I'd have updated a couple of days ago, but I had issues with my laptop. This is the last chapter in Mal's perspective - mainly because I find his character fascinating and wanted to give some insight into what he was thinking/feeling whilst interacting with Kate. Next chapter should be up within the week. I'd love to hear any feedback or criticisms - any ideas you might have or improvements I could make in regards to keeping Mal and Kate in character.
Also, I'd like to thank JustAnotherCaskettFan for their review, they make my day :)
Mal's day had gotten off to a rough start, though it was nothin' new in regards to the Captain. He had woken up groggily, having slept terribly throughout the night. Within minutes of pulling on his pants and making himself look half presentable, he was to sit down through a torturous conversation with his first mate and pilot. Said conversation was concerning how their ends weren't currently meeting anything.
'Sir, I just don't see the profit in goin' to Beaumonde,' Zoe voiced her concerns, glancing at her husband for support, gaining only a grin and thumbs up in return.
Mal had frowned at that, sure they were runnin' on next to nothin' but what other choice did he have?
'I appreciate the concern Zoe, but it's not needed,' he spoke with authority 'Badger ain't inclined to take our cargo, and I don't see no other option.'
He voiced that slight doubt to his first officer, silencing any further words by standing and walking right out of the cockpit.
His morning had worsened by breakfast. Their new passenger was still in her bunk, 'probably sleeping off her time travellin',' Mal humoured himself. The doc had made the meal - some form of processed meat and powdered eggs. On any other morning, Mal would have been perfectly content to lean back in his rickety chair to watch his crew. The yellow paint contrasting with the metallic components of Serenity usually made him smile with satisfaction. The tiny flowers decorating the room practically screamed of Kaylee's handiwork. It was a homely ship, one Mal could see himself on for years to come 'If the Alliance don't kill us all first,' he pondered pessimistically.
Mal was used to Jayne spitting out more food than he wolfed down. He was used to the way Kaylee would stare love-struck at the pretty-boy doc. What he wasn't used to was having his breakfast overturned into his lap by the stark-raving mad girl he had though had finally started to see sense. After biting back several ungentlemanly retorts, Mal found his way back to his bunk.
He'd received a transmission from none other than Patience. The woman hadn't changed a bit, her eyes still beady and full of suspicion. Without a doubt her hair had greyed, and her face had lines that weren't once as noticeable. She'd spoken to Badger about the cargo, and seemed mighty polite. Mal knew it meant she had something in store for him. Whatever it was, he would be ready for it.
The last he'd seen of her she'd shot him and tried to take all of his money. Yet, he and his were in the market for quick and easy business with no questions asked. So he accepted the deal, letting bygones be bygones. He was to head to Whitefall to drop off the cargo that'd been stewing in his smuggler passage for quite a while now. Patience was a wily old fox, but she was less dangerous than the people he'd have had to deal with on Beaumonde in order to make profit. Zoe had agreed with him stoically before going forth to the task of cleaning her weaponry.
Things had been looking up, so he'd spent the next couple of hours playing ball with the crew. 'Nothin' better than a happy crew, 'cept money of course,' he mused, grinning savagely as he elbowed Jayne in the mouth in order to steal the ball.
The game had continued for a while, Mal lost himself in the screeches and crazed laughter. He almost missed Jayne trying to intimidate the woman.
Mal frowned in mild confusion when she'd stumbled back after Jayne hit the wall. 'Didn't seem like the woman to be provoked,' he pondered, his hands resting on his belt instinctively. He instantly backtracked when she gripped Jayne's wrist in a harsh firm manner.
Mal had to move quickly to stop Jayne from smashing his other hand into the woman's pretty face. He'd even shown his patient side (for a time) by being able to listen to a good amount of Jayne's babbling until (in perfect Mal manner) he snapped:
'Jayne, your mouth is talking. You might want to look to that,' he growled in exasperation.
As he expected, the man backed down - stomping away.
His eyes immediately landed on the woman, he watched as her soft, small (yet confirmed to be strong) hand brushed away a stray auburn curl out of her face. Her eyes met his in an almost shy manner that made Mal want to grin at the ridiculity of.
He couldn't help but explore her figure going down from the wide long-lashed eyes, to her small nose to her soft (at least that's what he thought) plump lips. Her creased shirt clung to her curved frame, making Mal wonder what she looked like beneath it. Or better yet, what she'd look like beneath him. She was still wearing her ludicrous footwear, but Mal supposed it made her look even more domineering. Her eyes caught his stare, widening as if she knew what he was thinking.
'Pretty sure I told you not to make trouble,' he mocked, his lips moving upwards of their own accord.
She scowled, her cheeks flushing wildly. Mal had to admit, she looked mighty pretty - 'specially when she was mad.
'And I'm pretty sure you know that I wasn't the one making the trouble,' she retorted, her hands moving to her hips.
He shrugged and leaned back casually, 'Need to talk anyhow.'
'Takin' you with me and Zoe when we land on Whitefall,' he spoke, noting her shocked expression.
'Why?' her voice going up in pitch.
'Need another set of eyes, need to know if you can be trusted,' he replied, and it was the truth. River had said she could be trusted, but Mal had to be certain.
Especially now the psychic was going off the rails again. Plus, he wanted to see just how capable this tough woman was.
'Why not just kill me, you think I'm Alliance,' she muttered lowly.
She was partly right, Malcolm Reynolds had been stabbed (and shot) in the back too many times for him not to question and suspect this woman. Most perceived Mal to be of a simple mind - making deals when evidence suggested foul play (like with Patience) yet Mal had never rid himself of the paranoia and survival skills that fighting in the war for Independence gave him. He was constantly alert for anyone threatening him and his.
Yet, 'You don't know me. But if I ever intend on killing you darlin' you'll be awake and you'll be armed with that pretty lil gun of yours,' he finished.
He noted the way she gazed at him, taking in every inch. But he knew it wasn't out of lust or actual interest (he didn't know if he should be disappointed at that). 'Probably thinkin' of that other man, the one she mistook me for,' he supposed. The desperation he'd seen in her eyes when he had harshly told her he wasn't the man she'd called out for almost made him regret his cruelty. She interrupted his line of thought:
'Where's Whitefall?' she questioned, her eyes lighting up with wild curiosity.
'Fourth moon of Athens, owned mostly by a woman of the name Patience, not that'd you have a clue - seeing as you're from the past,' he replied, still sceptical over her arrival on his boat. Yet she'd ignored the barb.
'The woman who shot you?' she asked, the know-it-all look women all intrinsically knew and used on men they deemed stupid.
He frowned, cursing 'Does everyone on my gorram boat have a problem? It was one time,' he sighed running his hands through his hair. 'No matter, gotta go tell Wash to change course - Beaumonde can wait.'
'Be ready, and see Zoe for some clothes,' he finished, eyeing her flattering, yet conspicuous and impractical clothing.
She narrowed her eyes 'Make sure you're ready Reynolds. Don't want to be getting shot at again,' she quipped, strolling past him.
'Back at you darlin',' he murmured, inhaling the odd smell of cherries wafting towards his nostrils. It was pleasing, different to the iron smell of the ship, the sterilised air of the medic bay or Inara's strong incense. He hadn't smelt actual genuine cherries since he'd been a young 'un growing up on the ranch with his mother.
He made a note to keep an eye on his newly acquired passenger. 'Won't be pullin' no Alliance tricks or womanly wiles on me,' he stated quietly, making his way to the cockpit; his rough hands caressed the smooth texture of his boat, like the gentle touch of an old lover.
Hope I kept Mal in character, and that you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews/criticisms would be appreciated :)