二 Èr: Stand Down
Stand down. Stand down. It's finished. We're finished.
Like a chorus line of dancers executing their choreography, the Feds' weapons lowered in an almost simultaneous domino effect, triggered by whoever was first to register the Operative's order – the improbable, maddening order to stand down at the culmination of their pursuit. Zoe picked up on the ever so slight hesitation, as if the dancers began a hair's breadth after their cue.
Now here they were in a supremely awkward face-off. Nobody seemed to know their next move. Alliance troops should be well-enough trained; conditioned to obey. Should be, Zoe figured. That is unless a'one of them couldn't stand it, got antsy, finger on the trigger, a new line of dominoes.
She closed her eyes briefly. Her adrenaline was starting to wear off, she could feel it. When she opened her eyes the scene appeared in slow motion. She watched a drop of blood leave the tip of the massive machete River was holding. Dust motes from the ripped open wall, floating in the bright light from outside. Mal wavering on his feet, his eyes bluer than she'd ever considered them before. Could be the red? To contrast the blue?
A sudden twinge of pain from the slash on her back snapped her out of it. She was going into shock - she knew the signs well-enough, she'd seen it in plenty of soldiers. The temporary field dressing Simon had applied was holding, though in the fighting that followed she had pushed it past the limits its' inventors had in mind. The pain was bearable but only just. There hadn't been time to dope her. But she was glad of the pain. It was something happening now, something to focus on now. Her body wasn't the only thing in shock. No, now was not the time to think back, to replay again and again and again, to acknowledge what had happened, to absorb what had happened.
Zoe reeled herself back to the present moment. Only a few moments of silence, of stand-off, had passed. Simon, whose head had been raised to see his sister, slumped back to the floor with a stifled sound of distress. This small move was the catalyst that broke the spell. Things began to happen then.
"River," called Mal, his voice strained.
With a subtle movement of one hand, low and quiet-like, he motioned for her to come to them.
Zoe could not be sure, in the second that passed before River responded, whether the girl had gone feral; gone and become what the Alliance had intended her to be. She looked wild and ready to spring. Her weapons shifted ever so slightly as she tightened her grip…
And then she dropped them to the floor, and Zoe knew it was her. It was their River. Not the River she'd started out life as, to be sure. But not the cold calculator the Academy had made her either. The girl and the weapon were one and the same, now the barrier that was between them had come down. She was River. She was acting under her own power. No one had triggered her this time but her own self. And, lucky for them, she was on their side.
Only River could step through dozens of fallen Reavers and make it look like a dance. She took the precise number of steps required to reach clear ground and no more; placing each foot with care, no superfluous moves. With the open corridor before her she ran the rest of the way, sinking down gracefully next to her brother. Mal and River's eyes met for an instant in which Zoe saw the flicker of a little something go across both their faces. Something like acknowledgement, something like mutual respect, something like being pleased to see the other after having been through a trial and out the other side. She recognized it because she'd shared that same flicker with Mal on countless occasions. If they all got out of this Simon was going to have a helluva time keeping River from joining the gang.
River gingerly touched her brother's face, brushed his hair back, a little more boldly tried to smooth out the crease in his brow with her thumb. He was losing the fight to keep his eyes open. River bent closer, whispering to him. Zoe couldn't hear her, but the sight of it pulled at her heart.
She did the only thing she had left in her to do at the moment.
"You got medics?" Zoe's voice rang with a force, clear and strong, down the corridor as she called to the line of troops.
It was not her favorite thing. Asking the Feds for help. Especially after all that had just gone down. But they were not in a position to be choosy about where help came from right about now. And she knew how the Feds ran their operations. There would be a medical team to follow the fighting. There would be state-of-the-art infirmaries onboard their ships. If their ships survived the Reaver fleet.
The Alliance soldiers relaxed their line, made an opening, someone ran back through the wall. To summon the medics, Zoe presumed, though a part of her remained wary and a bigger part didn't trust them at all. Still, she allowed herself to rest her head against the crate. She was losing steam.
"Mal, Simon's bag," Inara indicated its' location with her head, her hands being occupied atop Simon's keeping pressure on the bullet wound, "It got left when we fell back. River went out to get it. He needed to give something to Kaylee for the…there were darts…" She spoke quickly and with fear in her voice. Her usual calm, poised exterior cracked to show what was underneath.
Mal swayed on the spot – Zoe thought he might go down, Lord knows what all his injuries were he looked a mess – until he swayed far enough that his legs jumpstarted and carried him a few steps like machinery sputtering, running out of fuel. He knelt, not without difficulty, between Kaylee and Simon, using the crate to assist.
"Kaylee? Xiǎo mèi mei, can you hear me?" he stroked Kaylee's head, propping it up carefully. She was barely breathing. "What'd the Doc say?"
"Cal-something, Calofar?" Inara remembered.
"To stick her with," River looked up, confirming in her way that yes, it was Calofar, and that Mal could ignore anything in the bag that wasn't a needle, "And adrenaline for Simon."
Mal gave a nod, needle cap in his teeth, as he injected Kaylee with the first drug. He rummaged around in the bag for the next.
A flurry of activity on the Alliance side signaled the arrival of their medical staff and Zoe breathed a sigh of relief. They had stretchers with them, they had bags perhaps containing drugs Simon's bag did not, and they were coming as fast as they could, trying not to slip on the blood splattered floor.
Mal slumped down against the crate next to Zoe and let out his own sigh. There commenced a Significant Glance between the two of them in which Zoe felt an upwelling of trust and loyalty that went both ways. Also a shared acceptance regarding what they were about to accede to. They were humped. There wasn't much else they could do but see how this played out.
The Glance lasted until the medics arrived with an escort of armed soldiers. One of them asked about the Operative and Mal just pointed to the elevator. Knowing that the task at hand was done with and the Captain could take it from here, Zoe allowed herself to retreat to somewhere deeper down. She could feel it happening and she acquiesced.
From that distant place, she watched the medics divide and conquer the injured, herself included. She did not resist when someone helped her to stand and walk out of the building. She observed without feeling the sight of Serenity - speared, smoking and hurting. She heard without truly listening every request or directive – watch your step; lay down, face down please; I'm going to remove your vest, your shirt. Every answer to Mal's questions – this vessel isn't equipped, sir; we're transferring you to a cruiser in orbit; it's over, their surviving ships retreated, we're regrouping what's left of our fleet; I don't know, sir, I've been ordered to see to your injured, that's all I can tell you.
One moment she was feeling the stillness of Serenity finally come to a blessed halt, breathing hard, seeing the cockpit bathed in red light, hearing Wash's voice. And the next she was aware that somehow her back was properly treated and stitched, that someone lay her on her side in a recovery ward with Jayne and Kaylee, that Inara had come and gone, that Mal was alright. She closed her eyes, flirting with sleep.
She heard Mal's voice just at the brim of consciousness as she slipped over it's edge, "Serenity's bein' towed out right now, movin'er to the dock outside Mr. Universe's where we can work. If you're feelin' up to it, we'll go tomorrow, get started. They sent in a crew…to get Wash."
She gave in to the void. She had no energy left to beat back the curling tendrils growing into constricting vines around her heart and lungs, her ability to think, to feel. And she let them pull her under.