New Shade
Author owns no rights what-so-ever to Firefly, nor the universe in which it lives. He writes solely for his own amusement. It's okay not to sue him.
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Mal eased into his chair on the veranda with a satisfied sigh. His leg still hurt him, as did his back, but after two months of not being sheriff, he was feeling better than he had in a while.
The ease of his physical discomfort didn't do much for his peace of mind, though. River was recovering nicely, physically, but her mind was still flat refusing to give up it's memory. She was absolutely clueless about the last two or three years of her life.
She could remember going to the Academy. She could even remember Simon freeing her. That was it. She had no memory of her time on Serenity, none of the people that had befriended her, nor of the horrors of Miranda, the Reavers, or the battle on Universe's Moon. Nothing.
Most of all, she couldn't remember being married to Jayne, or adopting Chelsa.
Mal sighed again, this time in frustration. He had intended to sit peacefully on the back porch, veranda, he reminded himself, and read. Inara had dug up the rest of the Dune series, and Mal had been reading more about the 'big gorram worms'. He laid the book aside, now, as he felt a headache coming.
I have got to find a way not to keep re-hashing all this go se, he thought to himself. I could have handled it all better, with the gift of hindsight, but I can't change it. Not now.
His relationship with Simon and Jayne was strained, to say the least. Neither spoke unless they had to, and they never visited. Kaylee came to visit, of course, but Simon always had something that kept him from making the trip into town.
Jayne spoke when Mal called him to check on how the Companion was doing, but otherwise they had no real contact. Zoe was in charge of the shipping business, anyway, and Jayne took his orders from her.
Mal didn't blame them. He'd be the same way, he figured.
"Someone's thinking too much," he heard Inara say from the doorway. He turned to see her leaning on the door, looking as beautiful as the day he'd first met her.
"Never thought that'd be a failin' o' mine, I bet," he grinned. Inara smiled.
"Well, no," she admitted, walking to him. She settled in beside him, a tight fit, but she was careful. He placed his arms around her, pulling her to him.
"I guess I'll always blame myself for what happened," he admitted quietly.
"River played a small part of her own, you recall?" she reminded him.
"True," Mal nodded, recalling his desperate attempts to get her not to dangle herself as bait for the Bickford Slasher. He still grimaced when he thought of that name. His great legacy as sheriff would always be the terror brought on by a psychotic killer. The case that had resulted in his stepping down, in fact.
"Mal, you have to move past this," Inara told him. "Yes, you could have handled it differently. But River placed an enormous amount of pressure on you at a time when you were at your breaking point. Give yourself the same consideration you would anyone else."
"I'm tryin'," he replied truthfully. "I just wish I could find a way to make things right with Simon. And Jayne. But I can't see no way o' doin' that."
"I know," her voice was sad. "I wish you could, too, ai ren. And maybe you can, at some point. In the meantime, I wish you'd at least try not to think on this so much. You're doing much better, and I'd like to keep it that way." He smiled up at her.
"I'll try. I promise."
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Jayne watched as workers from Guilford's loaded cargo onto his ship, his eyes flickering once in a while toward the clinic. The clinic where his wife was still recovering from the damage she'd received at the hands of the Slasher before he'd manage to get her away from him.
He'd saved her life. But he hadn't been in time to save her mind. He cursed himself once more as he recalled their last conversation. Why had he been such a hundan about it? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory.
"Jayne, are you all right?" He turned to see his brother-in-law looking at him with concern. Jayne had been so caught up in his memories that the Doctor had managed to walk right up on him.
"I'm okay, Simon," he grinned lightly. "Just thinkin' 'bout how I messed up." Simon frowned.
"Jayne, this isn't your fault," the other man said firmly. "It isn't even Mal's fault, though I'd like to still be angry at him." Jayne looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, nodding his head.
"Yeah, me too," he said simply.
"Maybe we could go and see him, when you get back from this run," Simon suggested. "I haven't. . .I've been finding reasons to avoid him, but. . .I feel guilty about it," he admitted.
"I ain't worried about seein' him or not," Jayne shrugged. "Ain't feelin' guilty by no means, but you're right. Reckon we oughta go see him. I know Mal, he's sittin' there blaming himself for everything. Ain't right."
"No, it isn't," Simon agreed. "I assume you're leaving soon?" he changed the subject. It was painful for both of them.
"Yeah, 'bout an hour, mebbe two."
"I want to visit with Chelsa before you leave," Simon told him. "She busy?"
"Doubt it," Jayne replied. "If she is, it's nothin' she can't stop doin'. Prob'ly up in the cockpit with Blade."
"How's that working out?" Simon asked.
"Doin' okay," Jayne nodded. "Blade's a good pilot. I didn't know she could fly, to be honest. Her and Wart are pretty much recovered, so he's lending more of a hand with the chores now."
"They are a strange couple," Simon grinned.
"Ain't they just," Jayne returned his grin.
"Well, I'm off to see my niece," Simon's hand rested briefly on Jayne's shoulder. "I. . .if you need to talk. . . ."
"I know," Jayne assured him, his own hand resting briefly on Simon's as it set on his own shoulder. "Thanks." Simon just nodded, and headed toward the bridge to see Chelsa.
Jayne watched him go, then returned to his sullen self bashing.
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Goldie paced the engine room of Serenity, looking for a problem. He had that feeling, and he couldn't shake it. There was something out of place, somewhere. He didn't know what it was, or where, but he knew.
He just had to find it. As always, when the feeling hit him in space, he assumed it was the ship. Even if it wasn't, there was no way for him to do anything else, and he would occasionally find things to repair, so it wasn't time wasted.
And it gave him something to do.
"Got that feeling of your's I see," a soft, feminine voice called to him, and despite the 'feeling', he smiled. Only one person could make him smile that easily.
Zoe walked into the cargo bay, where Goldie stood, looking about.
"Yeah, I reckon," he nodded. Zoe hugged him to her, and he let her, burying his face into her hair. He inhaled her scent, reveling in her nearness.
"There's nothing wrong with the ship," Zoe said into his chest. "We're sailing fine, and making good time."
"I know," he nodded slightly. "But there's nothing else for me to do, so I check the ship. But there is something wrong," he added. "I just ain't got a clue what it is, that's all."
"You'll figure it out," was all Zoe said. "I'm on watch in about fifteen minutes. You get tired of looking around, you're welcome to come keep me company."
"Well, I just might do that," Goldie smiled. "See you in a few." As Zoe turned away, Goldie slapped her lightly on the backside, which provoked an almost giggle from her.
"Don't start something you can't finish," she warned.
"Oh, I'll show you finish, woman," Goldie promised, with a lecherous wiggle of his eye brows. "You might want to make sure that the bridge door lock is working, though," he added with an evil grin.
"I'll just do that."
Goldie returned to his walk about, though in a much better mood. Zoe was right, there wasn't much he could do, and it did appear that whatever the problem was, it wasn't on the ship.
"Might as well just head on up to the bridge, I guess," he mumbled to himself. Whistling, he did just that.
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Once Companion was in the black, there wasn't much to do, usually. Gone were the days when constant work was a way of life to keep their ship and home flying and supporting life. Now, card games, training and hobbies occupied the three day transit to Astra. Before River had been injured, there would have been school lessons for Chelsa and Liam, but those were long gone, now. These days the two were instructed by Inara two evenings each week, and given work to accomplish while aboard ship.
The two of them were seated at the galley table trying to finish the work on the leg over, so that they would have free time on planet, and on the return voyage.
Jayne was in the cargo bay with Wart, the two of them using the weights. Blade was there as well, dressed in work-out gear and slowly getting her fighting trim back. She was wearing a skull cap these days as her hair slowly but steadily grew back. The head injury she had gotten while pursuing the Slasher was completely healed, but more than two months of idle time had left her sore, and out of shape. Holly was currently manning the bridge, the only real job they usually had, now days.
"River any better, Kid?" Wart asked, grunting with exertion as he pumped the heavy laden bar off his chest. Wart was on the short side, but he was as wide as he was tall, or so it seemed, and his shoulders, chest and arms bulged with heavy muscle.
"She's able to get around pretty good," Jayne nodded from where he spotted for Wart. "Still got a few stitches, but they should be comin' out any time now. Other than that, everything's pretty much the same."
"I'm sorry, Kid," Wart said gently. "I wish I could help."
"Thanks, but it is what it is."
The two men fell silent once more, intent on their exercise. Blade sighed as she listened to Jayne's voice. The sadness in his voice tore at her, as she pondered what she would do if Wart suddenly lost his memory of who she was. She doubted she would handle it as well as Jayne seemed to.
There had been a time when Wart was almost a convenience in her life, it seemed. She had been completely unaware of her desire for the small ogre until faced with the very real possibility of not having him. She smiled slightly at the memory of that moment, and all that it had given her since.
The smile faded suddenly, replaced with a frown as a wave of guilt hit her. She had no right to feel so good when someone close to her was suffering. Sighing, she returned to the punching bag, taking her frustration out on the heavy canvas.
"You ain't gotta do that, y'know," Jayne's voice came from behind her. She turned to look at him.
"Do what?" she asked.
"Act like you ain't happy," Jayne smiled at her. "Or feel guilty 'bout it neither. I'm happy for you, just so you know."
She couldn't help but smile back.
"Thanks. And it's not. . .I just. . .I feel so bad for you, Shade. That's all. I feel so useless. I would give anything to be able to help you."
"And I appreciate it," Jayne assured her. "But the truth is, there ain't nothin' you, nor anybody else can do. So don't let it keep ya from enjoying your own happiness. Dong ma?"
"Wo dong," Blade nodded. "Thanks."
"Welcome."
"River, how are you feeling today?" Simon asked, walking into her room.
"I want out!" the young woman pouted slightly. "I am so tired of this room!"
"I know," Simon sighed, kissing the top of her head. "And I have some good news for you. Or at least I might, here in a minute." He uncovered her feet and took a look at her stitches.
"These look very good, River," he looked up, smiling. "In fact, if you'll promise me two things, I'll take them out right now."
"Anything!" River promised.
"You wait until tomorrow to try and walk on them," Simon told her, which got him a frown, "and you wear socks and shoes until I tell you otherwise."
"This is blackmail!" River retorted. "Extortion of the vilest, darkest kind!" She sat back, arms crossing under her breasts, a might frown on her face.
"It's that or we wait," Simon shrugged, moving to cover her feet again.
"I'll do it!" River suddenly leaned forward, reaching for his hand. "I promise! I'll wait for tomorrow, and I'll wear appropriate footwear at all times until you say otherwise!"
Simon looked at her for a full minute, as if stressing the importance of what he'd asked.
"I said I promise," River's voice lost it's demanding tone. Her words an tone of voice had an almost pleading quality to them now.
"Very well, then," Simon finally let her off the hook. He retrieved the needed tools and moved a tray closer to the foot of the bed.
"This will hurt some," he warned. "I can give you a. . ."
"No. Needles." River's tone was back to it's firm, unyielding self. "I can enure the pain."
"I know," Simon sad sadly, his voice soft. "I know."