out on the floor and cleaned and bound his head wound. Luckily Simon's medical bag was insulated quite well, so none of the precious bottles of medicine or equipment had broken. Without the ability to see the internal damage, Simon was loath to bind the ribs and risk worsening it. Mal would just have to hold still. Simon looked around and opened the spare storage chest. It was barely stocked—weapons, mostly, a few first aid supplies—but it did sport a few thick wool blankets. He laid two over the Captain and saved the last for himself. He could already feel the heat leaching out of the shuttle.
The preliminaries done, Simon proceeded to wake the Captain. He needed to see the extent of the head wound—if the Captain had a concussion, he didn't need to be sleeping. He also needed Mal's help deciding what to do next.
"Mal. Mal, wake up." Simon's tone was gentle but firm and the Captain responded quickly, thank God.
"What happened at me?"
"What do you remember?"
"We were helpin' the Dolphin—you looked like to collapse, so I thought to take you back to Serenity, and we—we were hit! Reavers! They chased Serenity…"
"We got caught up in their wake. It tossed the shuttle around. We were both knocked out, and I don't know how long we were unconscious. The shuttle's power is still out. We have emergency lights, and that's all. I'm not even sure where we are—that wake may have pushed us way off course. No, don't try to get up!" Simon gently pushed the Captain back down, holding him in place to keep him from shifting the damaged ribs. "You're badly hurt!"
"That don't matter we can't restore power to the shuttle! We'll just float out here 'til the Reavers find us or the air runs out."
"Mal—we were hit by an EMP. What could you do?"
"Not rightly sure," Mal admitted, smiling ruefully.
"Then stay there and don't worsen your injuries." Simon spoke in his most firm, doctor-ish manner.
"Yes Sir!" A small smile betrayed the stern tone.
"We have to just hope Serenity made it out—that they're coming for us."
"They are," Mal's tone hinted at no doubt. "With Wash behind the wheel and Zoe pulling the strings, they'll be just fine."
Simon knew it was silly to let the man's assurances comfort him that much, but he couldn't help it. Something in him just trusted Mal. It was that something that gave him such a hard time when it came to the man, because he didn't understand why he trusted him. Almost from the start, Mal had made him feel…safe. He wanted Mal's trust; he wanted his approval. And that had rankled quite badly, for a number of reasons—not the least of which was the man's apparent dislike of Simon from the moment they met.
More than that, Simon feared that he trusted authority figures too easily. He'd always trusted—adored, even—his father, and trusted the government as well. They'd both betrayed him. Now here was a man that exuded strength and authority, and Simon had instinctively trusted him as well. Simon had pushed against that trust, and, in turn, pushed against Mal. Because suspicion was alien to his character (he knew he was naïve), he had a hard time maintaining that level of distrust. He knew that made him seem erratic—he'd get along fine with the Captain and crew one day, then be suspicious the next—but he just didn't know when he could give it up. He lacked the ability to judge who was trustworthy and who was not. And on Serenity, it all evolved around Mal.
Yes, Mal was the crux of the problem. Kaylee wore her heart on her sleeve and Jayne was ultimately selfish. Wash was a decent man, as was Book—neither would ever be willing to turn the Tams in. And Inara had been one of their staunchest defenders since that first day on Serenity. Zoe would go where Mal went, and Mal…Mal seemed as changeable as the black, and as unpredictable.
One day Mal would be calm and serene, happy even, the next his mood would be foul and he'd rip into any opponents with a sharp wit and deadly anger that would leave his opponent bleeding, if only emotionally—though occasionally physically, as well, as Simon could attest. Even moment to moment, Mal was changeable—or perhaps it was just that he presented different faced to different people. To Jayne, Mal called River and Simon crew, and said in no uncertain terms that they would not be left behind. But what he said to Simon was a far cry away. Deal was, you keep her in check. Now, you can't do that, we're gonna have to revisit the deal. Those words haunted Simon. They made him wonder, how far would he have to push before Mal abandoned them, too?
"You're thinkin' too hard, Doc. Liable to pull somethin'."
Simon gave a small smile at the joke. The Captain was right, though, this was no time to ponder the problems in his life, especially the one laying next to them.
"Sorry."
"Don't have to 'pologize for thinkin'. Its kinda what you do." Mal sounded amused.
"Too much, sometimes." Simon gave a small, self-deprecating smile. A shiver took him by surprise. He hadn't realized how cold it had gotten, but now the chill was seeping into his bones.
Mal was shivering a bit, too. The larger man's body heat was usually well above Simon's but his wounds were taking a toll and he lacked his usual hardiness. There were no more blankets, and Simon couldn't put off the safest way to warm them both up any longer due to shyness. Then he gently removed Mal's shirt—the man seemed to stunned to protest—before taking off his own. He laid his own blanket over the Captain, then snuggled up to the man under the blankets.
He caught Mal's surprised look and tried (unsuccessfully) to hide the blush rising in his cheeks.
"We need to share our body heat. The shirts would just get in the way and absorb heat we need to keep. We'll last longer—long enough for Serenity to find us."
"Yeah we need to last, uh…yeah."
Aboard Serenity
Zoe stood grim-faced behind the pilot's chair. Serenity was still in full burn and using fuel fast. At this rate, they'd have to refuel before they went back to get the others, and the way that shuttled been floating didn't speak well of the Captain and Simon's chances were that the case.
They'd managed to lead the Reavers on a merry chase, but still hadn't lost them. The Reaver ship was faster than Serenity, but Serenity could turn on a dime. Every time the Reaver ship got close, Wash would rip Serenity around and dart off in another direction. But the longer the chase went on, the more determined the Reavers seemed to be to catch them. If something didn't change soon, they were goners. And as soon as the Reavers finished with Serenity, they'd go back for the shuttle and the Dolphin.
Of course, just losin' the Reavers wasn't an option—they'd still just turn around and hit the shuttle and Monty's ship. They needed to find a way to take them out. And with just Wash, Zoe, Inara, and Jayne on board, no options came quick to mind.
"Lambie-toes, I hate to be a bother, but I don't think I can keep this up much longer." Zoe could hear the strain in Wash's voice. Thankfully Jayne had fallen silent after a death glare from Zoe, and Inara was silent. A quiet blipping on the nave screen caught Zoe's eye. It was an asteroid belt, a tightly packed conglomeration of rocks floating in space. They were particularly deadly for big, hard to maneuver ships.
"Honey, I have an idea."
Shuttle Two--
A rattling sound brought Simon out of the doze he hadn't meant to fall into. He focused, looking at the source of that sound—Mal. The captain was unconscious again, and blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Simon was quickly on his knees, kneeling over the man.
"Mal! Mal, oh don't do this!" The broken rib was definitely in the lung and doing massive damage. Simon could do nothing about it without opening Mal up, and this was not the place to do surgery. Even if everything was sterile, he lacked the blood that would be necessary to keep the Captain alive, and in this cold that would kill the man quicker than the punctured lung. But Mal could hardly seem to breathe, and Simon knew he wouldn't last much longer without some kind of intervention.
Simon pressed the heels of his ands deep into his eyes, making red and white explosions blossom against his eyelids. His hands clawed a bit and he felt his fingernails dig in at his hairline. He was desperate to know what to do and close to losing his cool in a way he hadn't since medical school. Even when dealing with River, he managed to push his concern and upset away until after he'd finished treating her, even knowing that he couldn't heal her completely. But the prospect of sitting here, watching this extraordinary man die was more than he could handle at the moment.
"NO! This is not gonna happen; you're not gonna die like this!" Simon put both his hands on Mal and closed his eyes and pushed.
For a heartbreaking moment nothing happened. Then Simon felt….everything. He felt the cooling warmth of the Captain's body; the smooth skin, marred by scars and calluses; the dark blush of bruises, particularly around the head wound; the texture of the rough muscles, built up sleekly by work and life, rather than vanity; the slickness of the smooth muscles, the organs; the smooth hard bones; the jagged break in the rib bones, especially the bad one that screamed disharmony with the whole body; the way it pressed into the lung so that its sharp edged pierced the organ like a balloon; the dark blooding clouding the interior.
Simon opened his eyes and almost lost it as he saw that blue glow. It extended around his entire body and down his arms and hands to Mal, where it slipped into the Captain's body. Though he could not see it, the glow extended outwards from his shoulder blades in two gracefully arched wings of light.
He felt it, the glow. It was almost like skin—the telltale tingle of nerves racing, feeling what touched it—but not. It was the glow that allowed him that awareness of Mal's body, and the glow that could fix it. Simon closed his eyes again.
He imagined Mal's body fixing itself—the capillaries knitting, bones straightening, the ragged hole in the lung closing itself. As he pictured it, he pushed and felt the blue glow moving, manipulating, until Mal's body reshaped itself. It was like what had happened with Jimbeam, only slower and far more deliberate. With Jimbeam, Simon had acted on instinct. With Mal, he acted with careful thought. It was a revelation.
After a few moments, Mal's body was whole again. Simon relaxed and let the glow dissipate. He recognized the euphoria the glow had given him by its absence and he swayed with renewed exhaustion. This healing process, it seemed, was not without its cost. He shivered in the cooling air.
Mal gave a small moan and opened his eyes. He blinked in confusion and his eyes cleared.
"I feel…better. What happened?"
"You almost died. I had to…" Simon stopped there, unsure how to finish the sentence.
"You fixed me. Like you did with that kid."
"I…I did." Simon couldn't reach Mal's eyes.
Mal sat up slowly, testing for pain but there was none. He was completely healed, good as new. He looked over at Simon and saw the small shiver as the boy sat unprotected in the chill air, the droop of exhaustion. The Doc hadn't passed out this time, but he wasn't lookin' all that fresh, either.
Simon began shivering in earnest and that tiny, analytical part of his mind that would never shut up whispered that shivering was the body's way of creating heat when it got too cold. Shivering like this meant a body was well on the way to freezing to death. Then a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him to a solid, warm chest. Mal pulled the blankets over both of them and cuddled Simon close.
"C-Captain?"
"Come on, Doc. Body heat, remember?"
Body heat. Right. Hypothermia. That was all. So why was Simon's heart suddenly racing?
He'd seen Mal shirtless often enough to know the man was in good shape. Hell, on Bellapheron, they'd all seen him naked. But somehow seeing him in the cold, clinical lights of the infirmary did not prepare Simon to be pressed against the man. Before he could ignore it because Mal was injured, but now…The soft, slightly rough skin over hard muscles and the blessed heat seeping into Simon's cold body were almost painfully sensual and Simon shuddered again—this time, not because of cold. Simon took a deep breath.
For his part, Mal was in a kind of hell. Trapped in this little shuttle losin' heat and air and all he could think of was the shaui little body in his arms. Damn, Kaylee was right, the Doc was shaui. No, more than shaui. Like Inara, Simon had gotten to Mal from the minute he'd seen him because the boy was fine. Fancy, like fine china from Earth-that-was or the delicate silks Inara wore.
Mal had always had a taste for fine things in life, and resented the hell out of 'em that he knew he wasn't made for fine things. He could still hear old Bennie from the ranch—Boy, you's always lookin' for somethin' what's better than you are, but you can't have it. Learn your place and look for somethin' on your level, that's the key to happiness. Words of wisdom, Mal knew, but that didn't make them any easier for him to follow.
Simon looked up into Mal's face and found Mal looking right back at him. It was a still moment in time as he realized that the glint in Mal's eye was for him. That Mal was just affected by him as he was by Mal. It surprised Simon—even counting what happened with Cain, he rarely envisioned himself in anything remotely sexual. He understood better now the desire, but connecting that ephemeral desire with the very real world of flesh and blood still seemed abstract to him. It was easy for him to imagine the Captain in a sexual situation—Mal was such a passionate, earthy man. Such situations always seemed so far away from himself. But now he was in a moment, and had no idea what to do.
Mal did. Mal knew exactly what to do, and he did it. He put one hand on the side of Simon's face and ever so gently tilted his head back just a bit. Then he brought his mouth down to cover Simon's
It took Simon a moment to register that he was being kissed. It was so…so soft, and warm and wet. Just Mal's lips pressed tenderly against his own. Such a small thing to be so very big. Simon's eyes fluttered closed so that he could focus on the sensations. A bit of soft wetness traced the line between Simon's lips and Simon felt a tight flash of pure desire as he realized it was Mal's tongue. Simon opened his mouth to allow Mal entrance and was filled.
Mal's tongue was so hot it seared Simon, and thick, and long. Simon found himself caressing it with his own tongue, sucking on its, worshipping it, opening to it. He shocked himself with his own eager response, and the kiss went on and on.
Mal was shocked with Simon's response as well. He'd never thought his stiff, proper doctor hid such a soft, willing soul. He'd half expected Simon to pull away or freeze stiff as a board. Instead he found his tongue engulfed in that warm, sweet mouth and began to plunge it in and out in mimicry of the larger act.
Mal's big hands swept down Simon's arms to his wrists. He rolled the two of them so that Simon lay underneath him and slowly pulled Simon's hands up over the boy's head, holding them there and kissing him all the while. Part of him was waiting for the younger man to balk, but he did no such thing. Simon was so sweetly submissive that Mal took things a bit further and slid his leg between Simon's thighs, pressing up against the hardness at their juncture.
Simon was delirious with desire. The strong hands holding his wrists down and the strong thigh pressing against his hardness were almost enough to drive him over the edge. Then Mal's thigh began moving against him in a rhythmic rub and he whimpered helplessly into the Captain's mouth.
Mal stopped kissing Simon and just watched him for a moment as he continued to move his thigh. There was a pretty blush across the younger man's high cheek bones and his soft, full mouth, normally a pale pastel pink, was swollen and red. Those blue, blue eyes had darkened and the fringe of dark, thick lashes on his lids nearly hid them as they fluttered madly. And then there were the sounds he was making. The whimpering and helpless mewling, so gorram hot. Mal leaned down and began mouthing that pale, graceful neck, enjoying the increasing sounds.
Simon gasped and moaned and whimpered and mewled. Had he not been so caught up in the moment, he would have been horrified at how…wanton he sounded. As it was, he barely even heard himself, he was so caught up in feeling, in touch, that the rest of his senses seemed dulled. He could barely see or hear, but he didn't care, just as long as Mal kept going. The warm body pressing him down, the strong hands on his wrists, the leg rubbing against him, and the hot, wet mouth on his neck…it built and built until that mouth opened and bit down. Not enough to break the skin, just enough to hurt the right amount and give a feeling of being claimed. Simon cried out softly and his back arched as much as it could with Mal's weight on him, and he came.
Mal felt the boy shudder and writhe and pulled back to watch his face as he lost control completely. It was a beautiful sight. Simon's eyes were clenched closed and his mouth was open in a silent cry. It was a kind of catharsis, like the sound of glass breaking or the feel of water hitting skin; a gentle, wonderful death.
Mal took Simon's right and pulled it down to his own cloth-covered erection. It didn't take Simon long to figure out what Mal wanted him to do, and he began pressing and kneading through the cloth. After Simon's little performance, Mal was close enough that it wouldn't take much or long for him to come as well. He settled back down and began working Simon's neck again, gently but firmly. The whimpers let Mal know that this was a continuously sensitive area and he marked that knowledge somewhere in his mind.
A few hard presses was all it took and Simon felt Mal's entire body stiffen above him as the man found his climax. Simon found that he loved watching Mal climax—the strong neck arching so that the muscles and sinews stood out in relief, the strong shouldering tensing, the hands grasping his wrists tightening. Simon knew he would bruise there, and probably on his neck as well, but he didn't care. But he was so tired. The surgery, being knocked out, the healing, and now, this…it took a toll. The world faded as Simon drifted off into a warm, pleasant slumber.
Mal continued to kiss the soft skin of Simon's neck for a moment even when he felt the boy's body completely relax in unconsciousness. But a slight unevenness in the skin caused him to pause. That wasn't right. Simon's skin was smooth. Mal pulled back and saw faint white lines arcing across the muscles where the neck joined at the shoulder. They were so faint that he could barely see them from only inches away, but he knew what they were; bite marks. Bite marks from where Cain had chewed at Simon while he raped him.
Mal sat up abruptly, letting go of Simon. It was probably a good thing that Simon was not awake to see the look on his face. Tamade, what was wrong with him!? Simon had been tortured and raped not three weeks past, and here he was messin' with him.
Even if he hadn't been raped, Mal had decided long ago that he couldn't be with the boy; Simon was much too vulnerable, relied far too heavily on Mal for that. He could never be sure that Simon would be with him because he wanted to, not because he was afraid of being abandoned. Yeah, Mal leaned towards women, but he'd noticed that pretty face the moment Simon stepped aboard Serenity. Didn't mean he'd do anything about it. At least, that was the plan. It had helped that the boy had managed to get on his nerves from minute one.
So much for Mal's sense of nobility. Gorramit! Even now the pale skin of Simon's neck was bruising a bit and the mess in his pants was drying. Cursing quietly, Mal cleaned himself off as well as he could and did the same for Simon. He worried a bit that Simon didn't even wake up at that, but figured the boy had to be exhausted. He'd not only taken advantage of a traumatized, vulnerable boy—and Simon was a boy to his mind, only twenty three no matter how old he tried to act—he'd done it when the boy was too tired to think straight. Tamade!
Tam Family Manor—
Regan Tam gritted her teeth to hold back a scream of sheer frustration. The creature that had been her husband had become more and more demanding. First he merely wanted a different 'lover' for every night of the week—discretely, of course. Not an easy thing, but doable for someone of Regan's intelligence. But he'd become more and more specific in his taste, and sometimes asked for two or three. And, to make matters worse, many of the whores she brought him never returned. She'd had to change hunting districts three times because the remaining whores had become leery of her.
First anyone attractive would do him, but then he began requiring men only. Then he wanted them in their early twenties or late teens. Dark haired. Blue eyes. Pale skin. It had chilled Regan to the bone to realize he was looking for Simon's doppelganger. Simon may not have been her real child, but she did raise him and there was some affection there. Now his 'request' for tonight. He wanted two 'companions', one male, one female. Both had to have dark hair and pale skin, and he preferred the male to have blue eyes and the female to have brown. Like Simon and River.
Gods, how had her life come to this? She had thought she was tough enough, pragmatic enough to put her feelings aside when it came to matters like this, but fear and guilt and shame were eating her up. She'd lost weight and was beginning to look haggard. The peers of the ton were whispering that it was her frailty beginning to show.
What could she do? Who could she tell? 'Gabriel' was right, no one would believe her. The fact that they'd spread about that Simon was gone because of a nervous breakdown would only spur others to believe that she was going mad as well. She could only continue to try and keep the creature happy for as long as she could.
She approached the den, where the creature had made its haven along with those two creepy, emotionless grunts, D'Mar and Anteel. She would need to get him to allow her more access to the family accounts if he wanted such specific entertainment. A murmur of voices behind the burnished hardwood door told him they were in there.
Just as she set about pushing the heavy door open, she hear 'Gabriel's' voice raised in triumph.
"I've found him! He used his power again, there can be no doubt. D'Mar, Anteel, have you agents go to these coordinates as quickly as possible. We'll soon have the Starlings."
For the first time, Regan felt deep sorrow for the children she'd helped bring into the verse.
Onboard Serenity—
Asteroid belts were more dangerous than the layman could ever guess. It wasn't just that the masses of heavy rock and mineral moved even as a ship flew through them; it was that there was no way to guess what kind of gravity they'd have until you were close to them. Sometimes too close. You see, most asteroids had very little gravity, but every now and then one was made of denser stuff—quite literally. These denser asteroids could pack quite a punch, and they looked just like their fellows. They could be any size, anywhere. The only way to guess, and this took more than a bit of genius to do, was by paying attention to how less dense asteroids would group around the denser ones. This little technique was not taught in any flight school, but Wash's piloting skills were such that he'd surpassed flight school doggerel many years ago.
They'd hoped that the Reavers, hampered by a larger ship and lacking Wash as a pilot, would quickly succumb to the dangers of the belt. But an hour into it, and the Reavers were still following. They'd been hit, badly, but were dogged in their pursuit. Wash and Zoe were quickly running out of ideas.
River hadn't. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She'd just been waiting for the right moment. This was that moment. She opened the door to Jayne's bunk and threw down one of his weights, waking him with a loud crash. It seemed odd after all that had happened that not even a full night had passed. Oh, well. It was time to wake Jayne.
Jayne responded to the 'crazy' tossing a heavy weight into the room and waking him up as expected—he began cussing, shouting, and threatening to do harm. Inara and Zoe were momentarily drawn from the bridge by the noise. They began trying to calm Jayne down—Inara through her gentle manner, and Zoe by telling him to shut up. When he heard the word Reavers, though, he just got louder.
River creeped onto the bridge and snuck up right behind Wash. Reaching out one delicate little hand, she pinched the nerve at the join of his neck and shoulder and he passed out quietly (1). She then picked his body up in a fireman's carry—it was amazing how strong her frail-looking little body truly was—and quickly dumped him on the landing just outside of the bridge. The movement caught Zoe's attention, but it was two late. Before the first mate could reach her, she'd closed and locked the hatch to the bridge. She met Zoe's angry gaze calmly through the little hatch window.
"I'm sorry," she told her, "but timing is everything."
Aboard the Peregrine, Alliance stealth vessel—
The small, sleek black ship raced through space like a hot knife cutting through melted butter. Her only crew was two remarkably unremarkable men. They had the pasty complexion and look of cubicle jockeys, even if their suits were just a bit nicer. The only thing notable about them was their hands. On their hands they wore powder blue rubber gloves.
They two men moved with an efficient economy that allowed them to achieve maximum results for minimum effort. It was almost a dance between them as each played their own part and piloted the shuttle in perfect, eerie tandem.
Just over an hour ago they'd received word that their prey was nearby, and had swiftly moved to intercept him—Simon Tam. Failure was not an option.
The man on the left gave a small, cold smile. "Two by two.." he said in a singsong tone.
"…Hands of blue," finished his partner.
Aboard the Dolphin—
Kaylee's first instinct when she heard they were being attacked by Reavers was to turn into a gibbering, crying mess. But then, she expected that was near everyone's first instinct. Sometimes she had the time to just git real quiet and hardly move, like an animal hoping whatever was huntin' it would just pass on by. But she couldn't do that this time.
This time she couldn't just stand around bein' scared or worried, even when she saw the little shuttle carrying two of the people she cared about most in the verse shot so's they was dead in the water; when her home and the rest of her family sped off into the black leadin' the Reavers away; when that tossed the little shuttle off into a spin and left her floatin' away, while she was so crippled she couldn't do nothin' about it. This time, she had work to do.
Dolphin'd been hit, too. Not as bad as the shuttle, but enough to put her already hurt engines offline. And the ship's engineer had decided he could take the time to become a gibbering mess and had gone nearly hysterical. With the injuries—little Georgie was the engineer's assistant—that left just Kaylee to work on the engine, with the assistance of Shepherd Book, luckily.
In a way, the work was a blessin' for Kaylee. She always felt calm and centered when workin', and it helped her keep her fear from getting' the better of her. She could just focus on getting the Dolphin runnin' again, and that was all she had to worry about at the moment. Couldn't do nobody any good 'til then, anyways.
A couple hours of work, and the engines were able to move the ship again. It weren't a perfect job, but it'd get them to goin', hopefully before the Reavers returned. They could just get the Cap'n and Simon, then they'd be off on there merry to meet Serenity. She had to believe it.
Kaylee stepped back from the engine where she'd been workin' like a madwoman to realize she had a small audience. She'd long ago gotten past the part where Book could help and had been workin' on the final adjustments for a good long while now, and she'd been so focused she hadn't heart Monty walk into the room, or his quiet conversation with Book.
"Kaylee."
"Hey there, Monty. The engine's workin' again. Ain't pretty, but she'll get us movin'. Might even be able to do full burn for a couple minutes."
"That's great news, lil' Kaylee, great news."
Kaylee knew there was somethin' wrong in the way Monty'd said it, like he weren't really happy. Like somethin' had happened.
"What's goin' on?"
"We've been contacted by Serenity, Kaylee. Told to meet them in Persephone."
Book's voice always had a calmin' effect on Kaylee, but she knew she was still missin' somethin' here.
"That sounds great—so's why do you still look like somethin's the matter?"
"They want us to go straight there. They said they'd get the shuttle."
"But we's right here, it'd be quicker for us…"
"It was an order, Kaylee. They used one of Mal's old codes from the war."
"Why'd they…"
"To show us it was Mal's plan. We only got a written order, didn't actually talk to no one."
"That don't sound right."
"That's what we thought. But it was one of Mal's old codes, for sure. No one would know 'em that didn't fight with him. We're gonna do what they says. We're gonna trust Mal has a plan."
"It still don't seem right."
Aboard the Shuttle—
Simon woke up cold on one side and warm on the other. He was cuddled next to Mal and able to absorb some of his delicious body heat, but his back, turned towards the front of the little shuttle and away from the Captain, felt frozen. There had been a decided drop in temperature since he'd fallen asleep.
The air felt thin, as well. The little cabin of the shuttle could only hold so much oxygen, and even with just two of them, they'd burn it up at a quick rate. Quick to be counting down to your last breath. At this point it was a three way race between suffocation, hypothermia, and, optimistically, rescue. Simon didn't even want to consider the return of the Reavers.
Simon muffled a yawn and blinked his eyes. In the cold blue glow of the emergency lights—why was it that emergency lights always seemed to outlast emergency heat or emergency air? Who care if you can see if you can't breath?—he saw Mal looking down at him. There was something almost tender in the man's gaze. Simon melted a little inside. Then he froze again because it was so…rutting…cold. He shivered then snuggled closer to Mal.
He froze, worried at his own impertinence, but Mal simply tightened his hold and hugged Simon close. Simon looked up and met the Captain's gaze. There wasn't much to say. It looked like they were going to die here together.
There would be no last minute love confessions, because Simon didn't think he loved Mal. There was obviously attraction there—and respect, and affection. But love? More the potential for love, than the thing itself. And it was new. Simon hadn't been hiding a crush or anything. At least, he didn't think he had. Relationships were something Simon thought about a great deal, truth be told.
Mal wasn't harboring any deep-seated love at first sight, either. Lust at first sight, maybe. But the dark, unhealthy lust one feels for someone you want to fuck but don't want to like. A great deal of affection, built up slowly over time without Mal even noticin'. Affection for the little things, like the way Simon's hands fluttered around like little birds when he was nervous; the boy's spunk, even when he was scared—no, especially when he was scared; the way the only thing that seemed to really frighten the boy was when his sister was threatened. The strands of dark, shiny hair that fell over his eyes. The smooth, pale skin. The blue, blue eyes. All-in-all, Mal thought that there were worse people to die with.
A bit of movement caught Mal's eye and he turned to face it out the small window in the shuttle cab. It was a ship, but not one he'd ever seen before. It was small and shaped almost like a horseshoe—what he could see of it, anyway. It was made of some kind of dark metal alloy that almost seemed to absorb light and gave it a sinister cast. It was sleek and new and undoubtedly Alliance.
"Sonofabitch…" Mal breathed.
Simon followed Mal's gaze over his shoulder and was perplexed at the strange ship he saw. But horror dawned on him as he realized that it was Alliance and he felt a new chill of fear trickle down his spine.
Mal wanted to sit up, put his shirt back on, and grab his gun. But it was too late; too cold. He could see ice crystals forming on the console and the walls of the shuttle. It was a beautiful, twinkling eerie blue in the emergency lights, but deadly cold. If he or Simon had been in here alone, with no one to share body heat, they'd have likely frozen by now. As it was, there was a decidedly ashen tone to Simon's pale skin, which was even paler than usual, and a bluish cast to his lips. There was a bluish cast to all of him, truth be told, from the lights, and he looked ephemeral. But the shivering Mal felt in the smaller body clutched to him was worrisome.
"C-Captain?" Simon didn't know what to do, but Mal had to have a plan. He always had a plan. But all the answer Simon received to the question was a worried look. He transferred his gaze back to the window.
The ship was looming closer, looking for the best way to dock with the shuttle. It was a delicate process because the shuttle was still tumbling, with no way to stop. Inertia would keep the shuttle in its little spin until something else stopped it. The ship had to mimic that tumble to get close enough to dock, then it could stop the shuttle. The difficulty of the maneuver bought them a bit of time, but not much. And there was nothing they could do in that time, anyway, except move that much closer to freezing to death.
The silence was oppressive. All Simon could hear was Mal's steady breathing and his own quiet breath. If not for that, Simon would almost wonder if he'd gone deaf.
In the Silence they watched the ship prepare to dock. They watched the ship come closer and closer. They watched as an older ship, less sleek but still beautiful in her own way, their own Serenity, flew by the Alliance ship close enough to almost sideswipe her. They watched as the monstrous amalgamation that made up the Reaver ship followed close behind, and it did sideswipe the Alliance ship. They watched as the Reaver ship and the Alliance ship moved off. They saw the Reaver ship shoot its EMP, and the Alliance ship dodge. They saw the Alliance ship shoot a slim, dark red beam out from one of the tips of the 'horseshoe'. The beam cut through a bit of the Reaver ship with ease, leaving behind explosions and damage. Then the shuttle continued on its tumble and they saw no more.
But the silence was swept away by a clanging and there was a jolt to the shuttle at the unmistakable feel of a ship docking with them. Mal breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the curve of the hull looming out before them. It was Serenity. There was a moment of vertigo as Serenity brought the shuttle out of its spin and turned.
As the ship turned, the battle came back into view. The Reaver ship was badly damaged. It sported wounds all over its grotesque hull and explosions blossomed here and there. The Alliance ship did not show its wounds much because of the darkness of its material, but it seemed to hang haphazardly and there was undoubtedly a good bit of damage there, too. Even as they watched, the Reaver ship managed to hit them full on with the EMP. The Reaver ship began to close with the Alliance ship, preparing to board. Mal and Simon watched with baited breath.
When the Reaver ship was about to dock with the Alliance ship, the smaller ship…pulsed. It was an odd sort of energy output. Then it pulsed again, and again, in closer succession. Finally, it exploded. The explosion was so hot it burned white, then blue, searing their retinas. A smaller explosion within the larger indicated the destruction of the Reaver ship. Then it stopped.
It was so sudden it felt as if they'd gone blind. But their eyes adjusted and they saw a few burning bits of wreckage that was all that was left of the other ships. Simon shuddered in Mal's arms.
Serenity turned a bit more, picked up speed, and soared away to safety.
Tam Family Manor, Osiris—
The creature that was Gabriel Tam watched Their underlings control the blue-handed operatives about to retrieve their son. D'Mar and Anteel had their eyes closed in concentration as they focused the telepathic link with their underlings, to better view the capture through said underlings own eyes.
"They're closing on a shuttle. It looks to be out of power," intoned D'Mar emotionlessly.
The Gabriel creature smiled in unholy glee.
"Docking in 5….4….3…."
"Another ship is interfering. Firefly class," Anteel interrupted D'Mar. "Another is close behind. Class indeterminate. Reavers."
"What?!" the creature asked, rage in Their voice.
"The Reavers are engaging. Agents are retaliating." D'Mar, again.
A blow-by-blow depiction of the battle had the creature gritting Their teeth in frustration. So close, and yet so far!
"The firefly has docked with the shuttle and is preparing for full burn."
"EMP has hit the ship. Self destruct is required." D'Mar opened his eyes and met Gabriel's gaze for a moment, before lowering his eyes to the floor. "I apologize, sir."
But D'Mar's apology was drowned out by Anteel's agonized cry. Gabriel looked at the other man and saw his whole body contorted rigidly in pain. Blood dribbled from his nose and the corner of his mouth. His back arced a seeming impossible curve and his whole body shuddered once. Then he collapsed like a marionette with the strings cut.
"He was unable to sever the connection." D'Mar spoke in his usual monotone. He seemed unperturbed by Anteel's collapse.
The creature was not surprised; They did not choose their followers based on sentimentality. The creature knew, like D'Mar, that Anteel's body survived, but his mind had not. The body collapsed on his den floor was little more than a living corpse. While it was a bother, for he'd have to choose and train a new follower, the pain Anteel had gone through helped soothe the creature's temper. At least someone had paid for Their disappointment.
"Report everything you know about that firefly."
Onboard Serenity—
The aftermath of the battle was anticlimactic. Mal managed to shove both of them into their shirts before the shuttle door opened and then they were surrounded by the crew. Wash and Zoe and Inara and Jayne bundled around them. Mal had been confused by Wash's presence and asked who was flying the ship, but Simon knew. River. By her absence he knew it was her on the bridge, piloting.
The others quickly explained that she'd rendered Wash unconscious and locked herself in on the bridge. It had been her brilliant piloting that led the Reavers back to the shuttle at just the right time for them to face the Alliance vessel. She'd been the one who had docked with the shuttle and pulled Serenity far enough away from the battle that they'd not get caught in the explosion. Wash had been unconscious for most of it. But he swore he'd woken up feeling better than ever.
Wash seemed to be taking getting knocked out with his usual good humor. He joked about getting River to knock him out more often. Zoe hadn't thought it so funny. Simon could see that gleam in her eye that said River may not have hurt Wash this time, but she could have. Zoe liked River, Simon knew, but she'd kill the girl before letting her hurt Wash.
Inara had her companion's face on. Simon worried that she'd read what happened between him and Mal at a glance—companions were trained to do just that—but it wasn't something to be dealt with now. She was graceful and elegant and seemed to take everything in stride. There was no way of telling what she was really thinking or feeling.
Jayne was caught up in the Reaver-survival-euphoria. While Simon was sure that in any other circumstances the big man would be complaining about 'Crazy' flying the ship, for the moment he was too relieved to begrudge her he pilot's seat—or anything else, for that matter.
The welcome of the crew was cut short by Mal's insistence that he get to the bridge as fast as possible. He was disturbed not only by River's presence on the bridge, but by the fact that two of his crew were missing. When he asked about the Dolphin, all Zoe could tell him was that it wasn't where they'd left it.
When Simon had stood, he'd felt the room spin. The nap he'd had had done little to ease his exhaustion, and he knew he'd crash before long. But he also knew that he had to be there when Mal confronted River. So he'd followed the crew up to the bridge, leaning heavily on the walls. He was thankful that they were all too preoccupied to notice how much trouble he was having—and a little hurt that Mal didn't even glance at him.
When they reached the bridge, they found the door open once again and River waiting for them, looking heartbreakingly young. One foot was hooked behind the other ankle and she peeked up at them from underneath her long, tangled fall of hair. She'd been positively meek as she informed them that she'd set course for Persephone, where she'd arranged to meet the Dolphin.
Mal had lectured her, but he'd softened quite a bit and the lecture held little heat. Wash had forgiven her whole-heartedly and been touched when she'd given him a grateful hug in return. Zoe had been more reserved, but River respected that. And Jayne had given her a hearty slap on the back and congratulated her on her flying skills. Simon wasn't sure which was more disconcerting—Jayne complimenting River, or the fact that the slap—which would have knocked Simon down, even at the best of times—barely swayed the slender girl.
After she'd greeted the others, she walked over to Simon and gave him a careful, warm hug. He had been confused at the words she'd whispered in his ear—you got to stretch your wings again—but happy that she was well. Then she'd embarrassed him and dumbfounded the others by announcing that he needed to go to bed.
It was then that the others noticed how unsteady on his feet he was, and how pale (even for him). He'd tried to insist he was fine, but had been easily ignored and overruled. At Mal's command, Jayne was to take him to the infirmary where Zoe could look him over. Which was just ridiculous. He was merely tired, and more than capable of taking himself to his bunk to sleep it off. But his gentle voice drowned out under the firm command of Mal's.
Buoyed by his good mood, Jayne didn't even complain. He simply picked Simon up bridal style and started caring him down to the infirmary. Simon had protested, but was no match for the big man's strength, particularly as tired as he was. To his further humiliation, the mercenary took the dumbfounding opportunity to leer down at him—Jayne didn't even like him, so why look at him like a particularly tasty steak?—and his hands 'accidentally' brushed Simon's posterior in the process of setting him down.
Much to Simon's relief, Zoe took pity on him and pronounced him fine save for simple exhaustion, and he was left alone with River in the dimmed infirmary to rest. Having his sister watch protectively over him was comforting and he slept well.
He woke just in time to make himself presentable before Serenity docked at Persephone. It was during that lull—the last hour as Wash guided them through the atmosphere, with Zoe at his side; Jayne prepared his guns and River was off playing whatever game had caught her most recent fancy; Simon had a quick sponge bath before an even quicker change—that Mal came to see him.
He'd just changed clothes and reveled in feeling at least somewhat clean for the first time in what felt like forever. It was amazing how much a person could change. When Simon had first come aboard Serenity, he'd been horrified when he realized that sponge baths were the main form of cleanliness in space. It made sense—clean, fresh water was at a premium and facilities to cleanse and maintain a water supply were costly—but it was abhorrent to his sense of hygiene. Inara had helped with that, by teaching him what oils helped clean and care for skin, so that he was not reliant on mere soap and the ever-dwindling water supply. It had still taken him a month to get used to hair washed once a week. Surprisingly, his scalp had adapted. While he'd felt greasy and unclean that first month, oil production in his scalp had decreased and, after a while, it needed cleaning far less. (2)
So Simon was clean and dressed in fresh clothes—a layer of undershirt, tee-shirt, and sweater, since he could never seem to get warm, on top of softly faded cargo pants—when Mal appeared in his doorway. Just seeing the Captain made his heart jump in excitement and his blood pump just a bit warmer. He smiled shyly at the man.
Mal felt his heart constrict at the sight of that oh-so-rare smile—his pants, too, looked like. But he'd made his decision. The best decision for himself, for Simon—hell, for the whole gorram crew. He couldn't let his heart or this cock do his thinkin' for him. Still, that smile did light up the boy's face so, and his expressive eyes looked less sad for once.
"Captain," Simon's greeting was a bit hesitant, a bit eager.
"Simon," Mal kept his face serious, trying to be professional. "Seems to me that the two of us need to have a little talk."
"A-alright." Simon sat on his bed and looked up attentively, which did nothing at all for the tightness of Mal's pants. But the affection in those eyes did. Mal knew he was about to upset the Doc, maybe even hurt him. That killed his libido pretty quick. Mal didn't ever want to see those eyes looking so sad as was their wont, but he knew he'd made the right decision.
"Simon, what happened on that shuttle," Simon waited with baited breath, "was a mistake." Simon's heart seemed to freeze in his chest.
"O-oh."
"It shouldn't of happened. See, its like this. I don't like fraternization among crew in the first place. It divides loyalties, hurts feelin's….But as Captain, I can't fraternize. It'd be…wrong. We have to just forget what happened in that shuttle and move on. Dong ma?"
"Dong ma," Simon murmured. It hadn't meant anything to Mal. It had been a mistake. He carefully kept his face blank—he couldn't show how much it hurt.
"Good. Well, I'm glad that's settled then. We'll be dockin' soon, so come along. Kaylee'll be glad to see you." It was all Simon could do not to flinch at that last. It was bad enough the Captain didn't want him, but did the man have to try and push him at Kaylee?
Mal regretted that it had ever happened, that he had to see that light in Simon's eyes die and that cold, impersonal mask return. But it was for the best. Really. Mal turned and left the room. He had no more time for worrying about Simon. They had people to pick up and a job to get.
Simon watched Mal walk down the corridor and held back tears. He wouldn't cry. Men didn't cry. But it hurt. That precious little thing he'd felt growing in his chest, the affection and liking and joy for Mal, now felt like a block of ice, leeching heat from him from the inside out.
He'd been stupid to expect anything more. It had just been one of those spur of the moment things most men did all the time. Hell, Mal didn't even like men that way much. No, for the Captain it had been a moment of lust, an affirmation of life, or some such nonsense. And Simon had been there. Simon had been convenient. Simon had been easy.
He shored up the walls of his heart and tried to put it—the shuttle, Mal—out of his mind. Mal was right, in a way. Kaylee would be happy to see him. And if he couldn't love her in the way she wanted, she was still a good friend. And River needed him, and someone might be injured soon. Life went on. Life always went on. Simon would, too.
Epilogue—
The Boy Bird Dreamed.
He huddled in his little nest and shivered. He was cold, so cold. He wanted to wail. His fledgling feathers did little to keep him warm. What he really wanted was the Warm Man.
But the Warm Man didn't want him back. Awake, the Boy Bird was too dignified to give into his grief, but here he was just himself. He sniffled and cried out in a mournful tone.
His distressed cries did not go unnoticed. Before long a figure stood at his door—the Broken Bird. She was not quite so broken, now. Her wings were still a riot of color, but there was now beauty in the chaos. They shone. The bloodstains were almost gone—her wings had not been hurt again. She looked fragile, but he knew there was very real strength there. He met her eyes and saw compassion.
Before long, the Broken Bird was snuggled up next to him, her wings wrapped around him, warming him from the inside out. He let her comfort him as he had comforted her so many times before, and she blossomed with his trust.
1)Yeah, that's the Vulcan neck pinch.
2)I read somewhere that human hair is as oily as it is because we wash it so often. That plays hell with its natural ability to regulate oil production, and it our scalps produce too much. I also read that after about three weeks of not being washed, it will regulate itself and then it won't need to be washed so much. Don't know if its true, but it sounds believable.