The Resistance
Firefly Crossover
Summary: Follows my other fic, Spinning In The Dark. Posits a large conspiracy against mankind, the lampshading of demons and other monsters into the series, and ignores shared actors between the shows (as that would just be squicky). Spinning In The Dark gives away the twist.
Chapter 8
1.
Ian knew it was a trap. How could they hope to surprise a psychic?
But he knew that this barren rock they had selected was as good a place as any to kill them all. That this terrible place was more than a fitting tomb for vampires. There was a sun, of sorts, but light most suns in these other worlds, it didn't operate on these monsters the way the first Sun had. This sun might weaken them, or make them more savage, but it wouldn't kill them.
He could tell from the first moment the wash of ultraviolet hit his face as he was heading into the solar system, and he felt an edge from it. No pain, just a tugging at his inner-most parts.
He didn't like that much.
He landed a ways from their ambush, and suited up. He always wore clothes that were a little too bright, that drew the eyes. He liked it when people looked at him. When they gave him that little slice of their soul, unknowingly.
He hummed while he wrapped the pink scarf around his neck. William had given him the scarf, the last time they met, deep in the Alliance's prisons. William had told him then that he would have to kill Ian if he ever got let out again.
Ian hoped not. The two of them had a lot in common. For starters, both of them were dead. Sort of.
It was complicated. William couldn't have killed him before, not with all those iron bars between them—and besides, William had been in the middle of a breakout at the time, with not a lot of time for pleasantries.
Still, there had been a long moment between them. A moment when for the first time Ian felt kindred with another being, instead of just the feeling that he was looking at dinner. For the first time he'd felt a sense of belonging.
Even the Reavers couldn't give him that. They were meat; just crazier than most meat.
So he set out to find the Other, and William.
2.
River wanted to stay and help, but Blood insisted it was unnecessary. As far as Mal was concerned, that was the voice of god speaking. He was going to listen very closely, obey as much as possible, and not complain.
Because he didn't like it when they took risks that weren't planned, weren't necessary, and couldn't get them any profit at all.
River leaned against him, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate hug. "They need help," she said softly.
Mal shook his head, not rising to the bait. "They need more'n a gun to hand and a few nice friends; their heads need straightening, their whole lives need a touch of something I don't have."
They stood there watching them, but River noted that he made no move to take off, to run away and cut his losses. So she turned and headed out the back.
Mal cursed, tapping the intercom. "Zoe, don't let River off the ship."
There was a long pause. "And how do you suggest I stop her… sir?"
He hesitated. "Where's Jayne?"
"He just left with her. Sir."
She seemed determined to add the sir; possibly to salve his wounded pride. It was a terrible thing, being reminded that as much as the crew let him call himself captain, they certainly didn't treat him as one. He grumbled under his breath, checking that his gun was loaded. "Guess we'd better go with them, then."
"Guess we'd better."
3.
Blood stared into the sun. "A million worlds, a million suns… it never gets old, does it?"
Liam grunted, checking the gun he was carefully assembling. "If we still had the time machine… would you use it to try to stop us from using it?"
"What?"
"I've been trying to work out our mistake."
"Bloody mistake was using it, mate."
Liam sighed. "Funny… I always try to go back, revisit my mistakes. Do better. Work out a way to make it work. But I've never found a way. You never try to go back, revisit mistakes, and somehow you come out ahead."
Blood laughed. "Because I move forward, Liam. Now, come on. You know I'm second fiddle. I don't make big plans; and the ones I do make fail. I need you to take charge the way you once did."
Liam snarled at him. "While my doppelganger's out there, nothing I can do won't be anticipated! I thought you understood why I wasn't making plans!"
Blood sighed. "I understand, but we've come to the point where it doesn't matter. We have to move forward. They're aware of us, they're tracking us. Tommy, little Tommy, has been turned. He's one of us now, and that explains why he tried to kill me when he was always the most reasonable of the Alliance men I knew. You know, the Wolf, Ram, Hart thing… there should be three of them. There's only one we know of, one senior partner, and it's you. Makes you wonder, don't it?"
"There's two others, of course," said Liam patiently. "I'm only one of the three… and I got the distinct impression I was the youngest."
"Yeah, well, I wonder which one you are."
Liam sighed. "I think you're missing the point."
"Whatever. He's coming."
"You can tell?"
"You can't feel that? I thought your sense of smell was what went screwy."
Liam grimaced. "I've been…. Off. For a while."
Blood gave him a disbelieving glare. "You're kidding. Why am I only hearing this now?"
But there was a barrier between them, and they both knew it. Even if Blood refused to acknowledge how far apart they drifted; how little they had ever had in common. Family they had been, and would continue to be.
But it was a decidedly dysfunctional family.
Liam bared his teeth. "I can't sense things like I could; my strength is failing; I've been half a vampire for a long time. Every day I fade away a little more. Every day I become less a monster, more a shadow. Soon, if we don't win? All that'll be left is the other, the half of me that I left in the past."
Blood thought about that for a long minute. "What happened in the past that you didn't tell me about?"
Liam made a face. "Well, they weren't going to… it was going badly, you see. The whole Slayer thing. So I went in to make sure the world got them."
Blood snorted. "Bloody idiot. Paradox…"
"Yeah, I know. Still, I thought it was kind of neat to have had a hand in their creation."
"Neat? Yeah, I suppose. And?"
"I had… a vision. Some kind of vision quest, anyway. It was… they gave me a chance to take all the bad things in me, and get rid of them."
Blood's eyes popped wide open. "You bloody idiot! Why did you wait till now to tell me all this?"
"Because I was a little embarrassed I took the deal, when in retrospect it was obvious what I did," mumbled Liam. "Anyway. I think that's why I'm fading."
Blood sighed. "Always putting pressure on… here he comes."
4.
Ian tried to keep his trembling under control. He knew it was just the brainwashing, the training, that made him hate the Other so very much. But he couldn't help it. Knowing it wasn't really him didn't stop the desperate hatred, the burning desire to tear him into bloody little pieces. And then burn those pieces.
He smiled at sweet, sweet William. "How are you, William?" he asked softly.
William scowled at him, adjusting his grip on the two-handed sword he was holding. "Mate, I know we had a special bonding moment back in the dungeons and all… but you're here to kill us, and smiling and playing nice doesn't change that."
Ian nodded, trying to ignore the Other for a second. "I don't have to kill you; just him."
William shook his head. "Kill him, kill me, that's the same thing, really. Because without him, I don't even have a plan. I'm just a neurotic pile of anger running around waiting for the bad guys to come to me so I can kill them. He's always been my Yoda… the guy who points me where I need to go. The guy who keeps me on the straight and narrow…ish. I'm nothing if I let you take him from me."
Ian made a face. "So you and I will fight, and then I will kill you both. I'm sorry, William. You were kind to me… the only person who ever was."
William's face changed, and Ian smelled the approaching humans the same time he did. Ian turned, lifting one hand, and let the energy flow down his arm, blasting Liam in the chest quickly. He knew the big man was the more dangerous of the two—mostly because of his savage brutality, but also because of his amazing fighting prowess.
The electricity blew him off his feet, sending him flying away from the pile of weapons he had been hovering over, waiting for a chance to use. Ian might be a little crazy; he wasn't stupid. Did they honestly think he'd just let them stand there and use those weapons?
A bullet caught Ian in the chest, taking him off his feet even as William started forward, swinging that sword. Ian panicked a little bit, unleashing the last of the energy stored up inside him to slow William down.
The humans were attacking and taking sides against him. How was that fair? Did they have any idea what he doing, here? Any idea what William and the Other were up to?
He rolled to his feet, shrugging off the bullet wound, and carefully sent out a low-level psychic burst. He could see the big man who'd shot him fall to his knees, and he laughed out loud. "Not so tough now, are you?" he asked sweetly. "Childhood fears coming back to haunt you?"
The little girl was still running at him, full out, so he let loose every bit of psychic power he had, unleashing all her childhood fears all at once.
She kept running, and the smile slid off his face. This was her, then. The girl who, like him, already had all that loose in her head. The girl who had a psychic gift and they'd tried to make it as big as his. The girl whose brain had been cut up to look more like his.
He let go of his psychic tricks then. There was no point even trying that. He knew that a battle to see who had the most power might go on hours, and during that time William would recover, and take his head with that sword while he was distracted.
Better to do this the old fashioned way.
He leaned into her first blow, breaking every bone in her hand. She spun around, kicking at him, surprised by his mass.
He was a cyborg, of course. Half his body had been replaced with electronics and reinforced bone. He was supposed to be able to fight a vampire. Even before they had decided to make him part-vampire, he had been stronger than any vampire.
He backhanded her, sending her flying through the air almost twenty feet. She managed to twist in mid-air and land gracefully, but she could tell the blow had injured her pretty badly. She was limping as she tried to charge again.
Ian turned back to William, who was on his feet, swinging that sword in a long, overhanded swing at Ian's head. Ian caught the blade in one metallic hand, pulling it out of William's grip and tossing it aside. "You don't think it'll be that easy, do you?" he asked, grabbing William by the throat and throwing him straight at the charging girl.
5.
Every nightmare he'd ever had was passing through Jayne's head at top speed. He was sweating and gasping for breath, kneeling in cold sand.
He could see his father's face the day he died. He could see his first step-daddy's fists. He could hear sweet little Lea whining about how he'd hit her.
He could see Reavers everywhere.
He couldn't seem to breathe. He was panting, and his throat felt tight.
He could feel hands on his shoulders. Grasping him, twisting his skin, tearing at him. Hands that weren't right.
He was crying like a baby, sobbing, begging them to stop, when he remembered that River had been right beside him when it had started.
A different fear took hold of him then. He had been covering. He'd had her back. And these things… he knew that she'd fought them before, but he also knew, bone-deep, that nobody could fight them and live.
He couldn't let her face them alone.
He forced his eyes open, dropping the rifle and drawing a pistol in each hand. At close range they had more stopping power, and he could hit more of them faster.
He could see empty sand. He could also see Reavers that weren't there, all running towards him. He lined up a shot, but the Reaver wasn't there. He could see empty sand dunes.
He could hear fighting.
He could hear Reavers.
He wanted to close his eyes and start shooting, but he knew she was here. Somewhere. He climbed up to his feet carefully, keeping both eyes wide open, and stumbled forward, towards the fighting.
6.
River was injured. Not just a little, but a lot. Her right hand had three broken bones in it, and she could feel stabs of pain every time she moved. She'd twisted her knee landing, and she was fairly sure her shoulder was dislocated from the blow that had sent her flying.
Her ribs might be broken. She didn't have time to think about it. Blood, sweet Blood, was on his knees in front of her, trying to get back into the fray and keep her out of harm's way.
Ian was trying to get to Liam, of course. Advancing on him. Liam was back on his feet, still smoldering, and had grabbed a sword. His face had changed, showing his true nature.
River grabbed hold of William's collar with her good hand, holding on to him with all the strength she had left. She was beginning to get a glimmer of the true nature of the beast in front of them, beginning to see what his creators had intended. He was more powerful than she had realized.
He was older than her, older than she had realized, touching his diseased, premature and immature brain. There was so much age to him, age that time couldn't touch. Age that seemed to erode everything about him.
And she realized, then, that he had met William long before she had been born.
Ian was busily using his arm as a sword, fighting Liam, who was fast, deadly, and brutal. He was also graceful, something that had escaped her notice before. For a big man he moved like a slip of light, like a shadow flickering across her vision. Each movement was efficient and deadly.
And too, too slow.
Ian moved like a striking cobra, grabbing the sword out of Liam's hand. But the big monster was ready for this, and got a chokehold on the other man, plunging his teeth down into Ian's neck.
Ian yelped. River felt William shudder under her hand, and caught a wistful strand of sorrow running off of him. "Too much, too late," he whispered. "Stand back, love. It only gets worse."
Ian slammed a hand into Liam's face, tearing a chunk out of his shoulder and neck, still attached to those terrible fangs. Liam flew through the air, describing a perfect arc, then slammed heavily to the ground. He didn't get up.
Ian rolled his head on his shoulders, ignoring the blood pumping down the front of his shirt. "You know, there's no time for me to waste on petty fights like this. I'm in the middle of a war, you know! The same war you two are fighting."
"Opposite side," muttered Blood, shaking River's hand loose and climbing slowly to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily. "Ian, bloke, you've lost all that you once were. Drowned in a sea of evil. Don't you see that?"
Ian shrugged. "Good, evil, whatever. I know what I have to do. I know what's right. Don't you know that anymore, sweet William?"
The gunshot blew his head cleanly off his shoulders, and for a second his body twitched and strained unsteadily before falling into a lifeless heap.
7.
Mal wasn't happy at all. The psychic attack that had incapacitated him for the entirety of the fight was part of it. He'd relived every bad day of his life, and he'd seen more than a few bad days. Enough bad days to fill a lifetime. He didn't need more.
Zoe was more shaken than she was letting on. She was stoic, but the worst day of her life had been losing Wash. Her eyes were sadder than he'd ever seen, and he could see a different kind of darkness lurking behind those black pupils.
They stayed huddled behind a sand dune, waiting. Wondering what had cut off the attack, wondering why nobody had thought to tell them one of the weapons of war would be something they couldn't fight at all.
Zoe glanced up over the dune. "Here they come, sir," she said.
He ground his teeth a little bit. He hated not being able to keep his crew safe. "Are they all right?"
She poked her head back up. "Well, Jayne's carrying River… who's hugging his neck. Sir."
He gave her a flat stare. "You sure she ain't just hanging onto him to stay up?"
She returned his stare with a disbelieving one. "A woman can tell the difference between hanging onto somebody for support and hanging onto somebody because you want to," she said. "And she is hanging onto him in a very friendly way just now."
Mal straightened up, checking for himself. It was true, the way she was pressing her face into his big mercenary's neck was decidedly friendly, and didn't seem at all to be about the obvious injuries she'd sustained. He took note of Blood and Liam, limping along behind them, and wondered just why she was hanging to Jayne like that, and not the fellow she was sleeping with.
It confused him mightily.
8.
Jayne didn't believe in very many things at all. He wasn't a big believer in niceties, or in loyalty, or in not murdering your own captain if the money was good enough. He was a killer, through and through, and it didn't give him a lot of bother.
But family was something else. You didn't screw around with family; you didn't treat it lightly. You didn't hurt it. You surely didn't let somebody else hurt it.
He understood all that.
He didn't understand why it had been so blasted important to him to make sure River was safe; why he'd walked deeper into all his nightmares than he could ever have imagined. Why he'd stared down the sights and killed a man he'd never met for her, while every demon in his imagination had climbed all over him.
He was covered in sweat, and it wasn't the good kind of sweat, the kind that came with exertion. It was fear and humiliation.
And he was carrying the little moon-brained girl, and she was content and happy. And he was pretty sure that was on account of him, but he tried not to think about that.
So he just carried her quietly. The Captain and Zoe met them soon after that, and they walked on together in silence. The two of them looked as bad off as he'd felt, and he reckoned there was nothing to be said about that particular feeling that wouldn't make them all feel a little less competent and manful. So he said nothing at all.
When they got back to the ship Kaylee and Simon gave him identical confused and suspicious looks. They were all more or less familiar with him, and even those who considered him more guardian than enemy—Kaylee, actually, was the only one who looked at him that way—they still had trouble seeing past all his hatred and fear for the little psychic.
As well they should. He had trouble with that, too.
The doc's little doctoring room was all filled up to the brim, now. The two soldiers who had been working for Blood and Liam were both in there still, shot up and pale. And now River was there, all pale and weak and broken.
She smiled at him. "She heals fast," she assured him.
9.
Simon tried to figure out what had happened, but nobody was saying anything except Blood. That made Simon nervous. He was still trying to come to terms with how this murderous devil had ended up in his sister's bed; he didn't want to actually talk to him.
Still, once everybody had secured themselves and they were underway, he was the one who showed up in the makeshift recovery room to sit with River. His wounds were already healing, evidence of his other-worldly nature.
Simon broached the subject gently. "Just how did all this happen?" he asked, gesturing to River's wounds. He'd sedated her, but her eyes were still half-open—well, the right one, anyway. The left one had swollen shut.
"Bugger was stronger than I thought," muttered Blood. "Nearly killed us all."
"How did you beat him, exactly?" pressed Simon.
Blood glowered at him. "Why, you want to know in case you have to fight one of those types in the future?"
Simon cast his eyes down, trying to figure out exactly how to respond to that. "I'm just… why didn't you warn her?"
"I bloody did," growled the monster. "I told her not to come anywhere close to that fight. But I suppose you have some magic way to keep her from doing things she's not supposed to be doing? I suppose so, yeah."
Simon flushed, moving further away from this monster with the too-sharp barbs. He glanced up, appraising the thing for a long second. From the too-sharp cheekbones to the too-blue eyes, it seemed almost perfect in appearance. The scar over one eye gave it a dangerous look; but the hand resting on his sister's arm, just under the end of the short sleeve, made it seem almost nurturing.
He tried not to dwell, but it was hard not to. "What—exactly—are your intentions towards my sister?" he asked finally.
The creature barked a laugh. "Standing ready to defend her honor? What exactly do you think you'd do if my intentions were, shall we say… less than pure?"
Simon had no answer to that, either. He looked away. "You've relied heavily on our good will," he said, anger creeping into his voice.
"We've relied heavily on your stupidity," growled Blood. "Don't sugarcoat."
"Uh… all right. What—why—no, I don't think—"
"Just spit it out!" snapped Blood. "You want me to stay away from her, your captain wants me to stay away from her, everybody wants me to stay away from her! Fine!"
Simon hesitated. "Why was Jayne carrying her back?"
"Because he wants me to stay away from her too! Are you really that daft? Can't you see those two have been thick as thieves?"
Simon had been preparing himself for that answer. "Are you jealous?" he asked.
Blood slowed down, looking away. "You're more devious than you look," he mumbled.
"Are you?" pressed Simon.
"Am I jealous? You mean to ask if I care," snarled Blood. "You mean to ask if he cares. You mean to ask what's going on in your sister's life, and in her pants, and you should just ask her yourself, no matter how clever you think you are! Because when it comes to family, those little unasked questions will screw you right up!"
Simon swallowed down a knot in his throat. "You have no idea how much I love my sister."
"Yeah? I'm a poster child for love not being enough, mate. You love her that much? You let her know. You show her the respect of being honest that you hate her decisions and want her to do different. You know what? You even go behind her back and do what's best for her if you have to. But you bloody well don't have this conversation with me."
Simon thought about it. "That's just avoidance."
Blood sighed. "Yeah."
"What rankles more? That you couldn't save her—or that Jayne could?"
Simon decided that he had found the man's buttons quite well enough.
And Blood punched him in the face.