River stood in the midst of a sea of bloody corpses. Reavers. She had killed them. One by one, she sliced through their skin, chopping heads, severing arteries and limbs. She bathed in their blood and rejoiced as it washed over her. It was intoxicating and it felt like she was drunk on the carnage. She laughed and spun around, dancing among the havoc that she wreaked. As she stood and watched the corpses around her, one of the monsters she had killed slowly turned its head toward her.
River's felt her hands fly up and cover her mouth as she stifled a gasp. It was Mal. He breathed shallowly, in and out, as he stared at her. His silent gaze peering at her from behind the Reaver mask as he asked just one question.
Why?
She felt her breathing quicken and she turned away, unable to face him. But suddenly, the corpses around her changed. They were no longer monsters, but her crew. She had killed her crew! Why had she done that? They stared at her and accused her.
You killed us River. Why did you kill me, mei mei?
Then she caught a glimpse of her face in a shard of broken glass.
She was a Reaver.
She was the monster.
River screamed. She cowered deep into a corner, as far away from the mutilated bodies as she could crawl. But no matter how far she crawled, they just seemed to get closer and closer until she was suffocated by the stench of death.
"Not real, not real, not real," she repeated over and over to herself like a mantra. She covered her head with her hands and said it again.
"This isn't real," she yelled aloud, through her tears. "It's not real!"
The bodies disappeared and were replaced by the darkness once again. River had come to be comforted by the darkness. The darkness meant she was awake and not trapped in an illusion. The darkness was her reality. She pulled against her bonds and realized that at some point, the man had replaced simple ropes with leather restraints.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked aloud, hoping the man was still there. "What do you want from me?"
A dark chuckle let her know that the man was still present in the room. Somewhere. River's heart pounded against her chest and she felt as though the fear would swallow her whole.
In and out, in and out.
River focused on her breathing. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She worked hard to bring her emotions into submission and when she was calm, she opened her eyes.
She was no longer in the dark room. She was back at That Place. It was impossible! River was strapped into a cold metal chair as a woman in a dark smock took a razor and shaved off her hair. She watched as her long dark locks fell to the ground and were casually stepped on by the doctors milling about the room. A man whom she did not recognize leaned in close to her and attached an apparatus to her skull.
River began to scream.
Back on the ship, Mal sat at dining hall table with a bottle of Kaylee's engine liquor in front of him. He was well on his way to being suitably drunk, which was what he had intended from the start. He had been woken by another dream a few hours ago and couldn't stop thinking about it and about his River. This time, River was trapped in a lab and was being poked and prodded by a dozen scientists. She was in pain and he felt her terror deep in his heart. He knew that wherever she was, she was scared, and that said a lot. He felt helpless to protect her. He gulped down another shot of the moonshine and poured himself another just as Inara walked into the mess.
"I'm so sorry," she said and turned to leave.
"Nothin to b'sorry bout," Mal slurred and waved her over. He indicated for her to sit in one of the seats across from her. Inara sat, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"Whatcha doin here this late?" Mal managed to ask.
"I was going to make myself some tea," she responded, to which Mal nodded.
"Settlin inta your old routines, eh?" he replied as he took another swig of the strong alcohol. Inara stood, walked over to the stove, and turned the kettle on.
"So, wa's next?" Mal asked, leaning back to look at her. "Make some tea, see a client or two, call the Feds?" Inara slammed the kettle down on the stove and swung around to look at him.
"Damn it Mal!" she exclaimed. "I've told you, I only did what I thought was best! It was wrong, I can admit that, but…" Inara paused and took a shaky breath in an effort to compose herself.
"But what, 'Nara?" Mal prodded.
"It's nothing," she replied, picking up her tea. "I'll drink this in my bunk." She turned away and headed out the door.
"I'm not mad that you called the Feds," Mal called after her. Inara turned around and gave him a confused look.
"What do you mean," she asked.
"Hell, in your situation, I might've done the same thing," he drawled on.
"I'm afraid I still don't understand," Inara said. Mal looked down at his shot glass and tossed back the last few dregs.
"I understand your reasoning for calling the Feds, 'Nara," he continued. "I know you were only doing what you thought was best." Mal stood and walked over to the doorway where Inara still stood. He looked down at her and gave her a piercing glare.
"But in doing what you thought was best, instead of what was best for the crew, you put my family in danger. Specifically River. She could've gotten captured again, Inara. She could've gotten captured and she woulda been taken back to that place. And that's what I take issue with. You didn't trust me. You didn't trust that I knew what I was doing and you didn't trust River, either." Mal grabbed his bottle of liquor and stomped out of the room leaving Inara alone with her tea.
She was still standing there a few moments later when Peter brushed passed her and into the mess.
"You in or out?" he asked as he made a pot of coffee. Inara looked over at him, standing calmly against the counter. Without a word she walked over to the table and sat down. She took a small sip of her tea and sighed. Peter looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. He carried his steaming cup of coffee over to the table and sat across from her, examining her carefully.
"Ok spill," he said suddenly. Inara looked up from the careful examination of her tea and raised her own eyebrow.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"You sat, you sighed, and then you proceeded to exam the contents of your mug as though it was the most interesting thing in the 'verse. For being a Companion, you aren't exactly bright at hiding your emotions since something is clearly bothering you. Either that or you want to talk about something, but want me to ask first. So spill." Peter leaned back in his chair and gave her a thoughtful stare. Inara ducked her head under his scrutiny, slightly taken aback that he was able to read her so well.
"I hate being treated like a pariah," she said after a moment. Peter nodded slightly, attempting to understand.
"Pardon me for being blunt," he replied. "But didn't you call the Feds on them? Think maybe they have every right to be mistrustful of you."
"True," Inara responded. "But you don't know the whole story."
"That may be so, but I don't have to be a psychic to know that whatever you did pissed off the entire crew, including Kaylee, and that ain't an easy feat," Peter said as he took a chug of coffee.
"Perhaps," Inara replied, sipping at her own beverage. "But I have my reasons."
"Then why don't you tell me your side of the story," Peter asked.
"Mal had landed a job on Beaumonde so I took the opportunity to take on a client," Inara began slowly. Peter leaned forward, interested in finally hearing the rest story.
"The man contracted me for several days, and since I hadn't had a client in a few weeks, I gladly obliged. You must understand that when I initially took this man as a client, I did not know what Mal's job entailed. Had I known, things would have turned out differently. My client was a connoisseur of fine art, including several rare pieces that would fetch millions of credits if on the open auction. This was well known among society circles, but what was slightly less well known was the fact that he was also in possession of several artifacts of a dangerous nature that would net a tidy profit on the black market." Inara paused and took a sip of her tea before she continued to speak.
"It turns out that Malcolm's services had been retained to liberate these artifacts from my client's possession," Inara watched Peter's reaction carefully. "If it were a simple matter of Mal stealing from a client, I could handle it. However, this man took great pride in showing off his new state-of-the-art security system, claiming its rigorous testing made it impossible for any person to get safely through. I was concerned for their safety. Knowing that their break-in was imminent, I did the only thing I thought I could at the time."
"You called the Feds," Peter interrupted. Inara nodded.
"Okay, I'm not following your logic, Miss Serra," he replied. "Explain to me why calling the Feds was a viable option."
"Because they would have died instantly had they tried to breach the security perimeter," Inara responded, slightly exasperated. "They've gotten out of run-ins with the Feds before, and I thought they could do it again. Which they did, I might add."
"Well," Peter said as he took his last sip of coffee. "I can see why that pissed off the Captain. Woulda pissed me off too. Especially since your logic is so flawed." Inara glanced up at him in confusion.
"Excuse me?" she said. Peter debated whether or not he wanted another mug of coffee before he continued to speak.
"I think that's a very clever story you've spun. Nice little lie you told yourself and the crew to ensure that you still look like a good person. But really, if you were concerned for their safety, you woulda just waved them in private and told the about the security system," he replied, setting his empty mug on the table. "I think something happened that made you want to get revenge on the Captain. Maybe jealousy. Maybe he just pissed you off a little too much one day. Whatever the real reason is, you called the Feds outta spite, no matter what you choose to tell yourself."
Inara shook her head and stood. She walked over to the sink and washed up her used mug.
"No," she replied, her voice shaking in anger. She carefully placed the mug back in its spot on the shelf. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
Peter walked up beside her and placed his mug in the sink as well.
"Listen," he said as he leaned against the counter. "I've lived far too long to care about past transgressions."
Inara became acutely aware of his invasion of her personal space and tried to take a step back, only to find he was blocking her exit.
"Please," she said, desperately trying to hide her shaky voice. "You're barely older than I am." Peter smirked and leaned over.
"Looks can be deceiving," he whispered into her ear. Inara felt a familiar warmth shoot through her veins and had to suppress a shudder. Peter gave her an arrogant smirk and walked out of the room, leaving Inara out of breath and frazzled.