Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m looking for
A soft place to land
The forest floor
The palms of your hands

              - Kathleen Edwards

Of all the many, many places in the ‘verse that stirred up a feeling of ambivalence in Captain Malcolm Reynolds, none measured up to Persephone. As he made his way down its winding streets and narrow alleys, he once again found himself wondering whether he loved it or hated it. Located at the very edge of the Core, the planet was by many considered the last civilized stopping place before you ventured out into the wild frontier. Mal knew better; he had been to plenty of worlds on the Rim that he’d found a lot more civilized than Persephone, only less fancy. But, of course, in Alliance speech ‘fancy’ and ‘civilized’ meant the same thing.

Anyway, when it came to resupplying, Persephone was always the best place to go. It had a well-functioning, smoothly run black market where close to everything was available and where few or no questions were asked. Not to mention the possibility of a job or two. And so, regardless of how he felt about the place, he had to go there once in a while.

This time it was work that had brought him here.

“We goin’ to ‘nother one of Badger’s tea parties?” Jayne had asked him when they stepped off the boat in Eavesdown Docks half an hour earlier.

“Not if I can help it,” Mal had answered. “I’m done with that little weasel.”

“Badgers ain’t weasels. But they belong to the same group of mammals. Mustard lids.”

Mal had side-eyed him, and Zoë cocked an eyebrow. Jayne Cobb had this uncanny ability to sound both stupid and somewhat smart in the same sentence.

But, no, Mal wasn’t dealing with Badger, and he suspected the feeling was mutual. They had not parted on the best of terms the last time they’d met. And that, of course, was a problem. Even though Badger didn’t control as much of Persephone as he himself liked to think, he did control Eavesdown Docks, and that was why Mal had ventured into another part of the Capital, one that was not particularly known to him.

He’d done his research, of course. Riverfront was the city’s financial district, consisting of tall office buildings, pristine parks, and a few upper-scale bars and restaurants, most of which were closed, as it was not yet lunchtime. Few other pedestrians were out, and all of them seemed to be young, attractive, and dressed in fancy business attire. Mal knew he and his crew stood out like a sore thumb, though he had left his worn, brown coat back on the boat, opting for a black, slightly more formal one instead. With any luck he looked like a small business owner headed for a meeting with his lawyer, along with his slightly over-the-top security detail.

A dark-haired woman dressed in a red silk suit walked past them. Mal caught a whiff of her perfume, and very much against his will his thoughts drifted to Inara. He did not want to think about her. It was less than three weeks since she had left, but she was already settled back in House Madrassa on Shinon, worlds away, literally and figuratively. She was not coming back. Bemoaning past actions, or lack of actions, wouldn’t change a thing.

He heard a low whistle from Jayne, as per usual on rear guard duty, and bit back a groan. That man just didn’t know the meaning of subtle. But it did help to take his mind off the companion, so he let it pass.

“Okay, just down here,” he said as they reached another corner. “Number 64. That’s where we’ll meet our man Arrow.”

“That the guy we smuggled cattle for?” Jayne asked.

“No, that was Harrow, with an H. This guy’s new. Bernoulli vouches for him, though. Not that that means much.”

No. 64 turned out to be a three-story concrete building, nestled in between two taller ones. There was a little lawn in front of it, a low wrought iron fence, and a cobbled walkway leading up to a broad oak door. The plaque read Smith & Walthers, Financial Advisors. Mal shook his head. People weren’t even trying with these fake business names anymore.

He steered away from the door and led the way into the narrow alley next to the building. They followed it, single file, to a dirty backyard. The buildings were like the people here, Mal mused: always less impressive once you took a closer look. There was another door there, and Mal shot a glance back over his shoulder at Zoë and Jayne, making sure they were on the alert and ready for whatever awaited them, before he pressed the doorbell.

The door opened in less than ten seconds, revealing a young man in a dark blue suit. He was clean and groomed, like everyone else, apparently, in this part of town, and he flashed a too white, too perfect smile at Mal. The suit was a polyester blend, though; Mal noticed that right away. Boy wasn’t as rich as he pretended to be.

“Hi,” Mal greeted him, in that little too cheerful way he always used on strangers, “Mr. Arrow, I presume?” When the man nodded, he added, “I’m here to collect the rental.”

Passcode accepted, he was let into the room, which turned out to be a storage area, filled with boxes and old filing cabinets. The others followed, Jayne remained by the door.

Arrow went over to a desk in the corner and pulled a key tag from one of the drawers. He tossed it to Mal. “Zhao Storage down in Eavesdown, unit 16. Do you know where to find it?”

“No problem.”

“Then have a good day.”

So much for pleasantries. Mal pocketed the key tag, and they went back outside.

“That was it?” Jayne asked as soon as Arrow had closed the door behind them. He sounded genuinly surprised, maybe even a little disappointed.

“Yeah, that went bone-chillingly smooth,” Mal agreed.

“Job’s not done yet,” Zoë pointed out.

“Let’s go finish it, then.”

“All this way for a gorram key,” Jayne muttered.

They found their way back onto the street and headed back towards the Docks, and as the pristine glass- and concrete buildings slowly gave way to the lively, colorful, mismatched bazaar that was Eavesdown, Mal began to relax more. This was more his habitat.

“What did you make of him?” he asked Zoë.

Being Zoë, always attuned to him, she immediately picked up on the fact that he meant Arrow, even though a good twenty minutes had passed since the encounter.

“Seemed professional enough,” she replied. “Calm, not skittish. Not your typical middleman, but then again, this is not your typical contraband. Might be he is just idealistic?”

Mal pondered her response for a few moments. “He fits the bill,” he agreed. “Young, well educated, priviliged... wannabe philanthropist if I ever saw one. Not as rich as he seems, though, so I wouldn’t count out the money as an incentive too.”

“’Course it is,” Jayne huffed from behind them. “What else is there in it for ’im?”

Mal had long since given up on explaining the concept of altruism for Jayne Cobb. He chose to ignore him, as did Zoë, except for a short glance over her shoulder.

“Anyways, our dealings with him is done,” Mal said.

They turned into Eavesdown’s main shopping street and weaved their way through the crowd. By now it was lunchtime, and people from all walks of life crammed into cafés, bars and restaurants, or flocked around the street food vendors. The smell of spices and grilled meat made Mal’s stomach rumble with hunger, but this was not the time. Better to bring the cargo to Serenity while everybody else was occupied.

“Jayne? Jayne Cobb!” someone yelled from the crowd.

Ta ma de! Mal almost unconscioulsy moved his hand towards the Liberty Hammer strapped to his hip, half concealed under his long coat. People who knew Jayne Cobb were usually not happy to see him.

Jayne had reached for his gun too, but luckily hadn’t drawn it. He had his eyes fixed on a man emerging from the crowd and slowly sauntering his way towards them. He was tall and thin, with black, greasy hair plaited into braids, one behind each of his large ears. He wore a light brown duster and pointy shoes, and his broad grin revealed a set of teeth yellowed by tobacco. He looked like any other hún dàn who came to Persephone looking for less-than-honest work, only slightly more ridiculous.

“Rufus,” Jayne greeted. The reunion clearly brought him no joy.

Rufus looked a Mal and Zoë, particularly at Zoë. Mal could feel her tense slightly next to him.

“I see you still run with Mal Reynolds,” Rufus remarked. “That makes what? Two and a half years?” He chuckled. “Must be some sort of record for you.”

“Who’s your friend?” Mal asked Jayne.

“Not my friend,” Jayne hissed back, not taking his eyes off Rufus. “Former crewmate is all. He used to run with Marco.”

“Marco? Marco Ferlenghetti? The useless little toad I found you with?”

“The very same.”

“Can’t be very bright, then.” Mal turned to leave, and as he did so, tilted his head closer to Jayne’s to whisper, “Lose him.”

Jayne sighed, but hung back to shake Rufus’s outstreched hand, while Mal and Zoë slipped away into the crowd and continued on their way.

“Jayne’s frenemies do seem to pop up all over the place, don’t they?” Mal said as they dodged a moving rickshaw.

“Not just his, sir.”

Mal didn’t protest that. He knew he was being slightly unreasonable. Jayne had no more control over former contacts that he had himself. Still, he liked to think his were smarter and nobler than Jayne’s.

They reached the end of the street and entered the big plaza next to the docks. From there they made a beeline for Zhao Storage, the huge building taking up most of the block directly ahead. Mal didn’t know Zhao personally, if it even was a person, but it wasn’t the first time he picked up cargo here. They never asked for references, and you didn’t even have to ID yourself as long as you had a key.

“Let’s get the vehicle first,” he told Zoë.

It was waiting in the carpark next to the building, just like Mal’s contacts had promised. It turned out to be a hover truck, a 80-10 Dragonfly, and it made Mal smile when he saw it. He’d always liked the Dragonfly, reliable and built to last, just like his ship. This one was at least a decade old, full of dents and scratches in its faded eggplant colored paint, but the engine roared happily to life as soon as Mal turned on the ignition.

“Nice of them to lend us a vehicle,” Zoë said as she settled into the passenger seat. “It’s tricky doing jobs without the Mule.”

She was referring to their old off-roader, which had been sacrificed in their assault on Adelai Niska’s sky complex some months ago. It was still in their cargo bay back on Serenity, for some inexplicable reason. Mal figured they had brought it back onboard hoping Kaylee or Wash could fix it, but that hadn’t happened, and now it only stood there, taking up space because everyone was either too nostalgically attached or too lazy to throw it out.

“As soon as we’re paid for this job, we’ll buy a new one,” Mal said, and meant it this time.

They turned the corner and drove alongside the building, eyeing the numbers on the garage doors, and when they pulled over by Unit 16 a few moments later, they found Jayne already there waiting for them.

“That was quick,” Mal remarked as he exited the driver’s seat. “You and your friend didn’t have much to reminice about? Figures, with a boss like Marco. Not many highlights, I s’pose.”

“Again, not my friend,” Jayne said tiredly. “I hardly knew him even back then. I only recall he had a terrible breath and was the worst shot imagineable. His breath’s still terrible, I can tell you that much. Didn’t see him shoot, but I don’ think that’s improved much either.”

“He didn’t follow you?”

“I shook him off easy enough.”

Mal pulled the key tag from his pocket and unlocked the garage door. It opened to a blaring alarm, revealing a single crate about the size of a… well, a casket.

“We’re not transportin’ another not-so-dead body, I hope?” Jayne said, and Mal silently wondered why on Earth-That-Was he would say such a thing. The ordeal with Tracey was nothing to be flippant about, and Jayne knew what they were transporting. He was sure he’d told him.

“It’s medicine,” he reminded him, nonetheless. “Some experimental stuff being developed here on Persephone. The company that makes it refuses to share the patent, and some people take issue with that policy. You see, people get sick on other worlds too, funny enough, and... well, this one’s going to a clinic on Aberdeen.”

He almost smiled when he said it. If only all his jobs were as guilt free as this. This one he would’ve pulled for free if he’d had the funds for it. Which he didn’t.

“Wouldn’t we get more if we went on the black market?” Jayne asked while he helped Mal carry the crate out of the storage unit and onto the hover truck.

“We would,” Mal confirmed. “But this will be safer and morally right.”

Jayne frowned, as if the words ‘safer’ and ‘morally right’ made no sense to him. Mal flashed his eyes towards Zoë. She gave him a look that read Why do you even bother?

“Anyways, it’s tagged,” he told Jayne.

“Tagged?”

“Yeah, tracker imbedded in the crate. They will know if we take it somewhere we’re not supposed to. They will know if we open it. And they will know if we remove the tag.” Sometimes explaining things to Jayne was like explaining things to a little child.

Jayne picked up on the condecending tone, though. “Fine,” he sneered and dusted off his hands. “How about some shore leave, huh?”

“Job ain’t done.”

“C’mon, Mal, ship’s half a mile from here. I’m sure you can handle that without me. I ain’t had lunch yet, and our timeslot for departure ain’t until four. Hell, with that kinda time I might even get me some pu—”

“D’you have to talk about women that way?” Mal interrupted him. Jayne flinched at his sudden outburst, and through the corner of his eye, Mal could see that even Zoë raised her eyebrows at him. He didn’t let that stop him. “Like they’re things – toys! – for you to abuse.”

“Hey, I treat ‘em alright!” Jayne defended himself, which was probably true, at least in Jayne’s mind, but beside the point.

“Sure you do,” Mal muttered, and turned his attention to the crate again, making sure it was securely fastened.

Jayne, however, wasn’t about to let things slide. “You can accuse me of a lot of things, Mal, but I ain’t never fucked a woman who wasn’t willing. I always use contraceptions, and I always pay ‘em.”

“Maybe it’s the paying thing I find degrading,” Mal retorted.

Jayne snorted. “It’s business, Mal. Somethin’ in it for everyone. Just because you couldn’t get it up for your whore –”

Mal’s knuckles slammed into the left side of his jaw and effectively stopped the rest of the sentence. The captain had about a second and a half to regret that somewhat unwise choice of action before Jayne’s ridiculously big fist filled his vision and hit him straight on the bridge of his nose.

First he saw stars, then he saw black, then he saw red, and he threw himself at his hired gun, all fired up for a fight.

Instead, Zoë caught him. “Stop it!” she yelled. “Both of you!”

She was surprisingly strong as she stepped in between them and more or less peeled them away from each other, like little schoolboys. “Walk away, Jayne!” she hissed at the bigger man as she wrestled Mal out of his reach. “Walk away!”

Surprisingly, he did. He sent Mal another angry glare, but then threw up his arms, turned around and stomped away.

Zoë turned to Mal. Okay, maybe not so surprisingly... She was fuming. She did look scary.

“What’s the matter with you?” she scolded him. “You get into a tussle with Jayne, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“I can take him,” Mal protested.

“We both know you can’t.”

“But you heard him, he –”

“He was being Jayne! Seriously...” She shook her head and let go of him. “Let’s get this cargo back to the ship, sir, and leave that fèi fèi de pì yan to blow off some steam elsewhere, okay?”

Mal pinched his nose, which was already dripping blood. Not quite ready to admit it just yet, he did see the wisdom in that suggestion.

At ten minutes to four that same afternoon, he was considerably calmer, but still mad. In hindsight, that was probably why the decision was so easy to make.

The crate was well stored away and safely hidden by then. The ship was fuelled and restocked, the engine fired up. Things were running smoothly. Except for the fact that he was one man short.

He came down into the cargo bay to find all search parties already returned and gathered out on the ramp, talking amongst themselves.

Wash was the first to acknowledge him, with an apologetic shrug. “I checked all his usual spots. Nothing.”

“He’s not in any of the shops and garages,” Kaylee added.

“I talked to the madame at the Palace,” Zoë said. “He hasn’t been in.”

“And he’s not in jail,” Shepherd Book finished the report.

Mal muttered a curse to himself.

“We could have another look,” Kaylee suggested.

“We’ll miss our take-off slot,” Wash reminded them. “Could be hours before we’re given a new one.”

“No, we won’t,” Mal decided. “Get us in the air. Zoë, close her up.”

“But what about Jayne?”

Who else but Kaylee would voice a protest?

“He knew departure was at four. If he’s not here, we leave without him. We’re on a clock here.”

“But he could be in trouble!”

Oh, he was in trouble, alright…

“Jayne can handle himself, Kaylee,” Zoë said. Mal threw her an appreciative look, but the one she returned revealed no emotion whatsoever.

“She’s right,” the shepherd unexpectedly chipped in, placing a supportive hand on the young mechanic’s shoulder. “If anyone can fend for themselves, it’s him. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with us soon. We’ll be back here next week, won’t we? To return that nice truck.”

Mal said nothing. Nor did Kaylee, but she blinked hard a couple of times. Couldn’t be tears for Jayne. Maybe she was thinking of Inara?

Well, he refused to.

“Prepare for take-off, people!”

He turned and followed Wash to the bridge. Behind him, the cargo bay doors slammed shut.

Chapter Text

Three hours earlier...

Here was a thing about Jayne Cobb: he did not let his guard down.

Not even when it looked like he did. He was on his third drink, the numbing buzz was slowly getting to his brain, but he was a strong drinker; he could take many more before he lost his bearings. He knew where to draw the line, depending on the place and situation. If not, he wouldn’t have survived the ‘verse for as long as he had.

And yet, something felt a bit off today.

See, Jayne wasn’t a thinker. Wasn’t one for pondering questions just for the sake of it. He was a doer, and he should have been in a bar fight by now, or in the arms of a woman, with anything but Malcolm Reynolds on his mind. Instead, he was sitting here at the counter at one of his usual joints, on a stool another patron had freely given up once he’d treated him to the Jayne Cobb death stare, desperately searching for relief at the bottom of the next glass.

Mal could go to hell!

Jayne’s life had been a lot easier before he ran into that man. Sure, he’d offered him a sweet deal, and delivered on it too, enough so that Jayne had stayed with him for nearly three years, as had been pointed out to him this very day. But he fogged things up a lot. So gorramn unpredictable. One day he’d fight, the next he’d run. One moment he’d kill someone in cold blood, the next he’d give back all his (and Jayne’s) hard-earned money, just ‘cause he heard some sappy story about sick people or hungry kids or some such. As if that would even help anyone in the long run.

All of Jayne’s former bosses had been unscrupulous sons of bitches, some more successful than others, mind you - hell, some, like Marco, had been downright stupid! - but at least they had been easy to read. And they hadn’t punished him for no reason.

Jayne didn’t really mind that Mal laid down the law once in a while. It could be humiliating, it annoyed the hell out of him, yes, but he was well aware that he crossed the line sometimes, and being reminded of that was just an inevitable part of being a subordinate. It was fine. But it didn’t mean he would meekly take a lashing for something he hadn’t done, or for something Mal would let others off the hook for doing, and, yet, it seemed he had unwillingly and undeservingly become Serenity’s whipping boy. It wasn’t like Mal would ever punch Zoë for speaking the truth.

Someone slid up next to him.

Jayne Cobb didn’t let his guard down, but today he had. Gorramn that Mal Reynolds and his confounding behavior! He had been so lost in thought, trying to make sense of everything, that he’d let Rufus Miller find him.

“There you are,” the piece of gǒushǐ chirped – as if Jayne had been waiting for him, as if they had planned to meet up here – and tapped the bar to get the staff’s attention.

“Go away,” Jayne muttered.

Rufus ignored him. “One more for my friend here,” he told the bartender, “and one for me, of whatever he’s having.”

Jayne was about to again object to being called Rufus’s friend, when the man pulled a thick stack of money from his pocket and slid a bill across the bar.

Well...  

If he insisted so badly, he might as well share a drink or two with that idiot. As long as he paid for it. And didn’t breathe on him.

“So,” Rufus raised his glass at him, “what brings you to Persephone?”

Didn’t miss a beat, that one.

“You know I ain’t gonna tell you that,” Jayne replied. “How ‘bout you tell me about yourself instead? Still with Marco?”

Rufus shook his head. “Marco’s dead. Thought you knew.”

Jayne shrugged. “Hell, I didn’t kill him.”

“Might as well have. He was pretty much done after what you did to ‘im. Got shanked in prison, last I heard.”

“Well, I s’pose he had it comin’.”

Jayne downed his drink. Rufus paid for another.

“You’re not doin’ bad, though,” Jayne remarked upon seeing the thick stack of bills again.

“Had some good times, yeah.”

Jayne didn't push for answers. There was no need. Rufus was going to tell him. He was too smug not to.

“My new boss knows how to score them big ones.” Yup… “Doesn’t waste her time fightin’ over scraps like the rest of ‘em.”

“It’s a her?”

“Svetlana Peng.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Don’t blame ya. She don’t like to brag. Keeps a low profile. But yeah, successful. Know that money transport hit on Beylix last year?”

That Jayne had heard about. It had been all over the Cortex. One hundred thousand credits! He’d asked Mal why they hadn’t done that job. “Because we don’t steal from people need it more,” had been the captain’s answer. Sure, the money had been the collective life savings of a small miner’s town, but, hey… Jayne was poor too, wasn’t he?

“That was her?”

“Sure was.”

“And you work for this wonder?” Jayne emptied another glass and glared at Rufus until he refilled it. “Whattaya do? Breathe her enemies to death?”

“Haha. No, see, Svetlana, she knows how to assess a man. She recognizes value for what it is, and that goes for people too. I might not be a muscle man such as yourself, but I have my talents.”

“And they are…?”

“Secrets.”

“Huh?”

“Information. She likes information. And I’m just full of it.”

“Like whatever you’re trynna pry from me now, you mean?”

Rufus clicked his tongue. “I don’t have to pry information from you, Cobb. Everything ‘bout you is already out in the open, plain as day. You’ve been fightin’ with your captain, haven’t you?"

Jayne said nothing. Rufus just laughed. “It’s not even hard. Why else would you be sittin’ here in the middle of the day, drinking up your money, with a rather splendid bruise developing on your chin.”

Drinking up your money, you mean, Jayne thought to himself. Out loud he said, “He looks worse.”

Rufus chuckled. “I bet he does. What’s the matter? He don’t ‘preciate ya? Hardly surprising. They never seem to do, do they? Well, their loss, I guess. You used to work for two, the way I remember it. Hell, sometimes people caved in just lookin’ at ya! Crews should be fightin’ over that kinda talent.”

“Who says they don’t? I got no trouble finding work.”

“I suppose that’s true. But you can’t blame people for not trusting you, right? After all, you did sell out your boss for a private room.”

Jayne turned in his chair to face him this time. “I am not a complicated man, Rufus. I get paid, I’m happy. And if I work for two, then I guess they should pay me double, right? Now, are you gonna buy me ‘nother drink, or what?”

“Absolutely.” Rufus tapped the bar and had the bartender refill their glasses. “You should consider joining up with us,” he said afterwards. “Like I said, Svetlana knows talent when she sees it. She’ll like you.”

“Nobody ‘cept my mother likes me.”

“I like you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, yeah, maybe not. But that’s beside the point. She doesn’t have to like you to like your skills, if you get my grip.”

Jayne glanced at the clock above the bar. Half past one, still more than two hours to kill before departure. There was still time to visit the Palace, but then again, he wasn’t really in the mood. Which was saying something.

“Miller!” a voice from behind rang out. “Finish your business, we’re leavin’.”

Rufus looked back over his shoulder, and Jayne followed his lead. Just a short glance, to see what he was dealing with. Two men. One of them, a short, fat guy dressed in a silk jinbaori, was eyeing Rufus impatiently. “Hurry up,” he barked. “We need to be at the rendezvous on Aberdeen before they do.”

Jayne side-eyed Rufus. “Do all the guys on your crew spill your plans out loud in crowded bars?”

“Only the foolish ones.”

“I see.” Jayne emptied his glass and got to his feet. He straightened up in his full, impressive height, and turned to face the men.

“You wouldn’t be out for Malcolm Reynold’s cargo, would you?” he asked them.

The jinbaori guy’s face soured. “Who are you?”

“That is Jayne Cobb,” the other guy answered. He stepped forward, and Jayne diverted all his attention to him. This was the man to look out for. He was older, maybe fifty, but looked fit for his age, and was probably considered handsome, if Jayne had cared about such things. He had cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and close-cropped, silver hair. His eyes were piercing blue. And he clearly wasn’t an idiot. “He is Mal Reynold’s man.”

“Not necessarily,” Jayne said. He slowly reached for his gun. He didn’t think these guys were stupid enough to start shooting inside a crowded bar, but you never knew.

Something poked his ribs, and he looked down to see the barrel of Rufus’s gun pressed against his side.

Gorramn it, he really had let his guard down!

“I’m saving your life right now,” Rufus whispered out of the corner of his mouth, then turned to face the other men. “Moab, your timing is, as always, impeccable.”

Jayne held out his hands, indicating to everyone that he wasn’t about to do anything rash. Not even Rufus would miss a shot from there.

Moab waved the jinbaori guy away and stepped closer. “How much did you tell him?” he asked Rufus.

“Not a thing,” Rufus replied. “He figured it all out by himself. I told you he isn’t as stupid as he looks.”

“A shame. Now we have to deal with him. But not in here. Hui, take his gun.”

Jayne scowled at jinbaori-guy, or Hui, as he came up to him and pulled his LeMat revolver out of its holster. The shǎ guā only glared condescendingly back at him, too stupid to even know what kind of idiot he was.

“Move,” Moab said, and all four of them shuffled their way through the bar and out onto the street. Rufus holstered his gun, leaving it to Hui to keep Jayne under control, and slid up next to his boss as they turned into a deserted back alley.

“It’ll be a waste to kill ‘im. Let’s take ‘im with us.”

“Don’t need us no turncoat,” Moab replied.

“He knows Reynolds,” Rufus argued. “Knows his tactics. He could be useful.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Miller.”

Jayne glanced sideways at Hui. He still had his gun trained on him, but seemed distracted by the conversation between the other men. In one swift move, Jayne slammed his elbow into his face, and then wrestled the gun from his hand as the man buckled over in surprise and pain. Rufus and Moab spun around in time to see Jayne cock the gun and aim the barrel at the whimpering simp.

Moab only arched an eyebrow. “He don’t mean nothing to me.”

“Didn’t think for a moment that he did,” Jayne said. “But I happen to be looking for a job.” He fired the gun and Hui slumped to the ground. “And it seems you have an opening.”

Moab stared at him. “He’s crazy,” he told Rufus, who just laughed.

Moab glanced around. He knew, just like Jayne, that someone would have heard the shot. A zealous fed might show up.

“I don’t trust you,” he said, glaring at Jayne. “But then again, it’s not up to me. It’s Svetlana’s call."

He held out his hand. Jayne handed him the gun without much worry. He would deal with this, one step at a time.

Because here was another thing about Jayne Cobb: he always looked out for himself.

Twenty-six hours later…

The flight from Persephone to Aberdeen took about seventy hours if you burned hard enough, and that was precisely what Mal had insisted on. Wash had voiced concern. “We’ll arrive just six hours later at eighty percent capacity,” he’d pointed out, “and we’ll have fuel to spare. If something goes wrong –"

“What do you mean ‘if something goes wrong’?” Mal had bitten him off. “Everything’s going according to the gorramn plan! We’ll refuel once we get paid.”

And that had been the end of that discussion. Wash had looked at Zoë, to see if there was any point in pushing the issue, but she’d just shaken her head. She knew which battles to pick and they weren’t many. Not with Mal on his toes like this.

He had been a lot ornerier after Inara’s departure, there was no denying that. Snippy and short-tempered, and even though Zoë wasn’t one to question him, she had to agree he was being slightly unreasonable at times.

One would think that pulling Jayne out of the mix would have made things better, but now, about one third into that seventy-hour trip, it seemed to have had the exact opposite effect. It was as if the captain no longer had anywhere or anyone to direct all that anger at, and it was slowly filling him, threatening to spill out at any moment.

At least the others seemed to be aware of the ticking bomb walking amongst them. They all gave him the space he craved. There was no bickering, no yelling, and no fighting. It was unnervingly quiet.

Zoë didn’t like it.

“So, still no word from Jayne?” Simon asked as they sat down to dinner that second day. Zoë flashed him a look. As far as she knew, this was the first time anyone had brought up their absent mercenary. She hadn’t expected the doctor to be the one doing it.

She looked at Mal. She could see how his jaw tightened. “No,” she hurriedly replied.

Wash, however, welcomed the opportunity to get the unspoken issue out in the open. “What I find slightly worrisome,” he said, tapping his fork against his plate, “is the fact that he left all his stuff behind. I can see him walking out on us, oh yes – but Vera? She’s still in his bunk, I checked.”

“It is rather strange,” Shepherd Book agreed. “He seems quite fond of his guns.”

“He’ll ask for his guns,” Mal snapped. “He’ll be in touch once he’s done sulking, and if I’m feeling particular generous that day, I might even let him have ‘em. But he can stay off my boat.”

“You’re not gonna let him come back?” Kaylee said, then stared at her plate when they all looked at her.

Mal said nothing.

“A little time-out might not be so bad,” Book interjected. “For all involved.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mal barked at him.

“You did throw the first punch, sir,” Zoë pointed out.

“He provoked me!”

“Not more’n usual.”

“Red and blue makes purple,” River said.

Simon shushed, and Mal ignored her. He just kept glaring at Zoë. “Whose side are you on?”

“Ain’t about takin’ sides, sir. But we don’t know what happened yet. And Wash is right, Jayne loves that gun. Something’s definitely not adding up here.”

Mal muttered something under his breath, but left it at that. Wash tried to steer the conversation onto fun facts about Aberdeen. When that fell flat, they ate the rest of the meal in uncomfortable silence.

“Many a time have I pictured life without Jayne,” Wash told Zoë later, when they were alone in the galley doing the dishes. “Never pictured this.”

“I guess it is a big hole to fill.”

“Who’d have thought sitting through meals without anyone making lewd comments would be so boring.” He sighed. “And as punching bags go, he was perfect.”

“Yeah.” Zoë pondered on it for a few moments, then added, “Maybe he did get tired of being one?”

Wash put down the towel and took her hand. “You think he’s in trouble?”

“Ain’t he always?” She squeezed his hand, appreciating the silent support. Then she reached up and straightened his collar. “We’ll finish this job. I’ll talk with the captain once it’s done.”

“I hope you do. Because I remember him saying something about not leaving his crew behind. And if that had been you, or Kaylee, or even the Tams… he would’ve turned Persephone inside out by now.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

Chapter Text

River was drawing. She sat at the head of the dining table, with her crayons and pencils neatly lined up in front of her, bent over a large sheet of paper and with a deep frown of concentration on her face. Simon kept half an eye on her from where he stood at the kitchen counter, preparing lunch. He didn’t like that frown. It usually meant something was frustrating her, and River in her post-academy state didn’t handle frustrations very well.

She seemed calm enough for the moment, though. He glanced at her drawing. It was a lot more childish than her usual detailed work. To him it looked like nothing but doodles, lines and twirls in different colors, all intertwined in a random pattern. He shook his head. As long as she remained quiet, he wasn’t going to ask.

He shifted his attention back to the task at hand. Kitchen duty wasn’t his favorite chore, but it was far better than many others. Laundry, for instance. Laundry on this ship was... interesting, to say the least.

They did have a washer, but Mal didn’t like them using it during flights, when water supply was limited. The filters in the ship’s water recycling system were old and not efficient against detergents, and water for consummation had preference. Which made sense, of course, but also meant that the pile of dirty clothes had a tendency to grow considerably between laundry days. Plus, there always seemed to be a lot of blood on those clothes, not to mention certain other bodily fluids.

Of course, as a doctor, bodily fluids shouldn’t really bother him, and it usually didn’t, but when not fresh and stuck in someone else’s clothing, clothing that had also been to a dirty brothel or two... no thank you!

Simon shuddered. At least even laundry duty would be less disgusting without Jayne onboard. If he really had left for good. Truth be told, Simon was very confused about the whole thing, and a lot less relieved than he’d thought he’d be.

“No, no,” River began to mutter, and Simon looked up to see if an intervention was needed.

“What is it?” he asked her.

“It’s all wrong,” she said, staring at her drawing. “There’s no red. There should be red. Doesn’t work this way.”

She grabbed the paper and frantically tore it apart. Simon put down his carving knife and hurried over to her. “River.” He tried to grab her hands, but she evaded him and kept ripping the paper into increasingly smaller pieces.

“There should be red!” she panted, louder now. “Already lost the gold, and now there’s no red.”

Simon’s eyes quickly darted across the room, towards the bridge. He didn’t want his sister’s outburst to draw any attention. Things were tense enough already.

“River,” he soothed, trying unsuccessfully to stop some of the tiny pieces of paper from falling to the floor.

“It can’t be completed without the red,” she cried.

“River, there’s a red crayon right here.” He handed it to her, and she took it, but only to chuck it across the room, missing Captain Reynolds’s head by an inch as he came in through the door just then.

At the sight of him, River immediately stopped her fretting and sat back in her chair, just staring.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Simon said before Mal could even open his mouth. “We’re just upset about our art, apparently.”

“Then why is she looking at me like it’s my fault?” Mal replied.

Simon, who was already on the floor scooping up the pieces of paper, looked back up at his sister, and did actually find her glowering at Mal with disdain.

“I’m not angry,” she said, before Simon could ask, “just disappointed.”

“Oh, okay,” Mal said. “Glad we... cleared that up.”

River just shook her head, eerily like the way their mother had when she’d been cross with them back when they were children. She then stood and left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said again, picking up the last of the paper and disposing it in the bin in the corner. “I’m sure she didn’t mean –”

He stopped himself. What was there to say?

“No harm done,” Mal said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, and Simon silently sighed with relief. He could never predict how the captain would react to such things, even less so than usual these days. “Wash tosses things about when he can’t get it right sometimes, too. Seriously, I got a T-Rex in the head once.”

Simon had a hard time picturing Wash hurling his dinosaurs around, but chose not to weigh in.

Mal pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “Touchdown tomorrow early afternoon ship-time,” he informed Simon, as if Simon didn’t already know that. “I’m one man short as you know, so I’ll need Kaylee with me. Which means I’ll be needing you in the cargo bay, Doc.”

“Doing what?”

“Closing the door. In case we need to make a hasty retreat.”

Push a button. He could do that. “You think it’s likely?”

“No. Aberdeen’s a decent kinda place. And we’re dealin’ with good folk. Not in for the riches. They’ll play nice.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“Jayne.”

Simon felt the uneasiness he’d tried to ignore grow. He hadn’t voiced his concerns about Jayne because nobody else had, but if the captain was secretly thinking the same thing… “You think he’d sell you out?”

“In a heartbeat.” Mal drank from the cup and leaned back in his chair. “Not this time, though. He don’t have the resources for it. No wrench to throw in my works, so to speak. I think we’ll be safe for now. But I’ll be glad to see this job done nonetheless.”

“But do you think he’d...?” Simon couldn’t even get himself to say it.

“Call the Feds on you? No.”

Simon frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because Jayne Cobb is one self-serving son of a bitch,” Mal replied, “and he won’t do anything unless there’s somethin’ in it for him.”

“There’s the reward money.”

“He knows he won’t get it.”

“Wha... why?”

Mal looked at him. “You do remember Ariel, don’t you?”

Simon froze. How much did the captain really know?

“I’m not likely to forget that anytime soon,” he said, opting to stay vague about the whole thing.

“He got pinched, didn’t he? Which means they got a file on ‘im. He’s a wanted fugitive too now. And they don’t pay out reward money to criminals.”

“Yes, but… does he know that?”

“He ain’t stupid.”

Simon almost laughed. “He’s not?”

Mal glared at him, suddenly all serious. “No. He’s ignorant and not well educated, easy to manipulate if you know how, and impulsive and illogical to a fault. But do not get that mixed up with unintelligence, Doctor. That’ll be to underestimate him. That man knows how to survive.” He took another sip from his cup. “And that same survival instinct is also what keeps him from trusting others, which is why he’s not likely to bring in a third party to help ‘im out either. So, no, I wouldn’t worry.”

“But he might come for you?”

“He might. But if you want my honest opinion, I think he’s just busy drinking and whoring away the last of his money. And when he’s run out, he’ll wave and ask for me to come pick him up.”

“And you will?”

Mal thought on it for a while. “Most like. He’s always been slightly more of an asset than a nuisance, and I’d rather want him on my crew than as an enemy.”

Simon nodded. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“Oh, I’ll make him beg, you mark my words.”

“Looking forward to witnessing that,” Simon said and returned to his work at the counter. “I best enjoy my reprieve whilst I can, then.”

But he wasn’t enjoying it. Not really.

Svetlana Peng’s ship was a Titan class heavy-bulk transport, larger than Serenity and with a larger crew. It was long and sleek and looked rather like a fish to Jayne, and its name was also quite fittingly The Sturgeon. The inside wasn’t as sleek as the outside, though, at least not the crew quarters, the mess hall and the cargo bay, which were the only parts of the ship he’d been allowed to see. It was clean enough, as clean as you could get it with eight guys living atop of each other, but it was also quite dark and sparsely furnished.

The crew cabins were situated aft of the ship, no private rooms, just bunkbeds, and the upper decks were off limit not just to him, it seemed, but to most of the other men as well. Only Moab, who Jayne had learned outranked the rest, moved freely up and down the stairs. He also spent most of his time upstairs. Jayne had barely seen him since they’d left Persephone, and Svetlana Peng herself he hadn’t seen at all. She didn’t mingle with her crew, it looked like, and still they seemed very loyal to her.

He'd noticed that on the second day onboard, when he’d tried to pick a fight with a mean-looking Paquiner named Bjorn, just to suss out what he was dealing with. Bjorn had scowled at him, but not fought back, and the others had just looked at Jayne as if he was an undisciplined child not even worthy of their time and effort.

“Svetlana runs a tight ship,” Rufus had told him after pulling him aside. “Military style. You can’t provoke ‘em.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” had been Jayne’s sour reply.

This certainly wasn’t an upgrade from Mal Reynolds and Serenity. Not here on the lower decks, at least. He glanced towards the stairs, not for the first time. Perhaps up there? But it didn’t look like they were going to promote him, not unless he played his cards right. Right now, he wasn’t even considered part of the crew. The boys played nice, let him sit in on games, and even talked to him now and then. But they hadn’t given him his gun back, and they had taken his knife away as well, so he was little more than a prisoner for the moment.

“When do I get to see the captain?” he asked Rufus.

“She’ll send for ya,” Rufus assured him. “In her own time.”

And she did. But not before the eve of arrival. He was cheating hard at a card game when Moab came to collect him. “Alright, Cobb, come with me.”

“Good luck,” Rufus told him, and then added in a low whisper, “Remember, she likes information.”

Jayne ignored him. He didn’t need Rufus Miller’s advice on how to treat women.

Moab led him up the stairs and into the promised land, and it really was like stepping into a different world. It was rather spartan up there, too, but polished and warmly lit, like one of those awful waiting areas on Alliance ships, where he’d spent an uncomfortable amount of time over the last years. He was taken down a narrow hallway and into a room that, according to the sign at the door, was the captain’s lounge. Inside were no less than five women, all seated on a dark red corner sofa.

Now, that was a sight!

Jayne had wondered where all the women on the crew were hidin’, and in the end concluded that there were none, except the illusive captain herself, apparently. But here they were. And it eventually dawned on him what that meant:

The women were running the show. The captain, the first mate, the pilot, the quartermaster, the medic... they were all girlfolk.

He took them all in, quickly, for now. It was best to keep his wits about him. None of them would be considered great beauties, but at least two had that rough-around-the-edges, play-with-me-at-your-own-risk look that he liked. They all looked strong and confident, intimidating perhaps, to some men. But not to Jayne. He knew women like these. He’d been raised by one.

One of them stood. She was older, maybe mid-forties, short and stocky, with graying hair, buzzed on one side. She bore her hazel brown eyes into him. “I am Captain Svetlana Peng,” she introduced herself.

“I know. I’m Jayne Cobb.”

“I know,” she threw back at him. “Sit.”

She gestured towards a chair in the middle of the room.

“I prefer to stand,” he told her.

“Why?” She tilted her head. “Are you afraid?”

“Not at all. Just unarmed. ‘Cept for my charms and my impressive cod, that is.”

Two of the women, a blonde and a redhead, snorted with laughter. The rest remained silent. And suddenly Jayne did feel a little intimidated. It felt like they were laughing at him, not with him.

“Don’t get lewd with me, boy,” Svetlana said, and Jayne scowled at the use of the word boy. Svetlana was hardly more than five years his senior. “You’ve spent a couple a days with my lads. You really think you’re more impressive than they are?”

“Hell yeah! You just haven’t seen me at my best.”

The redhead giggled again. “I’ll take ‘im,” she said.

The others laughed. Even Svetlana smirked a little. “Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart,” she told Jayne. “She’s only sayin’ that on account of your name. She’s into girls.”

“At least we have that in common, then,” Jayne retorted.

Svetlana just glared at him for a moment or two. Then she took her seat on the sofa again. “As you’ve gathered, I plan to unburden your boss with his cargo tomorrow.”

“Ex-boss,” Jayne corrected her.

“So you say. I’m not totally convinced, though. Can’t take the chance of you warning him.”

“Why would I do that? I don’t owe that hùn dán nothing!”

“You were with him for quite some time.”

“I was. He paid well. But he’s lost his touch. Slipping, you might say. Over the hill.” He met her gaze and held it. “I know when to jump ship.”

“Just like the rats,” one of the other women, a brunette, said, earning a little laughter from the rest. Jayne threw her a glare, she only looked defiantly back at him.

Svetlana wasn’t laughing. “D’you know what the cargo is?”

“Medicine or some such. Don’t know for what. Don’t much care.”

“Don’t much care, either. I only care that it’s worth a gorramn fortune.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“If sold to the highest bidder, that is. And your boss ain’t gonna sell it to the highest bidder, is he?”

“His loss, our gain.”

Svetlana raised her eyebrows. “Our gain?”

“Yeah, I’ll join ya.”

“Really? Why would I take you on? You killed my man.”

“He was a fool. I’m not. And a lot, I mean a lot, more man.”

Svetlana’s whole demeanor suddenly changed. She’d run out of patience it seemed. “You keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, mister, and give me somethin’ I can use. Or I’ll have you shot dead, right here and now!”

“Fine. What you want?”

“You know Mal Reynolds. What’s his style?”

“He’ll do the drop himself,” Jayne said. “He’ll have one person with ’im, and another one hanging back, out of sight. You better have that one under control before you try anythin’.”

“Good to know.”

“But you might not even have to waste bullets. He’s very protective of the crew.” Jayne tried to ignore the little spark of sadness that for some reason formed in his gut. “He might even give up the stuff without a fight, if you play your cards right.”

“A sap? Interesting.” Svetlana’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I should use you as a bargaining chip?”

Jayne laughed. “Hell, you try that, he’ll likely shoot me himself.”

“So, no love lost between the two of you, then?”

“As I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Who will he have with him?”

“Only one real fighter beside hisself. If the pilot in the ugly shirt starts puffin’ up his chest, ignore ‘im. He’s harmless. Same goes for the mechanic. She’s gun shy, no need for you to shoot at her.”

“Sounds to me like you’re quite protective, Jayne Cobb.”

Jayne scowled at her. “Just a waste of bullets. Don’t let the shepherd fool you, though. If he’s there.”

“There’s a shepherd? My, my, this crew’s certainly somethin’.” Svetlana threw her girls a smug smile, which they all reciprocated. “They sound rather precious, truth be told. I’ll try not to harm ‘em too much.” She shifted in her seat. “You’ve been useful to me, Jayne Cobb. For now. You’ll remain on the ship while we do the job.”

“I could –”

“No!” She cut him off. “Like I said, that’s a chance I ain’t takin’. But if the info you’ve given holds water, I’ll let you live. And I’ll even consider giving you your gun back. Dong ma?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

"Yes, Captain,” she corrected him.

“My bad... captain.”

She waved for Moab, and he nudged him out of the room, to the sound of laughing women. And as the door locked behind him and Jayne descended into the musky man cave again, with that unfamiliar feeling of shame churning away at his innards, he realized just how long and steep those stairs were.

“You look out for you,” he recited his mother’s words. “’Cause no one else will.”

Chapter Text

Mal had been to Aberdeen several times before. He didn’t particularly like the place, but he could probably count on one hand the places in the ‘verse he actually liked, and some of those places didn’t even exist anymore, so he wouldn’t put that against it. It was rather well developed for a Rim planet, at least in parts. There were four or five cities of considerable size, a profitable mining industry, and a decent infrastructure for most of the population of about 12 million. Including hospitals and clinics that were more than a hole in the ground and a man with leeches.

“Life is better for a lot of people since the war,” Inara had pointed out to him once.

“That don’t help the ones bein’ screwed over,” he’d scoffed.

But at the end of the day, she wasn’t wrong. Not in the strictest sense. The Union of Allied Planets had proved, on some worlds, that they possessed the resources needed to make the ‘verse a decent place for everybody, if only they could be bothered to. If only there was something in it for them. Like for instance the rhodium ores on Aberdeen.

He wasn’t going to argue that case with Inara, though. Nor any other. Not anymore.

He cleared his mind of her, or tried to, and turned to Kaylee in the passenger seat next to him. She looked nervous, which made his heart ache.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. “These people aren’t dangerous. They are nurses and doctors. You like doctors, don’t you?”

“If you say so,” she replied, and she smiled a little at his joke, but her eyes kept darting across the empty quarry in front of them. Then she glanced back over her shoulder at the gravel road they’d traveled along and towards the place where Serenity was parked, a mile or so down the road and out of sight.

It was just the two of them on the Dragonfly. The crate was placed on the bed of the truck behind their seats, nudged between others to look less suspicious.

Mal couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy himself, mostly because they had shown up at the rendezvous point before their contacts. He usually wouldn’t mind that, as it gave him time to survey the location and its terrain, to identify potential hazards and possible traps. But that was when he’d shown up early. This time they had arrived precisely at the agreed-upon time and found the place, an old, abandoned quarry a few miles outside the nearest town, empty.

He was careful not to show his concern in front of Kaylee, though. Not that he would have brought her if he’d really believed there’d be trouble.

“You’re only here to make me look less lonesome,” he told her again. “If anything happens, which it won’t, just drop to the ground and try to look less menacing.”

She laughed a little, and he flashed her another reassuring smile before he swept his eyes across the quarry again. They had stopped at the bottom of the pit, like the instructions had read. The road ahead continued, around a bend, and he stared at that bend, waiting for someone or something to emerge from there. Which might not be such a good idea, come to think of it. Maybe they would come from a different direction.

“Zoë?” he called. “See anything?”

“Nothin’,” she crackled in his earpiece. “Can’t see too far up the road, though.”

The sound of her voice, and knowing that she had his back, made him relax a little. But it also reawakened the irritation he’d felt over this whole setup. Zoë was a terrific shot, no question, but Jayne, despite all his many other flaws, was better, and he’d much preferred to have him as the back-up and Zoë at his side. And Kaylee out of harm’s way.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wallow in that thought for too long. Just then a vehicle finally came around the corner and towards them. “Here they are,” he said and jumped out of the driver’s seat to greet them. He didn’t draw his gun, but let his hand rest casually on the handle, just in case.

The approaching vehicle was a hovercraft of a newer model, and he counted two people onboard, both women by the look of it. Mal forced his face into a smile, ready to put on a front of courtesy and pleasantness, but as the vehicle came to a stop and the women climbed down from it, he felt that smile melt away. Something was... off.

He couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, which wasn’t the first time, and his gut feeling had been wrong before, truth be told. He knew better than to trust it completely. But he also knew better than to ignore it.

One of the women, a redhead, flashed a grin at him and he watched her warily. Past experiences had taught him to be a little cautious around redheads. Which wasn’t necessarily fair, and this woman was clearly not YoSaffBridge, so he guessed he owed her the benefit of the doubt, even though it kind of looked like she wanted to eat him.

“Good afternoon, Captain.” It was the other one who greeted him. She was middle-aged, with graying hair, swept back and buzzed on one side. She wore a white tracksuit, a strange choice of color for a drive along a dusty road, and guns holstered to both hips.

And there it was, the thing that made him uneasy:

Too many guns.

“I’ll need the authorization password,” he told her. There was none, but it was a good way to test her.

“Oh, sorry,” she smiled. “Of course.”

She pulled her guns, as did her friend.

As did Mal.

He was quicker, but outgunned, and as luck would have it, he realized that before he could fire. All around them people popped out from behind boulders and camouflage tarps, and surrounded him and his Dragonfly. He heard a little yelp from Kaylee.

“Drop it,” the woman in white said. The smile was gone, and her face was hard and stern. But not really angry, not threatening, just no nonsense businesslike. It reminded him of Zoë.

Yeah, Zoë...

He was half expecting her long-distance shot to start the fight.

It never came.

Which was probably for the best, all things considered.

He holstered his gun and slowly raised his arms. “Let’s play nice here, lady.”

“That’s what I’m doin’,” she replied. “And I ain’t no lady.”

“I’m sorry,” he quipped, “the hips fooled me.”

She was short and stocky, but there were certainly some womanly curves under that white tracksuit.

“What was that about playin’ nice?” she spat back at him.

Mal risked a sideways glance at Kaylee. She had dismounted the Dragonfly at some point, and she stood to his left, a little behind him, pressed up against the vehicle, eyes wide with fear.

The women had noticed her too. The redhead trained her gun at her, but the other one, who was clearly the boss, waved her off.

“Don’t fret, sweetie,” she said to Kaylee, but kept half an eye on Mal while she spoke. “My beef ain’t with you. In fact, I don’t want you caught in the crossfire should your captain try anything funny. You can leave.”

Kaylee’s eyes flashed to Mal in confusion. He locked his eyes with hers in an effort to calm her. “Do it,” he told her.

“But, Cap'n –”

“Just do it. Just get out of here.”

She did. She stepped away slowly at first, backwards, with her arms shakingly outstretched, but as soon as she had put a little distance between them, her flight response took over, and she turned on her heels and ran up the road for cover.

“I don’t like shootin’ girls,” the woman in white told Mal as he looked back at her. “That’s also why I haven’t snuffed out your sniper.”

She nodded towards the hills overlooking the quarry, and Mal turned to see the small figure of Zoë standing on top of one of them with her arms in the air, surrounded by at least three guys. “I’m sorry, sir,” her voice crackled in his earpiece.

“Now, men on the other hand,” the woman continued. “The ‘verse could use a little less of them, in my opinion.”

“Is that so?”

“I here tell you’re not the worst kind, though. So I’ma let you leave, too. As long as you hand over that crate without any fuss.”

“Take it, then,” Mal said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you kindly.”

She waved for her people, and they came closer, with guns drawn and teeth bared.

“Wise choice, Captain Reynolds,” one of them said, and Mal felt his innards turn to ice and then catch fire as he recognized the speaker.

The braids, the comically large ears...

He should have known.

“You’re being cooperative,” Rufus Miller continued. “He said you’d be.”

Mal said nothing. But he wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. He wanted to have lots of words with a certain someone. But that guy wasn’t here.

He watched as the men hauled the crate from the Dragonfly and loaded it onto the other vehicle, and he wondered what was worse: the loss of money or the sense of losing.

“Will you at least tell me who it was got the better of me?” he asked.

She exchanged a look with the redhead, who just chuckled and walked away, then looked back at him. “I’m Svetlana Peng,” she said. “You will not have heard of me, I reckon.” She holstered her guns and turned to go. “But now you have.”

She climbed onto her vehicle along with the redhead and a couple of the others and drove away. The rest slithered off too, leaving just him and the Dragonfly in the settling dust.

“Sir?” Zoë was back on the radio. “You alright?”

“Just dandy. You?”

“Didn’t even touch me.”

“I’m coming,” he said and climbed stiffly back onto the hovertruck. “Meet you back at the ship.”

He picked up Kaylee halfway there. “Cap’n!” she exclaimed when she saw him.

“Good girl,” was all he said as she climbed onboard.

“What happened back there?”

“They took the cargo.”

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

She must have caught on to the suppressed anger in his voice, because there were no more questions after that.

They arrived at the ship a few moments before Zoë. She jogged up the ramp just as Mal parked the Dragonfly in the cargo bay and climbed down from it.

Simon had been there waiting. “What’s going on?” he asked, but quickly took a step back when Mal gave a couple of empty fuel cans a solid kick that scattered them in all directions.

“I should have seen it coming!” he snarled at Zoë. “You see him?”

“Miller? Yes, I saw him.”

“Qīng wā cāo de liú máng!” Mal gave the nearest can another kick and then yelled out again when it hurt a little more than he’d planned. Shepherd Book entered from the commons just then, adding his quizzical frown to those of Simon and Kaylee.

“Cargo got stolen,” Zoë patiently explained, then looked at Mal. “Must’ve taken out the real middlemen before we even got here.”

“That son of a bitch,” Mal muttered.

“Who?” Simon had the audacity to ask.

“Jayne,” Mal hissed at him. “That bèn tiān sheng de yī duī ròu sold us out.”

“We don’t know that, sir,” Zoë said.

“We don’t?” he snapped at her. “His former crewmate just happened to show up, they know the drop site, they know our modus operandi… What does it look like to you?”

“I said we don’t know, not that it don’t look that way.”

“But you’re all unharmed?” Shepherd Book shot in. “All of you?”

“We’re fine,” Zoë confirmed.

“Well, that’s the important thing,” Book said. He reached out to pat Kaylee’s slumped shoulder. She had stepped off the Dragonfly and was standing next to it, staring alternately at Mal and her feet.

“We’re getting it back,” Mal said as he wriggled himself out of his jacket and threw it on the truck.

“How?” Zoë asked.

“Don’t know yet,” he reluctantly admitted. “I’ll come up with something. First we need to find out where they’re headed.”

“Again, how?”

“The tracker.” He was already headed for the stairs.

“Don't Jayne know about that too?”

“They need to find it first. We might have a little time. I’ll get in touch with our contacts, see if they’re willing to share the tracker’s data if we promise to right this.”

“Sir...”

“Just get the ship ready!” He stomped up the stairs to the bridge. “This is a job we’re finishin’!”

“But, Cap’n,” Kaylee called after him, “do we really believe that Jayne –”

She stopped herself, then addressed Zoë instead. “We don’t really believe that, do we?”

Mal didn’t stick around to hear his first mate’s response.

Svetlana didn’t skimp when it came to celebrating. Jayne could almost see why the men all loved her so much, when he saw how freely the beer ran that night. The girls had even come down from their comfy upstairs castle and joined them in the mess hall for the occasion.

Jayne never turned down free drinks, and it would look suspicious if he didn’t join in anyway, so he did. He just didn’t enjoy himself.

“Like stealing candy,” Rufus laughed, not for the first time. “You were right, man. He is a sap, and that was one strange crew.”

Jayne said nothing. He was glad Mal, Zoë and Kaylee had all walked away alive and unharmed, according to Rufus anyway, but of course he couldn’t show him that.

All he could do was try to stake out a new path for himself.

He could not go back. That much was clear. Not now. Mal had seen Rufus. If he hadn’t suspected Jayne before, he certainly blamed him now, and there was no way Jayne would ever be able to convince him otherwise. Serenity, and whatever it was that he’d had there was lost, along with all his possessions. That bridge was utterly, thoroughly burned. Which left two options: either he convinced Svetlana to let him off at the next port, or he convinced her to let him join them.

He took another swig of his beer, and then let his eyes seek her out. She was on the other side of the room, on a coach along the wall, surrounded by her girls (minus the pilot, who was on the bridge, you know, piloting) and cuddled up next to Moab. Jayne had been right in his assumption that he was her lover. Probably the only reason why he had access to the upper decks and the rest of the guys hadn’t. Apparently, you had to sleep your way to the top here.

Well, he could do that. Better than killing anyway, which wouldn’t have bothered him either.

“We’ll be landing at our base in two hours tops,” Rufus, who seemed to relish in offering up information unprompted, droned on. “I think you ought to make yourself indispensable by then. Svetlana’s got no problem kill– Hey, where you goin’?”

Jayne left him holding his beer and made his way across the room. One of the guys, already a little drunk, bumped into him, and Jayne shoved him out of the way with a powerful push he for some reason didn’t retaliate. It was enough to cause some commotion, though, and earn him Svetlana’s attention. She looked away from her beau for a second.

“I’d like my gun back now,” Jayne declared.

Svetlana gave a wave with her hand, someone killed the music, and the room fell silent.

“What did you say?”

“I want my gun back!”

Moab looked like he was about to step in, but Svetlana stopped him with just a look.

“You’re clearly a troublemaker, Jayne Cobb,” she said. “Why the hell would I want you armed?”

“Because I can be your troublemaker,” he retorted. Someone chuckled.

Svetlana kept her eyes on him for a few moments. Then she turned to Moab and smiled lovingly at him. Jayne felt a sharp pang of irritation, and because it quelled the sense of shame that had been gnawing at him, he welcomed it.

“What I gave you was solid,” he argued.

She looked back at him. “It was. And I haven’t killed you, have I? Now, have some beer, enjoy the party. Don’t worry, I will make my choice.” She turned her head. “Put the music back on.”

You look out for you…

“Crate’s tagged.”

She whipped her head back at him. Moab straightened in his seat. “What?”

“There’s a tracker in the crate. They’ll know where to find ya.”

Svetlana and Moab exchanged glances. A couple of the women leaned in close and whispered something.

“Get it,” Moab ordered a few of the men, and less than five minutes later the crate had been hauled from the cargo bay, emptied, and literally torn to pieces.

It took another five minutes for Moab to find the tiny thing, smaller than a baby’s fingernail, and break it loose. Jayne had remained standing in the same spot, and as it was pulled from the crate and held up for Svetlana to see, he wasn’t sure whether he felt triumphant or just sad.

Maybe a bit of both.

Which sort of felt like anger.

Moab dropped the tracker on the floor and crushed it under his heel, and the crew all laughed and cheered. One of them even gave Jayne a thump on the back. Svetlana said nothing, but he caught her eye, and she did look a little less hostile as the music was turned back on and the party started up again.

Rufus slithered up to him. “You’re learning,” he grinned.

Jayne just scowled at him, grabbed another beer can, and stomped off.

There had to be somewhere on this gorramn ship where a man could be alone.

Chapter Text

Five minutes earlier...

“I hope wherever this beautiful little adventure is taking us, they’ll have a fuel station there.”

It wasn’t always easy to decipher whether Wash was peeved, cheerful, or just nervous. He tended to speak in quips no matter what kind of mood he was in. But Kaylee knew him well, and she picked up on the underlying exasperation in his voice. So did Mal, and he shot him a warning glare from his place in the co-pilot seat.

“I’m just saying!” Wash exclaimed. “Someone wanted to go for hard burn, remember? And someone else said that would nearly deplete our tanks. And then that first someone said that nothing could possibly go wrong, and –”

“You made your point the first two times,” Mal barked at him. “Just don’t lose ‘em!”

“Oh, I won’t lose them. Not as long as that tracker keeps sending us that nice, fat signal. It’s really Serenity you need to sweet talk, sir. She’s a good, ol’ girl, she is, but running on empty fuel tanks –”

“Honey,” Zoë stopped him, “we get it.”

That made Wash stay quiet for a while, but Kaylee noticed it didn’t stop his wife from throwing worried glances in Mal’s direction. It seemed she wasn’t alone in thinking that the captain’s behavior bordered a little on obsession at this point. Their contacts hadn’t even been angry at them for losing the cargo once Mal had laid it all out for them. There wasn’t a Niska waiting somewhere with vengeance and scary machines. They wouldn’t be paid, mind you, but no one was going to kill them for it either. There was no reason for them to go on a wild goose chase with nearly empty fuel tanks, hunting something that could be replaced.

Unless, of course, it wasn’t really the loot they were hunting.

Mal had stared at the console in front of him for a good half an hour now, on that little screen showing the star chart and the tiny blinking dot that was their precious crate, now headed somewhere unknown, along with a certain mercenary.

Allegedly.

Kaylee wasn’t totally sure what to think. She hadn’t seen Jayne at the drop site – because he, according to Mal, hadn’t been there – and actually seeing him was probably the only thing that would one hundred percent convince her that he’d really switched sides. And yet, she wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t see where all the circumstantial evidence was pointed. The whole situation made her upset beyond measure, and standing here on the bridge, soaking up all the bad mood and terrible tension, didn’t help. But this was where she had to be. She needed to be on top of everything.

“Aaa-and we’ve lost the signal,” Wash said, partly overlapped by Mal’s sudden and loud cursing.

He tapped frantically at the spot the tiny dot has disappeared from, as if that would help bring it back. “That settles it,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “According to our contact, none of the middlemen knew about the tag. This has to come from Jayne.”

“Could’ve just found it by chance,” Zoë said, but Kaylee could see on her face she didn’t even believe that herself. It mirrored the disappointment that grew like a dark pit inside of her.

“Please tell me there’s enough for a course prediction,” Mal said to Wash in a tone that dared him to tell him otherwise.

“Well, course predictions are notoriously hard to make, as you know. For people who aren’t the finest pilot in the ‘verse, that is. Lucky for you, you got one of those.” Wash swiveled around in his chair and leaned in over his own screen. Mal stood and joined him, and Zoë and Kaylee also stepped in closer as the pilot zoomed in on the star chart. “Here’s Aberdeen,” he thought out loud, “here’s where the signal was lost... They’re not headed for any other planet... More likely one of the moons… Yup!” He tapped the screen. “Here. New Lafayette. I’m willing to bet on that.”

“What do we know about the place?” Mal asked. “Ever been?”

“No.” Wash tapped a few keys on the keyboard and skimmed the information that popped up on his screen. “Third moon out from Aberdeen… According to the Cortex... woodland, mostly... uhm, about fifteen hundred inhabitants... one main settlement... oh, nice, a fuel station!... and... ooh, interesting, there’s a Fed outpost.”

“That is interesting,” Mal agreed.

“You think they’re dirty?” Zoë asked.

“Maybe. Looks like more than enough forest for a boatload of scoundrels to hide in, nonetheless. Okay, take us there.”

“And look for the needle in the haystack?” Wash said.

“And fuel your tanks, Wash!” Mal barked back. “Just, you know, stay clear of the Feds.”

Kaylee had only half listened to the last part of the conversation, as she was still processing the first half. She had dared to hang on to hope for as long as that tracker had been transmitting. Hope that there was some coincidence at work here, and if not, at least a clear path forward. But that hope had been snuffed out with the signal, and there was no path, she realized, no plan, just chaos. And the ironic part was that this was where she would normally turn to Jayne for comfort or guidance. Because he always gave the most plain, direct, honest, and unfiltered answers.

Suddenly feeling sick, she left Mal and Wash to their bickering, and escaped the bridge to try and clear her head somewhere else. She ended up on the catwalk overlooking the cargo bay, a favored spot for a lot of people onboard whenever they needed a moment to themselves, and sat down with her legs dangling off the edge. She pressed her forehead against the cool metal of the rails and took a deep breath, desperate to untangle the big knot in her stomach.

She didn’t even notice River before the girl sat down next to her, but didn’t flinch. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised, and she welcomed the presence.

“D’you think he did it, River?” she asked, not sure what kind of state the girl was in, not sure whether she really expected an answer, much less a coherent one. “You really think Jayne sold the cap’n out?”

“You’re asking the wrong question,” River replied.

Kaylee looked at her. “What?”

The brown eyes that met hers were grave, but seemed lucid enough. “You know he did. You want to know why.”

Kaylee felt the tears sting her eyes and, a little irritated, blinked them away. “I just wish people would stop leavin’. It feels… wrong.”

“It is,” River agreed.

She grabbed the rails in front of her with both hands and stared dreamily up toward the ceiling. “Have you ever seen trapeze artists, Kaylee? Daddy took me to the circus once. They were so pretty. Sparkling. Like flying beetles.”

She giggled, but as Kaylee looked at her, slightly confused by the sudden change in topic and demeanor, her face turned dead serious again. “It’s trust that does that. What makes them fly. You need to trust that they’ll hold on to your hand, you see. That there’ll be a soft place for you to land. If you don’t trust, you don’t fly.”

“You fall?” Kaylee suggested, grimacing at the thought of sparkling beetles smashing into the ground.

“You bet on both sides,” River said after a moment’s consideration. “And catch yourself.”

Twelve hours later...

Here was a thing about Jayne Cobb: he was good at math.

He could easily calculate that seven percent of 350 credits was twenty-four and a half and that ten percent was thirty-five, and as such he’d made a sweet deal when he’d joined Mal’s crew, at least as long as Mal brought in some coin. He knew that profit split fifteen ways meant less per head than split six ways, and that unless Svetlana pulled big jobs like this all the time, his stay with her would be even less lucrative. All this he instinctively knew. He just didn’t know it was math. He thought math was something you were forced to do at school when you’d much rather be out hunting rabbits, and so he was unaware that he was good at it, and always had been.

But he did know he was good at shooting, so when Svetlana and Moab approached him with a rifle that first morning in camp, he suddenly felt a lot more on top of his game.

They had landed the night before, on a grassy field in the middle of nowhere, guided by bonfires and the flashing headlights of a truck. They had left the ship and trekked a couple of miles along a trail through the woods, to a semi-permanent settlement consisting of a few shacks and a whole lot of tents, where even more people had joyfully greeted them.

Even kids, Jayne had realized when morning came, and he could fully take in his new surroundings. It turned out Svetlana’s people had families.

What in the gorramn hell?

He had not expected to find a whole little community here.

Wherever here was.

He wasn’t quite sure, but yesterday’s flight had been rather short, and so he guessed that the planet taking up one third of the sky above him was Aberdeen, and that he currently found himself on one of its moons.

One of its very woody moons.

There seemed to be thick forest surrounding the camp on all sides, except for a small field to the south, where a couple of vehicles were parked, along with one of The Sturgeon’s shuttles. Apparently, the ladies, and that boy-whore Moab, had traveled from the ship in style.

The guys had let him walk freely around the encampment to acquaint himself with the place, but he knew they kept an eye on him. He’d discovered that once he’d drifted too close to the edge of the woods, and one of them had called him back with a shout and the wave of a gun. He clearly wasn’t allowed to leave.

Not that he would.

Not unarmed.

Which is why he was glad when his new boss finally put a weapon in his hands.

It was a 51R McCormack. Not the best sniper rifle in the ‘verse, certainly not the newest, but not the worst either and he’d be glad for any gun at that point. He took it when Moab handed it to him, and as soon as his fingers touched the metal, he felt like himself for the first time since they’d left Persephone nearly four days ago.

“I hear you’re quite the marksman,” Svetlana said, eyeing him as he weighed the gun in his hands, getting the feel of it. “I think it’s time you showed me.”

“S’pose I could. Even with this thing.”

She pointed across the field to the tree line on the other side. “See the pine there? The nest at the top?”

He did. A tiny ball of twigs, close to two hundred yards away. But even a McCormack could do that, and he definitely could. He huffed and hoisted the gun to his shoulder to have a look down the sights. “Scope’s bent,” he said, noticing the smirk on Moab’s face. He’d known, of course.

“Shouldn’t be a problem for an expert like you,” Svetlana insisted.

“Didn’t say it was.”

It wasn’t. It only made it a little trickier. But Jayne knew math. He knew how to make the necessary calculations and adjustments. A bent scope, the force and direction of the wind… all just parts of the equation talent and experience had taught him to make in mere seconds.

He braced his legs apart, turned the safety off, and took aim. He inhaled deeply to steady himself, then slowly released the air, raising the invisible walls that shut out the ‘verse just enough. He was aware he had an audience; people had begun to gather. He didn’t mind.

He gently squeezed the trigger.

The loud bang echoed through the woods. Across the field the pine gently swayed, then the bird’s nest tumbled to the ground. Around him people cheered.

Even Svetlana. And Moab just stood there gaping like the village idiot. A very satisfying sight indeed.

“Kicks like a bitch,” Jayne said, gesturing with the gun.

He reluctantly tried to hand it back, but Svetlana stopped him. “You’ve earned that, I’d say. Welcome to Kuikui, New Lafayette, Jayne Cobb.”

She left and Moab followed her, throwing a last warning look in Jayne’s direction as he did so. None of the others approached him, nor said anything. But a few smiled and tipped their hats before they too walked away. Rufus pointed a triumphant finger at him and mimicked pulling a trigger.

Jayne looked at his new weapon and thought of Vera. This was nothing compared to her. But it was far better than no gun at all.

“Kicks like a bitch,” he repeated to himself, caressing the long, sleek barrel with a gentleness he didn’t even reserve for pretty girls. “All cross-eyed and bent in the head. Maybe I’ll call you River.”

Chapter Text

Six hours later…

Her husband looked like he was about to keel over. However, Zoë figured it had more to do with boredom than fatigue. He had slept soundly enough next to her that night, during the few hours from touchdown on New Lafayette until the captain had dragged them up at sunrise to continue their search.

She, on the other hand, had lain awake, worrying over Mal’s apparent, but hopefully temporary decent into madness. She had thought of Jayne, too, allowed herself a moment of pure honesty, and concluded that she was sad that he was gone. Which was somewhat surprising and at the same time not.

They weren’t friends. She wouldn’t go that far. But he had been nice to have around, and not just in a fight (in which he of course was always an asset). He entertained her with his clueless comments and his zingers. His crudeness had grown on her, their banter had turned into something lighthearted and fun. He made her smile a lot, she realized. And whereas Mal saw the warrior in her, and Wash saw the woman, Jayne saw her as both, and she liked that.

And he kept Mal on his toes. Wash was right, he had been the perfect punching bag. He always said what needed to be said, even if not in a particular polite and tactful way. He cleared the air. She knew that now, as the tension he’d left in his wake lay thick and heavy over the ship and everyone there.

Including poor Wash, who sat there yawning in his pilot seat, impatiently tapping his finger against the console.

“Anything?” she asked as she joined him. He had been crisscrossing the moon for nearly seven hours now, flying low above the forests looking for any kind of signs of human life.

“A saw a tree,” he replied. “And another tree... oh, look, more trees!”

Zoë closed her eyes for a moment. She had married his sarcasm along with the rest of him, but it did get a little tiresome at times. She put her hand on his shoulder, and it was enough to calm him.

“It’s just...” He leaned over to turn a couple of switches she didn’t really knew what was for. “This is getting stupid. Even if there was some real deep-scan equipment on this ship, it would take us weeks to canvas the whole rock. And now, using just my eyes, vigilant and sharp and beautiful and blue as they may be... We don’t even know if he’s down there! And, yes, I said he, because I know what we’re really looking for is Jayne. I’m not stupid.”

“You’re clearly not.”

“Mal’s going to take us all down with him,” Wash continued, rather dramatically. “Just like that Moby Dick, hunting his whale.”

“I think Moby Dick is the whale,” she commented.

He frowned. “Really? That’s kind of a weird name for a whale. It’s kind of weird for a whale to have a name.”

“I suppose it is.” She sighed. “Just... give him a few more hours. He’ll see reason.”

At least she hoped he would. Mal had managed to cough up some money to fill half of Serenity’s four fuel tanks. It had taken a huge chunk out of their reserves, and she couldn’t see how he would use all of that for...

this.

“Who’ll see reason?” The captain entered the bridge just then. He stepped right up to the window and cranked his neck, trying to catch a glance of the ground below.

“You, sir.”

He didn’t even look at her. “I’m seeing plenty of reason.”

“Are you? ‘Cause all I’m seein’ is time and money goin’ down the drain.”

“Well, we’re not gettin’ paid for unfinished jobs.”

Wash glanced at her over his shoulder. I told you.

“Sir!” She said it so firmly that he had to tear his eyes away from the landscape outside and acknowledge her. “I know you don’t want to be bested by Jayne, and frankly, who does? But this is getting ridiculous.”

“What… this has nothing to do with Jayne! This is about doing what’s right.”

“This has everything to do with Jayne,” she retorted. “We know it, and you know it. But he’s lost, and so’s the cargo. Let’s not lose the rest.”

For a brief moment it looked like he was about to dig his heels in, but then he just deflated. He threw his arms up and folded his hands behind his head, and let out a low whistle, like air escaping a flat tire. A mask of pure devastation fell across his face, only to be gone again a second later. But even Wash had managed to pick up on it, and Zoë was once again reminded of why she’d married him, as the first thing out of his mouth was words of comfort.

“You know, he might not have bested you. He would’ve had to leave Persephone before us to beat us to the drop site, which would have given him, like, two hours to not only find that Peng woman, but also convince her to give him her ship and crew. I know that Jayne has a certain charm, but... well, no, he doesn’t.”

“He’s right,” Zoë said. “They might’ve forced it out of ‘im. He might be dead.”

“He’s not dead!” Mal snapped.

“How do you know?” Wash asked.

“Because the man’s like a gorramn cockroach! Or that spider you try to flush. He can’t be killed. He always comes crawling back up.”

Zoë could see on his face, though, that the thought had crossed his mind.

“No, he’s not dead,” he muttered, as if he needed to hear it. “But it might’ve been easier if he was.”

“You worried he’ll sell out the Tams?” Zoë asked him.

He sighed. “I told Simon he wouldn’t. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Let’s look at what we are sure of,” Zoë suggested. “You find anything on that woman?”

“The only thing I found out about Svetlana Peng,” he began, stressing the name, “was a fifteen year old prison sentence for tax evasion.”

“Well, that can happen to the best of us,” Wash chirped.

“I’ve never been convicted,” Mal pointed out.

“And I wasn’t necessarily talking about you.”

Mal stared at his pilot, taking a moment to fully comprehend what had just been said, but then just shook his head. “Anyways, if she is indeed a criminal mastermind, she’s kept a low profile.”

“The best ones always do,” Zoë said. She turned to fully face him. “Why don’t we head back to Persephone while we still can? Hand back that truck, and try and pick up the trail from there?”

She never got to hear his response.

Just then a loud bang tore through the pregnant silence. There was a flash of light from outside the window, and the whole ship jolted with such a force that she fell into her captain, who somehow managed to keep them both on their feet.

“Whoa!” Wash yelled. He was halfway out of his seat, clutching the yoke in a tight grip.

“Are we hit?!” Mal shouted and stumbled his way towards the front screen.

“Near enough,” Wash panted. “Just off the bow, port-side.” He glanced down at his console and paled. “Incoming missiles!”

He twisted the yoke, throwing the whole ship into a counter-maneuver. Zoë stumbled again but managed to grab onto her husband’s seat and keep upright this time too. Mal slammed into the co-pilot console. “Wǒ de mā!”

Another explosion rattled the ship, but Wash’s maneuvers had done the trick and this one was even further away. She was about to say something when another clearly hit them and spun them out of control.

But only for a second. Her man was on it. He regained his grip on the yoke and pushed it forward, taking them full speed ahead. He reached for the intercom. “Kaylee? Damage report!”

“Just a moment!” Kaylee shouted back, not just through the intercom but down the hall from the engine room as well.

“That last one hit us,” Wash explained, somewhat needlessly. “But only grazed us, I think.” He leaned back and exhaled heavily. “Lucky whoever fired the first one was a little trigger happy, or, you know, just a bad shot. If not, we’d be a fireball headed for the ground right about now.”

“We’ve lost auxillary,” Kaylee reported through the intercom. “Nothing too bad, but we need to land.”

Zoë looked at Mal, expecting to find him fuming and irate. Instead, he stood there grinning like an idiot.

“Sir?”

“They just gave away their position, didn’t they?” he snickered.

“You did catch that part about us being hit, right?” Wash asked him. “And needing to land?”

“Right,” Mal nodded. “Take us down at the main settlement.”

“And then what?”

He kept smiling. “Then we come up with a plan.”

Ten minutes earlier...

“So, this is… Kuikui?” Jayne said. He had been pondering the name the whole day, wondering why anyone would give a pile of huts and tents such an impressive label. There had to be some kind of irony here he didn’t quite catch.

“Kuikui, New Lafayette, yes,” Rufus nodded from the other side of the fire pit. “There are also Kuikui, other places. We move around a lot.”

“We?”

“Yeah.”

“All of you.”

“Yup.”

“Even the kiddies?” Jayne eyed a couple of little girls a few tents over, throwing their dolls a tea party. He didn’t like kids, but that didn’t mean he liked the thought of them in harm’s way either.

“Of course.”

“Where they come from anyway?”

“Your mama never told you ‘bout the birds and the bees, Jayne?” Rufus teased him. “Boy meets girl, boy and girl like each other...”

“She did! She also told me ‘bout contraception. There’d be a whole lotta little Cobbs around the ‘verse if not.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Rufus chuckled. He leaned in closer. “Truth is, she likes ‘em.”

Jayne frowned.

“Not in a nasty way!” Rufus hurriedly clarified. “Svetlana just wants ‘em. She couldn’t have her own, you see, which grieved her lots. So, she won’t deny her girls that joy. In fact, she encourages it. I’ve lost track on who's whose, though. ‘Specially the fathers.”

“And the two of you call Mal a sap.”

Jayne couldn’t for the life of him picture Mal allowing kids onboard. He’d refused Kaylee a kitten; there was no rutting way he’d welcome babies. Then again, if Zoë and Wash decided to breed, maybe it wasn’t up to him?

He shook the thought from his head. They weren’t his crew anymore. He’d never know how that would play out.

“Don’t underestimate her,” Rufus warned him. “Some of these kids are orphans. She’s got no problem killing the parents if they cross her.”

“Must cost a fortune, keeping all these critters alive.”

“She’s got the funds.”

Jayne eyed him. “Enough to even pay well, apparently.”

“You’ll get your fair share,” Rufus assured him. “As long as you pull your part of the job.”

“Won’t be a problem. Not now.” He reached for his gun, and had to fight hard to keep the smile off his face when he felt the handle in his hand. He was glad for his new rifle, but the fact that they had given him back his LeMat made him even happier. “Which reminds me, what part of the job was yours again?”

Rufus just smiled. “I’ve told you.”

“Right, information.”

He was about to probe some more when they were interrupted by a sudden commotion in the camp. Several people had jumped to their feet and rushed towards the open field, shouting at each other and pointing at the sky. Jayne spotted both Svetlana and Moab among them, and after he and Rufus had exchanged a short glance, they got up to see what was happening.

They found out soon enough. They hadn’t even reached the tree line before they saw the ship on the horizon. Some of the men were already looking at it through binoculars and rifle scopes, but Jayne didn’t have to. He’d recognize that dinky, old rust-heap anywhere, and the sight of it filled him with all sorts of feelings.

“Hey, isn’t that your old ship?” Rufus grinned.

Jayne fought the urge to deck him. He’d be a great surrogate for a certain captain. Mal, that tā mā de hún dàn! Never knew when to cut his losses.

“Looks like your captain found you,” Moab snarled. For some reason he’d decided to blame Jayne for this unfortunate turn of events.

“He ain’t my captain, and he haven’t found me,” Jayne snapped back. “He’s looking for you. No way in hell they’ll see us from there, though. Not if we stay here beneath the trees.”

Moab looked like he wanted to say something, but that kicked puppy knew his place, and turned to Svetlana, who just watched the approaching ship with an ice-cold stare.

“Sic the Feds on ‘em?” Moab suggested.

“No,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “I gave him a chance. He didn’t take it. Shoot it down.”

“Told you she was cold,” Rufus whispered to Jayne as Moab barked his orders and men scrambled into action.

Jayne said nothing.

For a blessed moment he felt nothing either.

He watched as several men hauled hand-held missile launchers out from their armory, and then spread out into position across the camp. He knew he was being watched too. Rufus was observing him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the mask to fall.

He would have to wait a long time for that.

Serenity came closer. She was going at low speed, and at a low altitude too. The trees shook and swayed in the slipstream behind her, creating a ripple that waved through the forest.

Jayne had put up his battle walls. No emotions would distract him now, neither his own nor anyone else's. He noticed the tension and excitement around him, there was loads of it, after all, but it didn't affect him. He quietly followed one of the guys, remained behind him at a safe distance as he knelt on the ground and aimed his deadly weapon at the approaching target.

“Shǎ guā,” he muttered when he felt Rufus’s hand on his shoulder.

They could hear the engine now. She would soon be within range.  The blood of her crew would be on Mal’s hands, not his.

But there’d still be blood.

Someone somewhere laughed hysterically.

Jayne turned towards Rufus and slipped his arm across his shoulders, pulling him a little closer.

“I’m sorry, man,” Rufus said.

Jayne twisted around and slammed his head into a tree trunk. The gorramn idiot slumped to the ground with a groan, and Jayne raced up to the missile handler, treated him to a solid kick in the head, then wrestled the launcher out of his hands.

Someone yelled, but Jayne had his battle walls up. He ignored it.

He ran out into the field, hoisted the launcher up onto his shoulder, and took aim, knowing very well that this might be the most important shot of his life.

He fired.

The missile missed by inches. It exploded off the port bow, rattling the ship, but not piercing it. Others followed, fired from all across the camp, but Serenity’s pilot was no fool, as Jayne well knew, and none hit home, except the last one that grazed the tail end as the ship roared into full speed.

Jayne saw her fly away, trailing a cloud of black smoke. And then they were on him.

Chapter Text

There was a widespread misconception floating around the ‘verse that Hoban “Wash” Washburne didn’t like spending time planet-side.

True, he had occasionally turned a little land-crazy when they spent too much time in port, like more than a week or so, and yes, if you had seen one backwater moon, you had kind of seen them all, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like to sniff the air once in a while.

Even on his own.

He’d much preferred to take a stroll through the countryside or have a picnic with Zoë, of course, but she had gone with Mal almost as soon as they’d made touchdown to set his not-yet-a-plan into motion. Somehow, the captain had managed to talk (or coerce) both Simon and Shepherd Book into participating in his little I-make-it-up-as-I-go-scheme as well, and that had left Wash back on the ship alone with the girls.

Kaylee was busy repairing the damage their brief encounter with unfriendly fire had done to Serenity’s engine, which she claimed wasn’t very extensive. She was confident she would have it done by the time the others returned (and, judging by past experiences, would be in need of a hasty departure). Mal had said it would most likely not happen until the next morning, at the very earliest, but whatever the case, Kaylee was happy tinkering along in the engine room for the time being.

River had spent the afternoon walking around the ship talking about colors and rainbows and balls of yarn, but appeared calm enough, so Wash, after he’d taken a ladder to assess the outer damage to the ship and judged it to be only esthetic, had found it safe to leave her with Kaylee for a spell, while he picked up some necessities in the nearby settlement.

The others had taken the Dragonfly, as the alleged campsite of Svetlana Peng was a good fifteen miles away and they had to go by ground, and so Wash pulled out his old backpack and made his way into town on foot.

If one could even call it a town. It was a single lane with a few buildings on either side. A convenience store with no competition and therefore overpriced goods; a school; a church and a temple; a couple of bars Wash did not want to visit, but Jayne probably would have loved; a selection of garages and private homes – and the infamous Fed outpost.

Wash walked past it a few times, trying to get a good look at the place without drawing too much attention to himself. It was surprisingly large, considering the size of the rest of the town. Wash would guess at least seven or eight people were deployed there, which made him wonder what this little moon had that warranted such an Alliance presence. Then again, this system had seen some heavy fighting during the war. They likely just wanted to remind everybody who’d won.

He knew better than to push his luck, so he didn’t linger. He popped into the convenience store and haggled down the price for some canned food and the duct tape Kaylee had asked him to get. He sometimes wondered exactly how much of Serenity was held together by duct tape by this point, but dared not ask.

He tried to exchange pleasantries with the store clerk, but apparently he’d made a good deal, because the man brushed him off with a huff and a snort as he handed him his change and the bag.

He took his time walking back to the ship, enjoying his alone-time, which was somewhat out of character for him. He knew that the atmosphere onboard had been rather tense lately, but having stepped away from it for just a short time, he realized just how much, and he was, to be honest, in no hurry to get back.

He had spent some time thinking about the future these last few days, which was also out of character for him, as he was usually more than happy to live in the here and now. But it had dawned on him that things wouldn’t always stay this way. Things would change, and whether you wanted those changes or not (and he wasn’t quite sure how to plead yet), you did well to prepare yourself.

As he neared the docks, he slipped into a narrow passageway by the church, figuring it was a shortcut, and that was where he ran into River.

She just stood there, quietly, as if she had been waiting for him, and who knew, maybe she had? Wash didn’t see her outside the ship very often, and at first he just stopped and stared at her, surprised as he was by the sight. She looked almost ethereal in the dimming daylight, dressed in Kaylee’s mismatched hand-me-downs; a light blue dress, and a bright pink sweater, contrasted by the heavy black boots on her feet. Her eyes were a little hazed, as if she had just woken up (or, if he hadn’t known any better, had smoked something), but they looked straight at him, clearly noticing him.

“Time to go,” she said.

“River!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Where’s Kaylee? Did you leave without telling her? Well, of course you did, she wouldn’t have let you.”

She didn’t answer any of his many questions, and he hadn’t really expected her to, either. She just glanced a little back over her shoulder. “Time to go,” she repeated.

“You eager to leave, sweetie?” he asked, and tried to keep his voice kind and happy, which shouldn’t really be a problem for a man of his disposition. “We can’t go before the others are back, you see. Come on, let’s go home before we shave too many years from Kaylee’s life. We want the ‘verse to have her as long as possible, right?”

He took her hand, and she came along without protest. But only until he reached the corner of the building. There she abruptly stopped, dug her heels into the sand and pulled at his arm. “No!”

“What is it?” he asked.

She was obviously scared, and that made Wash scared as well. He didn’t quite understand the girl’s spidey sense, but he knew enough to respect it.

Still, they had to get back. It wasn’t safe for her out here. “Come on,” he admonished.

“No, no,” she muttered in a trembling voice. Her eyes flickered from side to side. She looked like she was about to burst into tears.

“There, there,” he tried to console her. She was still holding his hand, rather tightly, truth be told, and he took the chance to drape his other arm across her narrow shoulders. He steered her along, as forcefully as he had to. “We’ll just go home and –”

He stopped dead in his tracks. He’d rounded the corner. From here he had a clear view of Serenity. She was parked on a field right outside the settlement, in what the locals audaciously called The Docks, only a small grassy slope from where he stood, nestled in between two other vessels; a short-range scow that made their Firefly look brand new in comparison, and a sleek packet that had Alliance written all over it.

And she was surrounded by two hovercrafts, a van and a couple of Alliance soldiers on guard, their weapons trained on her open ramp.

Wash hurriedly stepped back into the shadows of the passageway, almost instinctively pushing River in behind him. “Dà xiàng bào zhà shì de lā dù zi!” he breathed as he pressed his body up against the wall. And then realized... “Kaylee!”

Carefully, he peeked around the corner and watched, with an ever-growing feeling of dread, as even more purplebellies emerged from the ship and began putting up tape to seal it off. Then Kaylee was led out. She was in handcuffs (extremely unnecessary in Wash’s mind) and looked from side to side as she was taken to the van and forced inside. Wash was too far away to clearly see her face, but he knew she was frightened, and rightfully so, and his heart went out to her. He would have given himself up, just so she wouldn’t have to face this on her own.

But there was River to consider. The Alliance couldn’t get their hands on her.

He weighed his options. He had his transmitter, but he couldn’t call the others. Mal had ordered full radio silence, and who knew what kind of trouble he could bring down upon them if he tried to hail them.

He looked at River again. She seemed calmer, withdrawn, as if lost in that strange, and probably not very pleasant little world of hers.

“Time to go,” he finally agreed with her, and pulling her along, he hunkered down and ran in the opposite direction.

Into the woods.

Here was a thing about Jayne Cobb: he was impulsive.

His report card at school had said so. Many people across the ‘verse had found out the hard way. He thought the thought, and he did the thing, and sometimes he even skipped the first step.

Like, he had no idea what he’d been thinking when he made the decision to fire that missile, if he had even played with the idea that he would get away with it. He didn’t, of course, and in hindsight that made perfectly sense. He realized that even as their fists and heels rained down on him. Intentionally or not, he had chosen his own doom.

He had expected them to shoot him. Even as he was being beaten and kicked, thrown around from one person to the next, and frantically, but not very efficiently trying to fight back, he waited for that bullet to come and finish it all. But it never came. Apparently, he would not be granted an easy death.

On the contrary, they took their time. Jayne had taken a lot of beatings in his life, but not like this. These people seemed to enjoy it way too much, and yet there was an almost militaristic order to it. The girls were the worst. The redhead even belted him. Jayne had not been belted since he was a kid, and he did not care for it. But he couldn’t fight back, not by then. There were just too many of them.

They didn’t beat him to death, either. Svetlana called them off at some point, and a somewhat puzzled Jayne barely registered being tied up and unceremoniously thrown into one of the shacks.

The next hours he spent drifting in and out of consciousness, with no real sense of time and place. Images that weren’t supposed to be there flashed before his eyes, people too… his mother, Marco, Mal...

They all screamed at him.

…

Your toes are in the sand.

Oh no, not her... Anyone but her.

Jayne is a girl’s name.

Well, Jayne ain’t a girl! Gorramnit, it wasn’t right, tormenting a dying man like that!

…

He looks better in red.

…

He slowly came to. The smells, the sensation, the sounds, all rushed back into him. He could feel his body again, and kind of wished he couldn’t, because it ached all over. He tried to look around to acquaint himself with his surroundings, which wasn’t easy. His right eye was swollen shut, and he only managed to pry the left one halfway open. And the room was dark, daylight no longer seeped in between the cracks in the thin walls; it had to be nighttime. But he found he was lying on the dirt floor, curled up against a shelving unit filled with canned food.

And he was alone.

He got to work on freeing himself. Jayne Cobb was a survivor, after all; as long as there was life in him, there was fight in him.

His hands were tied behind his back with rope, but somewhat sloppily, and he twisted them back and forth, trying to loosen the knots even more. It hurt like hell, he felt it dig into his skin, and then the warm sensation of flowing blood, but he gritted his teeth and yanked and pulled until he had the space he needed.

Then came the task of getting the hands in front of him instead. And here was another thing about Jayne Cobb: he was surprisingly flexible for a man his size.

He pulled his knees to his chest and twisted and contorted his body, squeezed his backside in between his arms. His ribs screamed in protest; his assailants had obviously cracked a couple of them. But again, he ignored the pain, and in the end, he succeeded and could finally bring his bound hands up to his face to untie the knot with his teeth.

That last part was actually the hardest. His lips were cracked and bleeding, a few of his molars had loosened a little, and he had to gnaw on the rope for a long while, taking several breaks just to catch his breath and spit blood out onto the floor. But eventually, he managed that too.

Untying the rope around his legs was a cinch in comparison, and then he took a second to ride out the worst of the pain and have another look around the room, searching for anything useful. Not that he expected them to leave guns lying around, but perhaps a knife, or just something sharp.

He was about to pull himself up on his feet, when he heard footsteps approaching, and hurriedly put his hands behind his back again to make it look like he was still tied up. The door creaked open, and Rufus Miller slipped in, carrying a flashlight and a broad, wolfish grin on his face.

That man never stopped smiling, did he?

“Hello there, Jayne! Glad to find you awake. I was beginning to worry they’d overdone it.”

Still chuckling, he knelt in front of him and shone the bright light straight into his one (almost) good eye. Jayne looked away with a snarl, and for once managed to quell his impulsiveness enough to not plunge his fist into that grinning face right there and then. He was down to his last card, he had to play it right.

“Then again, Svetlana knows what she’s doing,” Rufus continued. Jayne noticed the quite impressive bump on his forehead and felt a little satisfaction at the sight. “She wanted you alive, so you’ll live.”

“Why?” It hurt to speak.

Rufus shrugged. “I’m guessin’ she figures she hasn’t squeezed you hard enough just yet. That you might still harbor some interesting secrets. Me, I think she’s a fool." He pulled a gun from his holster and pressed the barrel into Jayne’s left cheek. “You’re not gonna talk. I know you that well. You’ve spoken your piece, you’ll take the rest to your grave.”

Jayne only looked at the gun. It was his very own LeMat. Rufus saw the look of recognition. “Yeah, it’s a pretty nice one, ain’t it? She let me have it.”

“What you gonna use it for?” Jayne said. “You can’t shoot.”

For a short second the ever-present smile disappeared from Rufus’s features. He regained his composure just as quickly, though. “You’re not gonna talk me into shootin’ you, Jayne,” he said. “I’ma let her have you. Much more fun.” He holstered the gun. “And, oh, I forgot to tell you, this was all for nothin’. You might think you saved your crew, but you see, the Alliance guys on this here rock are livin’ sweet in Svetlana’s deep pockets, just like the rest of us. If your captain lands, they’ll impound the ship and throw the crew in jail.” He tutted. “And lots of unfortunate accidents have happened in that jail, I tell ya.”

Jayne seized his chance. He shot his hand forward and grabbed Rufus by the throat, squeezing so hard that the man’s eyes bulged, and his tongue protruded between his lips like a pink little worm. “Yeah,” Jayne snarled into his face, “they do happen, don’t they?”

As much as he wanted to finish him off, Jayne saw that Rufus was already fumbling for the weapon, and he just threw him aside and bolted for the door. Rufus scrambled to hold him back and managed to grab onto his boot, just as a weak wheeze of a cry escaped his mouth. Jayne only had to give him a solid kick to the head with his free foot to break free.

He wanted to reclaim his gun before he left, but the room was dark, and he couldn’t see all that well on account of his injuries. All the commotion had certainly drawn some attention and getting away would have to be his priority now.

He threw himself at the door, stumbled out into the night and, as fast as his broken body would allow, made a beeline for the woods.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile...

Mal carefully poked his head out from under the camouflage tarp and squinted against the cool night air, then raised his binoculars to his eyes and switched them into night mode to have another look at the camp. His body felt stiff and cold after lying flat on his stomach for the last three hours, scoping out the place and waiting for the little community to retire for the day. Maybe he was getting too old for recon, or maybe he had been just as miserable during the war and just repressed the memories. Whatever the case, he was relieved to finally see it quiet. People had retreated to their tents, except for a couple of guards who seemed more interested in warming themselves by the single fire still burning than actually do the guarding.

“Security’s a joke,” he whispered to Zoë, who lay next to him.

“Or a trap,” she whispered back, studying the site through her own binoculars.

“Don’t think so,” he argued. “They’re clearly not used to people finding their camp, let alone barging into it. What you reckon? That shack on the left there?”

“Has to be,” she agreed. “Only one with a lock.”

The lock in question was little more than a chain and a padlock, but also, as noted, the only one in sight. It hung in front of a door in one of the rickety, hastily built huts, and Mal was willing to bet a lot that this was where Svetlana Peng stored her valuables. Not that he currently had a lot, or anything at all, to bet.

“If we enter from the east, we can easily slip past the guards,” he mused. “We bust out our medicine and then steal one of their vehicles.”

He gestured with the binocs towards the line of quad bikes parked on the little field.

Zoë sighed. “Still not liking this plan.”

“Noted. Let’s go.” He moved to stand.

“Wait!” she hissed and turned her head a little.

“What?”

“Thought I saw some movement.”

Mal had a look. He saw nothing. He heard nothing either, except for the faint rustling of leaves.

“Probably nothin’,” Zoë eventually concluded. “Maybe an animal.”

“Let’s go,” Mal said again.

They carefully made their way through the woods, backtracking a little to get down from the little hill they’d used as a vantage point and approach the camp from the opposite direction, moving slowly as to not trip in the dark or make any sounds, and then tiptoed in between the tents.

The camp was eerily silent. There was only the occasional snore from a tent. The sound made Mal wonder if Jayne was in any of them, but he quickly shook the thought. He wasn’t going to spend any more energy on that man!

They reached the shack without any trouble, and Mal produced a bolt cutter from his backpack. Zoë held the chain while he cut the lock, then carefully lowered it to the ground as Mal gently opened the door.

The hinges still screamed. Probably not very loud, but definitely enough to raise his blood pressure and quicken his pulse. Zoë shot him a warning look, as if he had made the sound. He shrugged lightly, gave her the boyish grin he knew would annoy her, and slid into the room.

They had made the correct assessment. As Mal turned on his flashlight to the lowest setting and carefully searched the room, it was quickly confirmed that this was the camp’s armory, stuffed with guns and ammunition in various sizes. Jayne would have been like a kid in a candy store.

Gorramnit, there he was, invading his headspace again!

Mal ignored the thought of his former gun hand, as well as the guns, and he and Zoë turned their focus to the crates piled up against the walls. They used the bolt cutter to open them, one after the other, until they eventually found the right one.

It was a different one than before, but a quick count of the carton boxes inside confirmed that all the medicine was still there.

“Bingo!” Mal whispered and slid off his backpack.

The sudden sound of running feet coming from outside made them both freeze up, holding their breaths. Neither of them moved a muscle, but they still communicated, the way only old war buddies could, wordlessly through long looks in the low light. They would be ready for whatever came. But whatever or whoever it was, it passed right by them, and the sound faded away.

“Did I mention this is a terrible plan?” Zoë hissed into Mal’s ear before she too shrugged her backpack off.

“Once or twice,” he replied.

Less than five minutes later they were on the move again, carrying the crate between them as they slowly exited the shack and began the hazardous journey through the camp.

Even Mal was beginning to doubt his plan at that point. As evidenced, someone was clearly awake, and to get across without being detected would take a miracle, or at least a huge amount of luck. And everyone knew Mal Reynolds’s crew never had huge amounts of luck thrown their way. Or any amount, for that matter.

Still, they almost made it.

Which meant they made it to the quad bikes, and they did manage to put the crate on one of them. But that was where Mal decided to push it.

Zoë had climbed onto the driver’s seat and pulled open the cover under the handlebars to hot-wire it. “Sir?” she hissed when she noticed he wasn’t climbing on behind her.

He pulled out his pocketknife and gestured with it towards the rest of the bikes, and she gave him another stern look, but didn’t voice any complaints. Not that it would have stopped him.

He had managed to sabotage two of them and was hacking away at the wiring of the third, when the bright beam of a flashlight suddenly swept across the line of vehicles and hit his face, blinding him. “Who’s there?” someone shouted.

Mal turned on his own flashlight and directed it back towards the voice. He still couldn’t see anything but the bright whiteness, though. “Hi!” he smiled nonetheless.

Zoë’s quad bike roared into life, and still seeing nothing but black spots bouncing before his eyes, he turned and stumbled towards the sound.

“Thieves! Thieves!” someone yelled. A gun went off. Other voices soon followed, as did the sound of running feet.

By the time Zoë pulled up next to him, Mal had regained just enough eyesight to see where he was supposed to throw himself, and as soon as he’d landed rather clumsily across the crate, she sped off, with him sprawled in the back, hanging on for dear life.

“Sir?” she shouted at him over the sound of the engine.

“Yes, I know,” he shouted back, blinking hard and fumbling for his gun, “terrible plan!”

Meanwhile...

There were two other women in the holding cell, but the usually sociable Kaylee didn’t want to interact with neither of them.

One was a drunk old woman, slumped and snoring against the wall. She’d talked to Kaylee earlier, called her “honey” and asked her how she got her hair “to do that”, whatever that meant. Kaylee had tried to avoid her, which wasn’t easy in a tiny eight by ten feet room, and was relieved when she’d finally passed out.

The other was a scantily clad woman of the kind Jayne spent his nights with. The Feds currently sitting in the front office probably did too, as they had been by to flirt and gift her cigarettes several times already. The tobacco smoke made Kaylee’s eyes burn, but she dared not say anything. The woman hadn’t spoken to her either, just looked her up and down when Kaylee was first shoved into the room, then rolled her eyes.

That was several hours ago. Exactly how many, Kaylee did not know. She had lost track of time. They had taken her timepiece along with the rest of the few personal items she’d had in her pockets. They’d only let her keep the clothes she was wearing, sans belts and bootstraps, for “safety reasons”. There were no windows in the cell, either, but judging by the silence and the lack of activity in the office, it had to be late at night.

Mal had said they’d return in the morning, and as much as Kaylee wanted him to come and rescue her from her predicament, she knew that meant they would find the ship sealed off and impounded, and then be caught red-handed with stolen goods. She needed to get out, if only to warn them, but she had no idea how, and dawn drew ever closer.

She sat down against the wall, close to the cell door, with her knees pulled up to her chest, and tried not to panic.

She was still sitting there when one of the Feds sauntered up to the bars, gave another half-smoked cigarette to the prostitute and waved her away from the door before unlocking it.

“Alright, miss,” he said, and it took a moment for Kaylee to understand that he was talking to her, “come with me.”

She got to her feet and followed him to the desk in the front office. He hadn’t put her in handcuffs this time, which she appreciated, but there were two other men there, and one was guarding the door. There’d be no escape, and they clearly didn’t fear her.

She nearly laughed.

Why would they?

Mal had drilled Kaylee on what to do in these kinds of situations. “You’ve got rights,” he’d told her, “even if they forget to read ‘em to ya. You don’t have to answer their questions. They’re not allowed to hit you.”

Of course, knowing about your rights was one thing. Being brave enough to demand them, was something else entirely.

She was placed on a chair. The Fed didn’t sit, but leaned against the desk, folding his arms. One of the others brought her a cup of water.

“Now.” The Fed checked his papers. “Kaywinnet Lee Frye, is it?”

He already knew that. He’d taken down her name himself. “Why am I here?” she asked.

He ignored her question. “Where is the rest of the crew?”

“I don’t know,” she said, which was only half a lie. She knew where some of them were, of course. Sort of. But she’d been surprised, and relieved, when she’d discovered they hadn’t found River. She had no idea where the girl was, nor Wash, for that matter. “Why... why am I here?” she repeated.

“Weren’t you told when we arrested you? You’re under suspicion of theft and the moving of contraband.”

“Oh.”

“So, I am going to ask you again, where is your captain and the rest of the crew?”

You don’t have to answer their questions.

“I would like legal representation,” she said. It came out much lower than she’d intended, and she was forced to repeat it.

The Fed exchanged an amused look with his colleague. “You got money, dear?” he asked.

“Shenme?”

“You’re allowed a wave, sweetie!” the smoking woman yelled from behind the cell bars down the hall.

“Shut up, Linda!” the Fed yelled back.

“But she is, Harry! Get it right this time, or you’ll get in trouble again.”

“I said, shut up!”

Kaylee felt a little awkward, as if she was suddenly caught in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. She’d been right about these two, apparently. They were on a first-name basis and everything.

“I... I get a wave?” she asked.

The Fed, Harry, shot her an angry glare. “You do,” he snarled, and pulled a card from a desk drawer. “Get up! Thanks a lot, Linda!”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

Kaylee was yanked from the chair and taken to a back room. Harry handed her the card and pushed her towards a vidphone in the corner. “One wave,” he declared, then left her there.

Kaylee hurriedly stepped up to the screen and touched it, jumping a little as it flashed into life and the emblem of the UAP filled it. “Ni hao!” it greeted her.

“Hi,” she said, before she’d had the time to think, and inserted the card into the slot.

What now?

Really, there was only one person she could call.

She rubbed her sweaty hands against her overalls, then punched the number with a shaking finger, hoping whatever the local time was over there, it wasn’t in the middle of the night.

Characters moved across the screen. Connecting... Connecting... Kaylee held her breath.

And then Inara’s lovely face filled the screen in front of her, and she nearly collapsed from relief. There wasn’t a thing in the ‘verse Inara couldn’t make better, she was certain of it.

“Kaylee!” the Companion smiled, but even through the Cortex, she could read a person like an open book, and her smile fell. “What’s wrong, mèi mèi?”

“Oh, Inara,” Kaylee cried, “I’m in trouble.”

Meanwhile...

The nights here were dark, but short. Just two hours after Xuan Wu, the Black Sun, had disappeared beneath the horizon, it appeared again, spreading the first light of a new cycle through the trees. For Wash it came as a blessing, but he hoped for the locals’ sake that they had good blinders. According to his timepiece the local time was about two hours past midnight, a little too early to start your day, in his opinion.

He hadn’t slept at all, of course. He’d stayed close to town, safely out of sight, but near enough to keep an eye on the place, just in case the Feds for some unlikely reason decided to release control of his ship. But the tape and the guards remained in place, and the best he could hope for was to be able to intercept the others before they returned and walked straight into the trap.

Several times he’d pulled out his transmitter and just looked at it, weighing the risk against the benefits. So far, he’d decided against it. For all he knew, they had been caught already, and he needed to keep River safe.

Speaking of River, she had given him no trouble, but remained quiet and calm. For the last hour or so she had even been asleep, leaned up against a tree. She was a mystery, that girl. Tense and frightened one moment, then like a trustful child in the next. But there was a pattern to that behavior, at least. Wash was beginning to see it. If she seemed trustful, it was because she was.

She jolted awake.

“Not morning yet, sweetie,” he told her. “Even if the sun insists it is.”

“We’re not there,” she said.

“We had to hide, remember?” Wash reminded her, thinking she was confused. One would be, waking up in the woods like that.

She rose and looked around, a mask of deep concentration on her face, as if she listened for something.

“We have to hurry,” she decided.

“Hurry? Wh– wait!”

Before he could stop her, she took off. She bolted into the forest, luckily away from the town, and for a second or two there was no reaction on his part, as he just stood there, staring dumbfounded at her pink sweater as it disappeared amongst the trees.

Then he spurred into action and ran after her. “Wait!” he called, as loud as he dared.

“We need to be there,” she shouted back.

“Where? You don’t know this place. River!”

But it did look like she knew it. At least it looked like she knew where she was going. She reminded Wash of a foxhound pursuing her game, she even paused now and then as if to sniff the air.

“Have to be there, have to be there,” she kept repeating, like a mantra, not necessarily directed at him.

Wash was about to shout back when he tripped on a root and fell, landing face first in a muddy puddle. The backpack smacked into the back of his head, and for a short second he just remained there, thinking he might as well just stay in that puddle and leave her to her own incomprehensible devices. But the moment passed, and he scrambled back onto his feet.

“River!” He sounded mad. It even surprised him.

“We have to get there before he lands!”

He continued his pursuit. Zāo gāo, she was fast!

“Lands? Before who lands?”

She didn’t answer.

They ran.

Later, Wash would learn they ran for nearly ten miles that night, something he would boast and brag about for a long time to come. But right now he was a huffing and puffing and quite miserable man trying to keep up with what turned out to be an extremely fit teenage girl.

She noticed. She even had the decency to pause and wait for him now and then, especially as their run turned into a constant uphill one. But not for long. She forged ahead up an increasingly steeper slope, jumping from one rock to the next, and he scrambled on behind her, nearly crawling on all fours at times.

Finally, she came to a stop, right underneath an overhanging cliff near the top. “You’re slow,” she remarked, as he caught up with her and nearly doubled over, struggling for breath.

“I… have… a backpack,” he panted.

“We made it,” she declared.

“Where… are we?”

“Where we need to be. A soft place to land.”

“A soft… What?”

He looked at his timepiece. Nearly four in the morning. Well, what better way to start your day than with a two-hour run?

He slumped over, catching his breath. “What now?” he asked.

She snuggled herself into the little nook underneath the overhang and motioned for him to come join her. “We wait.”

He didn’t have the energy for further questions, and it wasn’t like he had somewhere else to be.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Shepherd Derrial Book pulled the Dragonfly to a full stop just before they reached the crossroads. Raising his hand to block out the early morning sun, he looked first to his right and then to his left, up and down the worn dirt road, but there was no one to be seen.

“They’re not here,” Simon still found it necessary to tell him, from his place in the passenger’s seat.

“No.”

Book put the gears in reverse and backed up a little, then turned left and took the vehicle off the road and in between the trees.

“Best we stay out of sight,” he said as he parked it.

“They should have been here before us,” Simon mused. “You think they ran into trouble?”

“Maybe. But their vehicle is slower than ours. Might be nothing. We’ll wait.”

Simon didn’t look convinced. But then again, as Book had come to know, being in a state of worry and/or tension seemed to be the young man’s default setting.

“Regretting you came along?” he asked him.

“Not at all,” the doctor replied, and the voice did sound convincing. “That medicine will make life better for a lot of people. I’d rather not see it end up in the hands of criminals. I mean, other criminals.”

“Yes, I keep forgetting, moving drugs across borders is certainly becoming your area of expertise.”

“Ha ha. What about you, Shepherd? You usually don’t partake in Mal’s… jobs.”

“I don’t,” Book nodded. “But like you said, this is one of the worthier causes, so I am making an exception.”

Simon leaned forward in an effort to see more of the road. “I just wish they’d be here. The sooner we get off this moon, the better. I don’t like the idea of Serenity being parked so close to a Fed station.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Book said. “That Wash is no fool, and not as lost as he might appear. And neither, my friend, is your sister. Ah, here they are.”

The unmistakable sound of an engine was coming from the east, and Book leaned a little to the side to get a better view. The quad bike came over the crest of a small hill, at full speed, spraying dirt all over as it tore down the road towards them. Zoë was at the helm, and she spun it sideways, screeching to a full stop right at the intersection, nearly throwing Mal off the trailer in the process.

Simon was about to leap from his seat, but Book shot out an arm and stopped him. Zoë and Mal both jumped off the bike and scurried into the woods on the other side of the road, where they dove in behind a fallen tree trunk and out of sight. Not a second too soon, it turned out, as two other quad bikes came over the hill in wild pursuit.

Book sighed. “I’d hoped to avoid bloodshed.”

There were two men on each bike, and they came to a halt next to the abandoned one. One of the drivers, a man of about fifty, with close-cropped graying hair, jumped off and approached the crate left on the vehicle, wary, but still a little too eager.

“They gave up?” one of the others asked, bewildered.

The older man lifted the lid, and his face contorted into an angry sneer. “It’s empty,” he hissed, then pushed it furiously from the trailer. It hit the ground with a hollow thump.

And that was when the bloodshed started.

Two of the guys were taken out immediately; the bewildered one who’d asked the question and the second driver, both by a precise bullet to the head. The other two scrambled down behind the bikes for cover, and pulled their own guns to return the fire.

Next to Book, Simon hunkered down in his seat, even though he was safely out of harm’s way. “Won’t this draw the Feds here?” he panted.

“One obstacle at a time, son,” the Shepherd replied. “And this won’t take long.”

He was right about that. A moment later one of the remaining men slumped to the ground, with blood sprouting from his neck, and not long after that, the last man standing – the older man – ran out of ammunition.

“Drop it!” Mal stepped out onto the road, closely followed, and covered, by Zoë. They both had their guns trained on their last opponent as he somewhat reluctantly threw away his weapon, raised his arms, and slowly stood.

Book shook his head, then turned the ignition and drove the Dragonfly out into the open. Mal flashed him a smile as they approached and came to a standstill. “Gentlemen!”

Book glanced down at the three dead men, and then shot him a reproachful look.

“Hey, they started it!” the captain exclaimed, then backtracked. “Well, no, but they shouldn’t have followed us. Kinda forced my hand.”

“Thought that was the whole plan,” Book said. “For them to follow you.”

“Yes, but not to catch up with us. I had hoped to shake ‘em.” He gave a slight wave with the gun as his prisoner started to lower his hands. “Huh-uh! Tie him up, Zo’.”

“You stole an empty crate?” the man hissed as Zoë duct taped his hands together.

“I did,” Mal grinned. “One of my better plans, if I might say so myself. I call it Red Goose. You know, red herring... wild goose chase... get it?”

The man only glared at him.

“It’s hard to impress people these days,” the captain lamented. “I take it you have it, gentlemen?”

“We do,” Book nodded, and Simon held up one of the backpacks for them to see. “Turns out it’s quite easy to infiltrate a camp full of bandits when there’s a full-blown panic going on.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “You took the crate, but left the meds?”

“Oh, he’s getting it now,” Mal grinned. “That’s right. We put the meds in the backpacks, and as I and my wonderful first mate here lured you away, the rest of my guys just walked right in and picked 'em up.”

“It wasn’t that easy,” Simon muttered.

The prisoner kept glowering at Mal. “Svetlana will tear you apart,” he promised.

“Oh, she’d want to,” Mal agreed. “But I don’t think she’ll touch me. I got leverage, you see. You.”

The man snorted.

Mal just smiled. “I watched your camp long enough to see that she cares about you. You weren’t exactly being discreet about it, mister… What’s your name?”

“Moab,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “Moab Cohen.”

“And you’re her what? Boyfriend? No, wait, I’m thinkin’… husband.” He looked at Zoë. “I told you shipboard romances complicate things.”

“That you did, sir.”

“Well,” Moab spat. “You’re not the only one with leverage, are you? She’s got one of yours, remember?”

Mal’s smile dropped. “You better not be talkin’ ‘bout Jayne Cobb. ‘Cause that’ll get you nowhere.”

“Oh, I am. You really think I wouldn’t get that he’s still loyal to you?”

Book saw the confusion that swept across the captain’s face. Zoë’s too. If only for a moment. He wasn’t so surprised himself, though. On the contrary, things were starting to fall into place.

“Jayne wasn’t the one who told you about this cargo, was he?” he asked.

“The hell no,” Moab sneered. “He just stumbled upon us as we were leaving. Seemed too much of a coincidence to me.”

Mal cocked his gun. “Then who told you, then?”

Moab shrugged. “Some smart-ass kid in a suit, back on Persephone.”

“Arrow,” Zoë concluded.

“I never trusted your man,” Moab continued. “Not one bit. Was the others thought he’d be useful. He’s quite… pestering.”

“That he is,” Mal mumbled.

“Even had Svetlana goin’ there for a while. But he kinda gave himself away when he fired that missile at your ship.”

“Jayne did that?” Simon asked.

“Yeah. And I’ve seen the man shoot. If he wanted to hit you, he would’ve.”

Mal and Zoë exchanged looks. Book could see how things clicked into place in their minds as well.

Moab picked up on it too. “Wait, what? You didn’t know? Gorramnit! You really thought he’d sold you out?” He rolled his eyes. “Sucks to be him.”

“Is he alive?”

Mal’s voice was cold as ice. Even Book, who was usually not afraid of him, felt a healthy amount of fear at that point.

Moab shrugged again. “Was when I last saw ‘im. But beaten to a pulp, so... who knows?”

“Zoë, how many rounds you got left?”

“Enough, sir.”

“Alright, then.” Mal waved his gun, motioning for Moab to move. “Get on the truck!”

“Are we going back to the ship?” Simon asked as he scooted over to give room for everyone. He didn’t sound particularly hopeful.

“We’re going back for Jayne first,” Mal confirmed as he pushed Moab onto the back of the Dragonfly, where Zoë would keep a gun and a watchful eye on him. “See if Svetlana loves this man as much as…” He stopped himself.

“As you love Jayne?” Book finished for him as he offered up the driver’s seat.

“Shut up,” Mal said and turned the ignition, and Book left it at that.

After all, he did agree with him for once.

Meanwhile...

Jayne didn’t know where he was going. As per usual, he’d set off without a real plan. Often that worked for him. He was good at thinking on his feet. But he didn’t have much experience in running away. Not like this – nearly blind, injured, and without the protection of a gun. Jayne used guns so much that they felt like a part of him. Without them, he felt naked and lost.

He’d been on the move for most of the night, as fast as his injuries would let him. Which wasn’t fast at all. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. He’d thrown up a lot too. There’d been blood in it, which couldn’t be a good sign. And he kept tripping on roots and rocks, and running into branches, and every fall, every jolt, sent a fresh wave of pain through his body.

Still, he kept going. One foot in front of the other. Where... he had no idea.

In hindsight, it was clear that a plan would have helped. A plan might have stopped him from running up into the hills. A plan might have given him direction, in more ways than one.

But his focus had been solely on putting as much distance as possible between himself and his captors, not on where he was going. And that was why he had ended up here, at the crest of a hill, at the edge of a cliff.

At the end of the line.

Just as well. He was too tired to go on.

He carefully stepped closer to the edge and peered down.

“Do it,” somebody said. “Jump.”

He was too tired, too mad, too everything to feel surprised. He felt some regret, though. He should have killed that liú kǒu shuǐ de biǎo zi hé hóu zi de bèn ér zi when he’d had the chance.

He turned around. Rufus was about ten yards away from him, straddled across a sleek little hover bike. He was sporting another fresh bruise on his neck. The smile, however, was finally gone.

“Jump,” he urged him again. “How high is it, you reckon? Twenty feet? That’s not too bad. You might make it.”

“How...?” Despite himself, Jayne just had to ask.

“How’d I find you?” Rufus said. “Thought you were the gorramn expert on trackers, Jayne Cobb. I put one in your boot.”

Good thing he was too exhausted, too sick, to feel humiliated.

“So, yeah,” Rufus sneered, “I’ve been following you all night. Just wanted to see how far you’d make it. I’m quite impressed, I have to say.” He stepped off the bike and pulled his - well, Jayne’s - gun. “You know, I’m gettin’ pretty tired of you punchin’ me, Jayne.”

“Can’t help it," Jayne slurred. “You got one of those faces.”

“Still the smart-ass, huh?” Rufus aimed the gun at him. “But look who’s comin’ out on top. It ain’t you.”

“You’re still just someone else’s bitch, Rufus.”

“Nah, that’s where you’re wrong, you see. I don’ work for Svetlana. She thinks I am. They all do. But I’m like you, Jayne. The only one I’m loyal to… is me. Tradin’ in secrets only works if you play all sides, but only sell to the highest bidder.”

“Secrets?” Jayne snorted. “You know nothin’.”

“I know everything!” Rufus shouted. “I know Adelai Niska’s lookin’ for that captain of yours. So’s some Atherton Wing on Persephone. Both rich as shit. Which one d’you think pay better? And that doctor on your ship. Simon Tam. Yeah, I know ‘bout him too. Don’t think the reward money’s peaked yet, though, do you? Just bidin’ my time.”

Jayne blinked. It was getting hard to keep his one good eye open. “You gonna shoot me, or what?”

“I will,” Rufus promised. “Svetlana would want you alive. But like I said, I don’t work for her.” He cocked the gun.

Jayne had always known his life would end like this. He accepted it. The only thing that bothered him was that he’d be shot to death by an idiot like Rufus Miller, and with his own gun, to top that off.

He closed his eyes. The shot rang out.

As the pain exploded in his side, Jayne actually felt a snort of laughter forming in the back of his throat. Rufus’s aim hadn’t improved.

But something had kept that rutting, good-for-nothin’ loser alive for this long, and as Jayne took a step back to get his bearings, a little step too far, and felt the ground shift beneath his feet, he remembered what.

It was luck. The man was just gorramn lucky.

He remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach as he fell, and the impact as it knocked the air out of him, the dirt on his face, and the excruciating pain.

He didn’t remember much after that.

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile...

Kaylee had even been able to doze off a little after her vidphone talk with Inara. Even from so far away, her friend had the same calming effect on her as always. She’d listened while Kaylee tried to recount all that had happened without giving away too many details; the Feds doubtlessly monitored their conversation, and the last thing she wanted was getting the captain or the Tams, or Inara for that matter, into trouble. No names, nor any crimes were ever mentioned. It wasn’t necessary. Inara knew them all well. She got the picture.

She’d promised Kaylee she would help. She hadn’t said how or when, she likely didn’t know herself, but Kaylee believed her. “Don’t tell them anything,” the companion instructed her, just like Mal had done. “You have the right to remain silent, and it would be the best course of action right now.”

So, when the Feds told her their five minutes were up and pulled her back to the interrogation, she did just that, even when they yelled, even when her mouth went dry with fear, and after about half an hour, they gave up and took her back to the holding cell. “Sleep on it, love,” Harry had said as he pushed her inside, “and we’ll try again tomorrow. I know how to make a girl scream.”

The still smoking woman rolled her eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Shut up, Linda!”

Linda just shook her head. “Never mind him,” she said to Kaylee once the door was slammed shut. “You manage to get in touch with someone?”

“Yes. And thank you.”

“This your first time, hon?”

Kaylee nodded, even though it wasn’t; just the first time on her own.

“Ain’t as powerful as they like to think.” Linda nodded in the general direction of the front office. “They got bosses, see, and their bosses got bosses, and there are all these rules and regulations. But sleep, kiddo, if’n you can. Things look better in the morning. ‘Cept me, of course, I look like a gorramn scarecrow in the morning. I’m more of a midnight gal.”

And Kaylee had slept, even if only for a short while, huddled in a corner, to the sound of the drunk woman’s snoring and the low, sad singing of Linda the whore.

When the jail door was thrown open in the morning (or what she at least thought was the morning) and Harry popped his head in, Kaylee was certain he was back to make good on his promises. Instead, it was to inform her that she had a visitor.

“A visitor?” Kaylee blurted out. Then she thought of Inara. But that couldn’t be. Shinon was more than a week away, even with the fastest ship. And then she thought of Mal. Had the captain come for her? But he would surely be arrested too, if so, and maybe they’d all returned, and he had been arrested...

“Yeah, your lawyer’s here.”

“My what?”

They entered the front office and Kaylee’s eyes immediately fell upon a middle-aged man in a dark blue hanfu suit. How could they not? He was big, like really big, taller than Jayne and a lot fatter. And he smiled from ear to ear as he reached out a huge hand to shake hers. “Indigo Hanson, attorney at law! Nice to meet you, Miss Frye.”

“Hi,” she replied, a little, no, a lot taken aback.

He turned to the Feds, who all stared at him with impudent disdain. “Is there someplace where I may confer with my client in private?”

They were taken to the vidphone room, and as soon as they were left there alone, Indigo Hanson confirmed her suspicion. “Miss Serra sent me.”

“You got here so fast!”

“Not really. I live and practice on Aberdeen, it’s only an hour or so by fast-burn shuttle. Now, I understand you find yourself in a pickle?”

Kaylee was unsure of how much to tell him, but as it turned out, she didn’t have to tell him anything. He already knew the gist of it, and only asked her to confirm a few things. “I believe we have a good case here, Miss Frye,” he smiled afterwards, and gallantly opened the door for her.

She felt tiny next to his enormous frame as he led her back to the office, but in a good way; safe and protected. She felt even better when she saw how the purplebellies, five of them now, glared daggers at her new bodyguard. They were clearly annoyed.

“My client wishes to be released immediately,” Hanson declared.

Harry snorted. “Your client is bound by law for theft.”

Hanson never stopped smiling. “According to The Penal Code of the UAP, paragraph nine, subparagraph three, my client must be presented for a judge within twenty-four hours of the time of arrest, or you will have no rights to hold her for any longer than that.”

“Look around you, Mister,” Harry sneered. “This is hardly a metropolis. We only have a circuit judge who comes here once a week. The next visit is scheduled in five days, and we are well within our rights to keep her until then.”

“I realize this,” Hanson grinned. “But seeing as I was coming here anyway, I took the liberty of bringing the judge with me. She’s setting up in the schoolhouse as we speak.”

Kaylee had to bite her lip not to laugh at the look on Harry’s face. He exchanged a quick glance with one of the other officers, but pulled himself together and forced a smile. “Very well.”

Less than ten minutes later Kaylee was led into the school across the street, and in front of a skinny, bespectacled woman who looked like she wished to be anywhere else. She wasted no time starting the procedures; Kaylee hadn’t even come to a stop before she began. “This is a preliminary hearing of case two-five-one-eight thirty-six: The Union of Allied Planets versus Kaywinnet Lee Frye, Judge Martha Sorensen presiding. The court is in session.” She struck the table in front of her with the gavel and addressed the group of Feds. “You may present your case.”

Harry spoke on their behalf. “We received a tip about a Firefly carrying a shipment of stolen medicine, Your Honor. When a ship of that class landed here yesterday, the prudent thing seemed to be to seize it and take Miss Frye into custody.”

“She’s the owner of the ship?”

“She was the only one there.”

“But not the owner?”

“No, Your Honor.”

Judge Sorensen looked at Kaylee. Her eyes were strict, but not unkind, and they reminded her of her old Sunday school teacher back home in Tankerton, Kowlonshi. “This is correct?”

“She’s the chief mechanic, Your Honor,” Hanson answered before Kaylee could. Apparently, the don’t-say-anything rule still applied. Still, she appreciated the added ‘chief’. It made her sound mighty important.

“And the captain and the crew?”

“On shore leave, Your Honor,” Hanson said. Which was sort of not a lie, just a little tweaking of the truth.

“I see.” The judge turned back towards Harry. “And you found this stolen shipment when you searched the ship?”

Harry hesitated. Sorenson looked impatiently at him over the rim of her glasses. “No, Your Honor,” he eventually replied.

“You didn’t? But Miss Frye confessed to the crime?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that there’s absolutely no evidence for a crime even having taken place?”

“The rest of the crew is clearly out fencing the goods!” Harry protested.

“That’s not what this hearing’s about, Officer. This is a hearing about whether there’s sufficient evidence to charge Miss Frye for any criminal conduct and justify her continued imprisonment. So far, I have been presented with no such evidence.” She pulled off her glasses. “You mean to tell me I’ve been dragged from my very busy schedule on Aberdeen and all the way out here, for absolutely nothing?”

Harry didn’t answer, but dropped his gaze. Judge Sorensen shook her head and put her glasses back on. “The case is dismissed,” she declared. “The accused will be released, effective immediately.” She struck the gavel against the table. “Miss Frye, your ship and its contents will be released to you. You’re free to go.”

And with that she rose and strode out of the room.

Hanson turned to Kaylee, brimming with delight. “I’d say that went well.”

“Was that it?” Kaylee asked, a little bewildered, as she watched the Feds file out of the room, muttering amongst themselves. “Was that even real?”

“Absolutely! A real attorney, a real judge, and a real court. The case, however, was bollocks, pardon my language.” Hanson lowered his voice. “These men reek of corruption if you ask me. If I were you, I’d get off this moon as soon as possible.”

“I will,” she nodded. “And thank you!” She hesitated, still not quite believing her luck. “Do I owe any-?”

“My services are paid for, Miss Frye,” he interjected and offered her his arm. “Now, let’s go and collect your personal items, and then you can be on your way.”

“Thank you,” she said again, accepting his arm.

And thank you, Inara.

Gosh, it really paid off having friends in high places.

“You should have asked for those coordinates,” Book finally let out. “We owe him that much.”

“We’ll find him,” Mal shot back, a little harshly. Not because he knew how, but because he didn’t want to deal with it just yet. He was still processing his own feelings: regret, dejection, anger. Mostly anger. Which was good. He knew what to do with anger.

Lashing out at the preacher, or anyone else among the crew for that matter, was likely not the best way to deal with it, though. And Book had had the decency to wait until they were nearly back at the ship, even though the words must have been burning inside him for the whole twenty-minute ride.

“So, what’s the plan now?”

Simon was the first to latch on, of course.

“We make the drop,” Mal replied. He knew he sounded cynical and steeled himself for the protests, but at that precise moment they crested the last hill and had a clear view of Serenity. The sight of barricade tape crisscrossing their ship put an effective stop to the discussion.

“River,” Simon breathed, while Mal, still rushing with adrenaline, pulled the Dragonfly to a sudden stop in front of the open ramp. A quick look inside revealed a sorry mess in the cargo bay, but no Feds.

“What in the tiān xiă de happened here?” the captain exclaimed, as if the others could answer that question.

“They took her,” Simon panted.

“Wash?” Zoë called.

“Oh, I hear’em now,” a voice sounded from inside the ship, and the next moment Kaylee came running down the ramp towards them. She had a radio receiver in her hand. “They just got back, Wash.”

“What in the rutting hell!” Mal shouted and jumped off the truck. “Where’s Wash?”

“And River!” Simon added and followed his lead. Zoë and Book climbed off too.

“Wash is here,” Kaylee replied and waved the radio at Mal. “Why would you turn off your transmitter?”

Mal had no answer to that. He’d totally forgotten to turn the radio back on, and the plan to check in on his crew had been lost in all the commotion. “Where?” he said.

“The radio,” Kaylee replied.

“I get that. But where is he radioing from?”

“I don’t know. You talk to him.” She tossed him the radio.

“Wash!” he shouted into it as soon as it was in his hand. “What happened to my boat?”

“Got seized. Kaylee got arrested.”

“Kaylee’s right here!”

“I’m not arrested anymore,” Kaylee not-so-helpfully clarified. “Don’t fret, Simon, River’s safe. She’s with Wash.”

“Where?” Simon asked.

“How come you’re not arrested anymore?” Mal drowned him out with his own question. “How come you got pinched in the first place?”

“I... I’ll tell you later. You need to talk to Wash. He’s with Jayne.”

“Jayne? I thought you said he was with River?”

“Where’s River?” Simon demanded to know.

“With Wash,” Kaylee responded.

“And Jayne?” Book stepped forward.

“Hello-o-o?” Wash’s voice crackled from the radio.

Zoë pulled the receiver from Mal’s hands. “Where are you, dear?”

“In the woods, somewhere. We had to hide, and River...”

“Is she okay?” Simon interrupted.

“She’s fine. But Jayne...”

Mal took the radio back. “You got Jayne there with you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to say, gorramn it!”

“He’s dead?”

“No, he’s not dead, but if we all just talk some more, he might be. He’s hurt real bad.”

“Shot?”

“No, but hurt! I need the doctor here, mǎ shàng!”

Mal turned to Simon. “Get your kit!”

As if someone had turned a switch, Simon snapped from fretting-big-brother mode into doctor mode and took off towards the infirmary. “Now, where is here?” Mal asked Wash, and then looked at Zoë, who was staring intently at her GPS unit.

"I got his transmitter,” she declared. “‘Bout ten miles north-east.”

“Alright. Stay put, Wash, we’re comin’ to you.” Mal turned to Kaylee. “How you doin’ with those repairs?”

“Almost done.”

“Good girl. Finish it. I want us airborne as soon as possible.”

“I’ll stay and help,” Book offered as Simon returned with his bag and Zoë loaded the stretcher and the rescue kit onto the Dragonfly.

They were off in seconds.

Mal left the radio to Simon and the navigation to Zoë as they tore through the woods. That was the best thing about hover trucks; they worked just as smoothly offroad, even if he had to swerve a tree or twelve. He really had to get one of these.

They spotted River first. She was rather noticeable in her bright pink sweater, sitting on a rock halfway up a steep slope, looking intently at the drama unfolding in front of her. Wash’s head poked out from behind a tree. “Thank God you’re here,” he shouted as they approached. “I think he’s choking!”

Mal had been a little worried that the presence of River would distract his medic from doing his job, but he should have learned by now that his concerns were unsubstantial. The truck had barely stopped moving, before Simon leaped from it and rushed over to the downed body by Wash’s feet, pulling his stethoscope from his bag.

Mal looked at Jayne and felt his hands clench. Moab’s “beaten to a pulp” seemed appropriate. He suddenly regretted letting Svetlana and her people off so easy.

Simon was listening to Jayne’s chest with a deepening frown on his face. “Pneumothorax,” he diagnosed, quickly rummaging through his bag, and then for the sake of his non-medically trained audience, elaborated, “Collapsed lung. Air is leaking into his chest cavity, preventing the lung from expanding. I’m going to decompress.”

He pulled out a long needle, and Jayne didn’t even react when he plunged it into his chest. Wash winced, though, and turned away, but Mal didn’t, and the look of relief that fell over Jayne’s face when Simon removed the seal and air hissed out through the needle, made it all worth it.

Zoë came over with the rescue kit, and Simon instructed her to put the cervical collar on the patient while he moved on to the leg, which was bleeding and clearly broken. He peeled away the bandage and inspected the wound, and Mal almost turned away this time. He’d seen a lot during the war, but exposed bone was not a sight you ever got used to.

“You did good, Wash.” Simon looked up. “You stopped the bleeding.”

Wash said nothing, just glanced down at his blood covered hands. Zoë laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“There’s another fracture down here,” Simon thought out loud, then glanced up at Mal. “I’m going to need something to immobilize this with before we move him.”

Mal nodded. “On it.”

“Mal?”

The sound of Jayne’s hoarse voice surprised them all, even River, it would appear, as she lifted her head and looked at him.

“Take it easy, Jayne,” Simon admonished.

“Mal?” Jayne said again, a little louder, a bit more desperate.

Mal crouched down next to him. “I’m here.”

“R…us Mi..er.”

“Rufus Miller, yeah, I remember him. He the one done this to you?”

“Shot me.”

“He shot you?” Mal threw Simon a quizzical frown and the doctor hurriedly tore open the t-shirt to look for bullet wounds.

“Wi.. m’own gun,” Jayne slurred. He’d managed to open his left eye a little, and he tried to turn his head, but was hindered by the neck brace.

“Ah, here.” Simon had found the wound near his right hip. “It’s only a scratch,” he declared.

“He tried to kill you with that?” Mal asked. “Huh, you weren’t exaggerating the state of his shooting skills.”

“Jayne, save your strength,” Simon insisted, words Mal realized was just as much aimed at him.

“We can talk about this later,” he said.

“No!” The desperation was back in Jayne’s weak voice. He seemed to know, like the rest of them, that there might not be a later. “He knows. Mal…?”

“What does he know?”

“Things… secrets… for mo…y.”

“Info broker,” Mal nodded.

“Knows ‘bout you. And… Tams.”

Simon was in the process of filling a syringe, but stopped at the mention of his last name. His eyes flashed to Mal, who glanced up from Jayne to meet them.

“He knows about the Tams?”

“Didn’t tell’m.” Jayne tried to reach out for him, but his hand fell limply back to the ground. “I didn’t tell’m.”

“I believe you,” Mal said, firmly. And he did, he really did. “Let the doctor tend to you now, okay?”

He nodded to Simon, who finished prepping the syringe. “This will help with the pain,” he said as he jabbed it into Jayne’s upper arm.

Mal stood to continue his search for something to use as a splint. His eyes met Zoë’s, where she stood a few steps away, still stroking her husband’s back.

She’d heard. And she knew.

Chapter Text

Mal rode in the back with Simon and Jayne for the return journey, allowing Wash to take the wheel. As jittery as his pilot seemed at times, he was unequivocally focused whenever he was handed a task he was comfortable with, and he drove that Dragonfly with a speed and precision Mal could never have mastered. Zoë rode shotgun, giving him directions, and River was in the row behind them, wearing her brother’s coat and otherwise just sitting there, perched at the front of her seat, with a straight back and blank face, looking like a highborn noblewoman in a horse drawn carriage.

Mal tried to keep the stretcher as still as he could as Wash swerved the trees. Jayne was drugged into a stupor, but all the jolting didn’t do him any good, and Mal was empathetic enough to want to keep it to a minimum. Simon was on his knees on the opposite side, constantly checking his patient’s pulse and respiration, frowning in concentration, and muttering a little to himself now and then.

Suddenly, he looked up. “Depending on what the scans reveal, I think I can stabilize him,” he said. “But I can tell you right now that he’ll be needing extensive surgery on that leg.”

Mal nodded. He’d expected that.

Simon hesitated at little. “Which means I’ll need to stock up on supplies and also get some new equipment.”

Which will set us back, he might have added, but there was no need. Mal had long since given up on the notion that he’d profit from this job.

“Do what you can for him,” he said. “We’ll be on Aberdeen by tonight. I’ll get you what you need.”

Wash got them home in record time. He drove straight into the cargo bay and expertly pulled the vehicle to a stop. The place still looked like a mess, but at least Shepherd Book had had the mind to prep the infirmary.

“Oh, my dear boy,” he lamented when they entered with the stretcher, and he saw the sorry state Jayne was in.

Simon handed him a pair of scissors. “Strip him.”

Book obediently began cutting away at Jayne’s dirty clothes as soon as he was safely deposited on the med couch, while Simon hooked him up to the monitor, studying the numbers intently as they flashed up on the screen. The rest of them exited to give him room to work. Mal remained in the lounge area for a while, in case he was needed, and so did the others. Zoë had conjured up a towel and carefully cleaned the blood from Wash’s hands, while River quietly curled up in one of the armchairs and promptly fell asleep.

Mal allowed himself to breathe for a second. Then he looked back into the infirmary where Simon had finished scrubbing and was fastening his surgical mask.

“Zoë?”

She let go of her husband’s hands and checked her gun. “I’m ready.”

“Wash, get us prepped for take-off. We’re leaving as soon as Zoë and I return.”

Mal had expected protests from his pilot and was more than ready to defend his decision, but none came. On the contrary, when he looked at him, wondering if the man had even heard him, he saw an unfamiliar look of malice in his eyes. “I’ll have her ready,” he promised. Mal had never heard him sound quite like that.

He could still feel a little shudder down his back as he and Zoë drove away.

When the Dragonfly burst straight through Svetlana’s laughable line of defense and straight into her site twenty minutes later, they found her people in the process of breaking camp. Most of the tents had been taken down and supplies were being loaded onto carts and vehicles, but everything was dropped and people rushed to meet them with weapons drawn when they arrived. Mal had gambled on the notion that Svetlana hadn’t lost her sense of honor in the few hours that had passed since he last saw her, but would keep her cool and give him the benefit of the doubt, and the gamble paid off. She waved off her men, albeit a little tiredly.

“Back so soon?” she said, a little snarky, but who wouldn’t be? “You here for the coordinates perhaps?”

“You know what,” Mal said as he jumped from the truck, “I’m thinkin’ I’ll just have words with your man directly.”

He already had his eyes on Miller. That light brown duster and the peculiar hairstyle made him easy to spot. Ignoring both Svetlana and everybody else, he strode through the crowd and right up to him. Miller looked a little confused, perhaps even a bit nervous, but only for a second; then the expression on his face was replaced by one of both arrogance and curiosity.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Does she know?” Mal barked. “Your boss. Does she know you’re gathering intel on her? To be sold on to whoever’s willing to pay.”

Miller wrinkled his nose, as if he suddenly smelled something awful. Probably that breath Mal had heard so much about. “You’re mad.”

“Am I? You’re gathering and selling information on everyone else, ain’t ya, so why not her as well? I bet there’s a lot of people out there willing to give an arm or a leg to hear all about this illusive mastermind.”

Miller glanced quickly at the gathering crowd, obviously trying to read it, and then his face broke into a clearly phony grin. “I’m just a simple gun hand, mister.”

“No, you’re not,” Mal retorted. “You couldn’t shoot to save your life. You know how I know? ‘Cause you couldn’t kill Jayne Cobb.”

There was some murmuring coming from the crowd. Miller’s grin faltered.

“That’s right,” Mal went on. “You only winged him. Which is honestly quite impressive, seeing as he’s not exactly a small target. Boy, was he right about you, you really must be a crappy shot.”

Anger flashed across Miller’s face, and then, in a sudden motion, he took a step back and drew his gun. But Mal’s was in his hand in a blink of an eye, and he fired first. Rufus Miller slumped to the ground with a brand-new hole between his eyes, finally abandoned by his luck.

“I ain’t,” Mal said flatly. He removed his finger from the trigger and held up the gun to indicate to the crowd that he wasn’t there to use it on anyone else. But he did give them a fierce scowl as he turned around to face them, daring anyone to do something stupid. Behind him, Zoë had drawn her shotgun, but it didn’t look like she would have to use it.

Mal’s eyes sought out Svetlana. “I done you a favor.”

“So it appears,” she nodded. “But this will be the last time you walk into my camp and out of it again.”

“Fair enough.”

Mal walked over to the fallen Miller and picked up the gun he’d fail to fire, beyond any doubt Jayne’s customized LeMat revolver. He turned the safety on and holstered it, along with his own. So did Svetlana and her crew.

There’d be no more bloodshed. Not today.

Twenty hours later...

Simon finished wiping down the counter and disposed of both the rag and his surgical gloves. Despite his efforts to the contrary, the plaster powder had managed to get absolutely everywhere. He didn’t have much experience with making casts, truth be told, and he’d relived a few unpleasant memories from Arts and Crafts class back in elementary school during the process, but with the Shepherd’s invaluable help, it was now neatly drying on Jayne’s leg and the infirmary looked somewhat presentable again.

Stifling a yawn and stretching his sore back, he stepped aside to allow Book access to the sink. “That was some fine work,” the preacher complimented him. “But of course, I expected nothing less from you.”

Fine work. And a lot of it. It had taken him a full afternoon, a whole night, and two rounds of surgery to patch Jayne back together. By now Simon was almost dead on his feet, and Book noticed.

“Why don’t you go get some shut-eye?” he suggested as he wiped his hands on a towel. “I’ll watch our boy.”

“You’ve been at it for as long as I have,” Simon pointed out.

“Yes, but you did all the cutting and suturing,” Book smiled. “I only did the praying and the holding of hands.”

“Don’t underestimate that part of the job. People who think surgeons are superheroes have never met a nurse.”

Book chuckled, but Simon knew what was to come and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Jayne would need a lot of nursing in the coming days and weeks, and thickheaded and stubborn as he was, he would resent it. He might tolerate Book more than others, though.

Simon stepped up to the monitor to check the numbers. He then had a closer look at the patient himself. Jayne was blissfully unaware of his predicament, Simon had kept him in a medically induced coma ever since their return to the ship, and there was no reaction at all to the prodding and probing. He checked the many cuts and wounds for early signs of infection, then the breathing tube, the chest tube, and the IV pump. Everything looked fine.

“Go,” Book insisted as he gently rearranged the blanket around Jayne’s prone form.

“If he takes a turn, develops a fever, anything...”

“I’ll come get you.”

“Alright. Just a couple of hours.”

“Take your time.” Book pulled up a stool to start his vigil.

Mal’s frame filled the doorway just as Simon removed his apron. The captain had been by regularly to check on the progress, lingering a little on the threshold, but this time, when he saw that they were finishing up, he came inside. He looked at Jayne, and then at Simon. “So, what’s the news?”

Simon dropped the apron into the little laundry basket under the counter and motioned for him to follow him out into the common area. “We can talk outside.”

The gesture obviously made the captain a little uneasy. “He gonna be okay?”

“He’ll recover,” Simon reassured him. “It’ll take some time, but, yeah, he’ll pull through. He’s strong.”

Of course, Jayne looked anything but strong at the moment; pale and bruised, intubated and unconscious, and Simon clearly saw the look of concern on Mal’s face as he eyed his mercenary through the open door. “I know,” he sympathized. “It’s hard to stay mad at him when he looks like that.”

“I’m not mad at him,” Mal contended. “We had a fight, is all.” He sighed a little. “In his own, twisted way he only tried to help us, I think.”

“Well, they clearly didn’t like that,” Simon said. “He’s been severely beaten, and that fall certainly didn’t help.”

“How bad is it?”

“A few hairline fractures in his skull, trauma to the cheekbone and eye socket. The optical nerve is unharmed, though, which is a blessing. And seeing as he recognized both Wash and yourself, I’m fairly positive there is no permanent damage to the brain, either. I’ve induced a coma to rest it. I’ll keep him in it for a few days.”

Mal nodded, signaling that he understood.

“He’s got five broken ribs,” Simon continued, “one of which punctured his lung. I have inserted a chest tube to deal with that. But on the upside, the spine’s intact. It could have been a lot worse.”

“And the leg?”

“Is actually what gave me the most trouble. Fractures to the femur, the tibia, and the fibula.” Seeing the frown on Mal’s face, he ditched the medical jargon. “Broken in three places. I was worried the circulation was compromised and I’d have to amputate it.”

“But you don’t?”

“No. He’ll have to stay completely off it for the next six to eight weeks, then some rehabilitation and physical therapy. Might be six months to a year before he’s got full use of it again, but he will.”

Of course, a state-of-the-art bone mender would have sliced the recovery time in half, at the very least. But that kind of luxury was only available for those with the standing and the funds for it. Jayne would have to make do with a titanium plate and screws in his thigh, plus the good old-fashioned plaster cast.

“Jayne off his feet for two months?” Mal remarked. “That’ll be fun.”

Simon didn’t even want to think about it.

“Lucky Wash found him when he did,” was all he said. “He would have bled to death if not.”

“From what I heard, it wasn’t Wash who found him,” Mal said and threw him a sideways glance.

Simon nodded, almost a little reluctantly. He’d have to have words with River, he just wasn’t sure what kind of words yet.

“She seemed mighty fixated on bringin’ him back,” Mal probed.

“He’s part of the crew,” Simon shrugged, throwing his captain’s words back at him.

It worked. He was quiet for a few moments, while Simon stifled another yawn.

“Well, anyways,” Mal eventually said, “I’m glad to hear your expensive new equipment came in handy.”

“It was a complicated surgery,” Simon pointed out.

Which was a huge understatement. The repair Simon had done to that leg, with the limited tools at hand, was bordering on miraculous. Maybe his finest work ever. But people seemed to tire whenever he spoke of such things, so he kept it to himself.

“I don’t mean to sound cynical,” Mal apologized. “And Jayne is owed some consideration.”

“Maybe even an apology?” Simon suggested.

“Maybe. We don’t want to encourage him too much, do we?”

Simon smiled at the joke. “You’ll have some time to think about it. Like I said, it’ll be a while before he’s conscious enough for a conversation.”

Mal nodded and changed the topic. “We’ll be on Persephone in a few days’ time,” he informed him. “To hand back that hover truck. Too bad, could really use one of those.”

Simon agreed. But the money was spent.

“From there we head to Boros,” Mal continued. “Good chance we’ll find some work there. But we’re low on fuel, so it’ll be a long journey.”

A long, uneventful journey wasn’t the worst thing Simon could think of. He was about to excuse himself to go take that desperately needed nap, when Kaylee came down the stairs and joined them. She peered inside the infirmary with worried eyes. “Is Jayne gonna be okay?”

“Sure thing,” Mal replied before Simon could, and slid an arm across her shoulders. “Doc fixed him up just fine.”

Simon felt his heart swell when Kaylee smiled and beamed at him with that unfiltered admiration he probably should feel a bit embarrassed about.

“He’ll be laid up for a while, though,” Mal added. “So you best prepare some entertainment for ‘im. Somethin’ with pictures.”

“Shì, Cap'n," she promised, but her face grew serious again when she looked back towards Jayne. “Can I go in?” she asked.

“Sure,” Simon replied, and she cautiously stepped into the infirmary, where Book greeted her with a reassuring smile as she approached the med couch.

“Good work, Doc,” Mal said, and thumped his back before he disappeared into the cargo bay.

Simon turned to head for his room, but stopped long enough to look inside the infirmary one more time, at Book and Kaylee huddled around his patient. Kaylee was stroking his hair, perhaps the only part of him that wasn’t injured.

With a tired smile, Simon went on his way. He could rest easy. Jayne was safe and cared for, in the gentle hands of his crew.

Well, their crew.