Chapter 10

Ten seconds earlier...

Wash was certain he heard voices. His first thought was that his mind was playing tricks on him. It could happen, he figured, after a long and hazardous run, followed by a couple of hours of just sitting against a cold rock. Yeah, you could definitely get hallucinations from freezing your butt off. Or was that urinary tract infection?

Whether they were a figment of his mind or not, he was still straining to hear what the voices were saying when the gunshot went off.

"Zāo g–!" he managed to exclaim before River clamped her hand over his mouth and drowned out the rest.

Then the body hit the ground in front of him, a blur of black and orange that smashed into the forest floor with a loud crack, before tumbling further down the slope and out of sight. Wash screamed (like a girl, he wasn't embarrassed to say), but, courtesy of River's hand, it came out as nothing but a muffled snort.

Instinct told him to run, but as he tried to do so, River held him back. Probably a sensible move, come to think of it. You didn't run towards a gunfight. At least not if you were Wash.

For a moment or two everything was quiet, except for the faint echo of the shot that still lingered in the air. Then River released her grip on him. "Now," she declared.

She went first. Leaving the (perhaps imagined) safety of their little nook, she scurried away and slid down the slope, in pursuit of the poor soul whose day had started even worse than Wash's, and Wash only hesitated a second before he hurried after her. "Careful!" he hissed, as if she wasn't the one who'd just stopped him from doing something stupid.

They found the poor bastard maybe fifty yards further down, pressed up against a tree that had stopped his descent. Somehow, he was still alive. Wash could hear that right away. He was gasping for air in little hiccups, like a fish on dry land. River had reached him first, and she bent down over him, studying his face with a blank expression on her own.

"Careful, River," Wash warned her again. "You don't know who that is."

But she did. And so did he.

"Wǒ de mā," he said, as he stepped closer and slowly grasped the fact that the swollen, twisted, and likely dying body at his feet was Jayne Cobb.

Carefully pushing River aside, he plopped down next to him, and gently, while supporting the neck, flipped him over on his back and tilted his head back to clear the airway. "Jayne?" he said, happy to hear the feeble hiccups be replaced by a deep inhale. "Jayne? Talk to me."

He got some whimpers and groans. Then some movement. And then a cry.

"No, no, don't move," Wash soothed him. Or he tried to sound soothing. He probably sounded just as panicked as he was.

River had knelt down next to Jayne's legs. Wash shuddered when he saw what she was looking at. The right leg had joints that weren't supposed to be there, and there was blood pooling on his thigh. "Red," she muttered.

"What's he doing here?" Wash asked, ignoring the creepy comment. "And where did he come from?" He glanced up towards the cliff. The initial drop from the overhang was at least fifteen feet, and the following tumble down the slope obviously hadn't helped. "Oh, God..."

There was another groan coming from Jayne, and Wash looked down to see him peering back up at him with his half-open left eye. "Li'l man," he slurred, and Wash had never been happier to be called that.

"Yes, Jayne, it's your little man," he confirmed, then frowned. "Well, that sounded different in my head."

"Whatcha doin' 'ere?"

"I..." Wash glanced up at River. "I don't know."

Jayne tried to move again, and predictably cried out in pain.

"Lie still," Wash said, but silently thought to himself it was a good thing he could move. He tugged off his jacket and placed it under Jayne's neck to support it, and then scooted over to have a closer look at the injuries. There was some blood spatter on the t-shirt, and when he lifted it he found lots of cuts and bruises on the torso, but not any gunshot wounds, despite the shot he'd heard earlier. Concluding that the leg was the most pressing matter, Wash produced his pocketknife from his overalls and used it to carefully cut the fabric of Jayne's pants and peel it away to see where the blood was coming from.

"Wǒ de mā!" he gasped again, turning away as bile rose in his throat.

"What?" Jayne muttered.

"Nothing!" Wash said, too loud and too cheerful. He forced a smile. "You're good… Shiny."

Jayne didn't look like he believed him, but Wash was certainly not going to tell him that there was a huge gash in his thigh, with a piece of bone protruding through the skin. He felt a sense of relief when the man lapsed back into unconsciousness, but the feeling didn't last. He staggered to his feet and frantically tried to wipe the blood of his hands. He started to pace back and forth and was fighting the urge to run away or maybe just curl up on the ground and cry, when he became aware of River watching him.

"Did you know?" he asked her. His voice had a higher pitch than usual. "Did you know this would happen?"

"Had to be here," she said, as if calmly explaining something to a child. "He needed a soft place to land."

"This landing was anything but soft, River!" Wash threw out his arms. "This is not a soft place to land."

"It's not," she agreed. She came up to him and took his shaking hands in hers. "We are."

"We are," he repeated, as if those words even made sense to him.

"And you have to help him."

"I don't know how to."

"Yes, you do," she protested. "You've learned at school."

"I went to flight school, River. Not Med Acad. That was your brother, remember? Who I really wish was here right now."

"First aid," she clarified. "Mandatory in the first semester."

"Right," he said. "Right!"

He scrambled up the slope for the backpack he'd tossed earlier, and as he returned with it, he tore it open and emptied it, spilling its contents out on the ground. The little first aid kit was in the front pocket. "Bless Zoë and her soldier habits," he said as he opened it. "Let's see what we got... Sterile compresses, nice... Rescue foil... Ah! Antihemorrhagic gel, perfect!"

He plopped down next to Jayne and tore open the package. His priority would be to stop the bleeding in the thigh. The gel would help the blood coagulate and work as sort of a seal over the wound, but administering it hurt like hell, allegedly – and as he spread it over the gaping gash, he got exactly the reaction he had expected. Jayne's body twitched and spasmed, and he groaned loudly, even more so when Wash finished off by covering the wound and the bone fragment with a compress.

"Elevate the legs to prevent shock," Wash muttered to himself. He reached out for the backpack to use it to prop Jayne's legs up, and the man's groans turned into a full-blown scream when he moved the injured one. There was another fracture below the knee, Wash realized; fortunately, a closed one. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm… Excuse me."

He rose and ran towards a nearby bush, where he doubled over and disgorged yesterday's protein pudding from his stomach. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," he muttered to himself in between the retching.

"You're doing fine," River assured him, but the girl was crazy, so he took that assessment with a pinch of salt.

He wiped at his mouth and steadied himself. Then he picked up and unfolded the rescue foil, and thoroughly wrapped it around Jayne. "We need to keep you warm," he told the already unconscious man.

"Frozen dinner pack," River said from where she had sat down on the ground, and he almost laughed at that.

He flopped down next to her and picked up the now empty first aid kit. "There's no painkillers," he mumbled regretfully. "There should be painkillers. I need to talk to Zoë about that."

He noticed his transmitter among his discarded things and reached out to grab it.

"Don't," River warned him.

"We need help," he protested.

"He's turned it off," she claimed.

He tried anyway. He called up the captain. There was no response.

"Guess we'll just have to wait then," he said, and he knew he sounded bitter. "Until they return to the ship, and..."

Gorramn it...

"We're humped," he declared.

He looked at Jayne, searched his skin for any dampness, a telltale sign of internal bleeding. There was none yet, but that could quickly change. The poor man was quiet now, only the occasional whimper and the sound of the shallow and labored breathing escaped him. Wash studied the cuts and the bruises on his face; it was so swollen it was no wonder he hadn't recognized him at first.

"Not all these injuries are from the fall," he realized.

"No," River said. "He swung from the trapeze, and no one caught him."

Wash had no idea what that meant, but it sounded very sad. "You knew he'd be here," he said. It wasn't a question.

"We need the red," she replied.

"What does that even mean?"

"We need all the colors."

"And Jayne is red?"

"Yes." Her face was still impossible to read. "You're yellow."

"Yellow, huh? Shiny." He smiled, then frowned. "You don't mean as in 'coward'?"

"No. Just yellow."

"Okay," he nodded. "I can live with that. I like yellow."

A tiny smile crossed her lips. "So do I."

Svetlana's camp was still in a state of uproar when they arrived. Zoë could almost sense the anger as they approached – people barking orders, people yelling at each other, parents scolding their children – and she didn't share the confidence her captain displayed. She suspected it was mostly anger that fueled Mal as well; anger directed at everyone and everything, but mostly at himself. He was dangerous when he was like this, she knew by experience, but very efficient and surprisingly levelheaded. This was Malcolm Reynolds at his most lethal, and she would not want to be the one standing in his way. But she would follow him. To hell and back.

Still, it was probably a good call to have left the shepherd and the doctor hidden away in the woods, along with the loot. This could get ugly.

She was at the wheel, and she drove the Dragonfly slowly towards the guards who by now had seen them and raised their guns, screaming and shouting for her to stop. She found it prudent to follow that order.

Mal was in the back with the prisoner. He had his gun trained on him, and as soon as they came to a stop, he yanked him to his feet and made sure everybody could see them.

"I wanna talk to Svetlana!" he yelled at the gathering group of people, and her name had barely left his lips before the crowd split down the middle and their leader stepped forward. She hid it well, but Zoë still saw the look she sent in Moab's direction. This might be a cold and calculating crime boss, if the rumors were to be believed, but she was capable of love. Which bode well for their plan.

"I'm here to talk," Mal shouted. "Tell your men to lower their guns, or your husband's brains will be all over this truck and my own person."

Svetlana's face gave nothing away, but she waved at her men, and they lowered their weapons. Zoë couldn't help but feeling a little impressed. This woman had to be something special, whether that was good or bad, to inspire such obedience.

"I'm listening," she said.

Pushing Moab along, Mal stepped off the vehicle and walked closer. Zoë pulled out her Mare's Leg and followed them. She kept the gun pointed downwards for now, but she wanted to be prepared for anything.

Mal wasted no time on pleasantries. "I know you're holding my man," he said. "I propose a trade: your beau here for Jayne Cobb."

"Chufei wo si le!" the redhead that had accompanied Svetlana earlier, by all appearances her first mate, interrupted. "You hand back the loot, then we might talk!"

"Bì zuǐ!" Svetlana said, but pacifying, not angrily. She looked at Mal. "Sure you want him back? That piece of fèi wù's more trouble than he's worth, I've come to realize."

"He's a handful," Mal admitted. "But I'll take 'im off your hands. You won't miss 'im." He pressed the barrel of his gun against Moab's temple. "Might miss this one."

"They win this round, Lana," Moab said.

"Coward!" the redhead yelled at him, earning herself a warning glare from her captain.

"They do," Svetlana agreed. Her demeanor had changed. She looked at them with regretful eyes. "And I would've made the trade if I could. But I can't. He's not here."

"He's not here?" Mal repeated her words, clearly not believing her.

"He was here," she clarified. "But he managed to break free and escape. During the mayhem your little visit created, it seems."

"He escaped?" Mal still wasn't buying it.

"I'm as surprised as you are," Svetlana said. "My girls had quite a go at him. Didn't think he'd be that spry after that. Anyways, one of my guys caught up with him. He just returned, and apparently… he had to kill him."

Zoë felt cold inside. She'd feared this. And she feared Mal's reaction.

"He killed him?" her captain asked.

"Not on my orders." There was a tinge of desperation in the woman's voice now.

"No," Mal hissed, "you just had 'im beaten."

"He disobeyed me," Svetlana retorted. "What would you have done?" Obviously realizing she wasn't helping her case, she added, "I can provide you with the coordinates, so you can claim his body. But that's all I can offer. I'm sorry."

She sounded sorry, but likely only because of Moab. At least she was looking at him while she said it.

"Captain?" Zoë said, awaiting his orders.

"We're leavin'," Mal decided.

He propelled Moab towards the Dragonfly again, and Zoë followed them, keeping a steady eye on Svetlana and her people as she did so.

"She ain't lying," Moab said as they reached the vehicle.

"I know," Mal said. "I believe her, too. Unfortunately." He pulled his knife from its sheath and cut the tape around the prisoner's wrists. "Go."

"What?"

"Like you said, I win this round. She should have something. And killing you won't change anything. Now, go before I change my mind."

He didn't have to be told a third time. Zoë kept her shotgun trained on him while he ran back towards his crew, just in case, but nothing happened. Svetlana received her husband with a tight embrace, and as Mal turned the ignition and they began backing away, she looked at them over his shoulder and tilted her head in an appreciative nod.

"I'm such a sap," Mal mumbled.