Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Explosions sound in the distance. Gunfire follows in rapid succession, lighting up the night sky. She peeks out from cover, only to have bullets penetrate the already weakened corner wall. She can feel the sweat trickling under her coat, sticking uncomfortably against her skin. She doesn't realize that she's holding her breath until she hears loud footsteps stomping towards their direction. They're erratic and making some serious headway. She silently counts to three and pops out to stare at the figure at the end of her barrel, trigger at the ready. She is slightly startled by a loud "Woohooo!" echoing through the makeshift-held position. She rolls her eyes as enemy fire trails after the lunatic.

He climbs in and sits beside her, pressing his back against the wall that is barely covering her.

"Could you not do that, Sarge?"

"You hafta find the shiny in everything. Only thing t' keep ya sane." He peeks from cover to release a pop, pop.

He grins at her with that crooked, farmboy smile. The type of smile that radiates sunshine in this otherwise darkened ‘verse. The one that envelopes you in its warmth and keeps you fighting when you ought to fall down. As he reloads his gun, she climbs into his lap and straddles him. He looks at her, bewildered. She leans in and presses her lips against his. As she pulls away, she’s already flushed. She maintains eye contact, unable to tear her eyes away from the blue. Without looking, she reaches to release him from his belt. His hands remain occupied: rifle in one hand, knife in the other. She can hear his breath hitch as she grasps him in her hand. He leans in to press his forehead against hers.

“We can’t,” he rasps. His head snaps to the sound of gunfire.

“Then, tell me to stop,” her thumb brushes against his bottom lip, slightly parting them. She bites her lip as she sees the moistened part of his mouth. She stares back at him, disregarding the chaos around them.

He doesn’t even know when she pulled down her pants, but all the irrelevant details fade away as she pushes down on him. She’s so gorram tight; he’s about to lose it. Not once does she break her stare. She grinds against him in slow thrusts, trying to deepen him further in her heat. She wraps her hands at the base of his neck, entwining her fingers in his hair. He grabs one hip, rifle still in the other. He snaps his hips to match her grinds; each thrust elicits a shudder from her. He’d be okay with dying right here. With her in his arms. His breathing becomes weighted, as he really takes her in. She’s covered in mud, gun residue, and whatever else, but he still sees a goddess. Her smile can stop a believin’ man in his tracks. He captures her mouth as she rides out her orgasm. They both hear crackling noises – footsteps crushing gravel under their shoes. Immediately, they snap their rifles and fire a shot. An enemy behind him falls, as does the one behind her.

“I got your back, sir.” She giggles.

“And I got yours, darlin’,” he murmurs as he kisses her forehead.

Mortar fire breaks them out of their reverie.

**********

He gasps as if he just re-surfaced from being held underwater. He clutches his chest while his brain tries to re-orient his surroundings. As he gathers his bearings, he goes to rub his eyes when he realizes that it’s wet. Mal straightens himself in the pilot seat and massages the sides of his temple with his index and middle fingers. It’s been so long since…I dreamt about her. Dreamin’ about dead folk is nothing new to him, it comes with the territory. But hers was something he pushed to the darkest depths of his mind, never to re-visit. He failed her, just as he failed everyone else at Serenity Valley.

Mal stares out at the black, soothed by the stirrings and whirring sounds of Serenity. Night time is a double-sided coin: on the one hand, he feels the calmest. Free and unrestrained. Yet on the other, he is left with his demons. Unlike Jayne, he has no vices. Unless bickering and keeping loved ones at arm’s length counts. He genuinely cares for his crew, but he can’t help dread that he’s leading them to eventual doom or worse, death. He was in charge of so many Independents, most of them were still kids and yet, he only managed to “save” a handful. He promised himself when he bought Serenity and began searching for a crew with Zoe, that he would do better. That he would do right by the men and women who died in Serenity Valley.

~
“Hey, Sarge.”

“Hngh,” he grunts with his mouth full of whatever MRE was on the menu that night.

“Promise me,” she stares up at the night sky, the billions of stars twinkling.

“Promise me that whatever happens at the end of this war, that you’ll never change. That you won’t become jaded. Even if any one of us dies, that you’ll never blame yourself. You’re making do with what you got, and we all know that.”

Mal remains silent as she prattles off. “Hm? You say somethin’?”

“Ta ma de, hundan!” She starts whacking him hard on his arm repeatedly until he starts feeling a stinging heat.

“Aiya! I was just kiddin’. I was listenin’. I WAS LISTENIN’.” She smiles in contentment.
~

Mal is drawn out of his daydream as he hears the soft creak of the co-pilot seat swiveling. River is watching him intently. He wonders if she saw what he just did. Annoyance begins to seep into his expression, but his face softens instead.

“Can’t sleep, little one?”

She shakes her head. “Dreams can be loud. No matter how much we don’t want them to be.”

“You’re tellin’ me, darlin’.” He runs his hand through his hair. He watches as River bites her nails, nervously. She seems to be debating on something. He knows she wants to ask. She’s just an inquisitive teenager.

“Whatever’s on your mind, you might as well ask. ‘Fore your fingers get bitten off.”

She watches him carefully before whispering, “Did you love her?”

He’s quiet for some time. River fidgets uneasily, wondering if she asked the wrong thing. Mal is lost in thought as memories of her flood his mind.

“Somethin’ like that, little one.” Even if I never got to say it back.

“I wish I coulda met her.”

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.”

Chapter Text

Serenity’s gone quiet again: the pitter patter of small feet in big combat boots have gone to their slumber. Everyone is comforted by their beloved: Zoë has Wash; Kaylee has Simon; Book has his prayer book; Jayne has Vera; and River has Serenity. The ship’s humming begins to lull him to sleep, but instead of heading to his bunk, he finds himself knocking on Inara’s shuttle door.

“Mal,” Inara is surprised, but comforted by his presence. “Ever the gentleman, that you’re actually knocking.”

“Are you busy?”

Mal enters her shuttle without formally being invited in. He’s panning her room, pretending to ignore the fact that she’s dressed for bed which hardly counts as much. Inara senses that he has something on his mind, but doesn’t want to talk about it. That is, not exactly. He’ll talk about the most mundane things that may or may not have to do with what he wants to talk about, but probably won’t. She sits on her couch and pours them both a cup of tea. They both sip their tea in silence.

He is just so mysterious, she thinks to herself. She wishes that Mal would just stop for once. Stop carrying his guilt. Stop bottling it up and pretending things are okay. Stop carrying everyone and everything in this universe as his duty. She prays with all her might that maybe one day he’d come into her shuttle and just let go.

It breaks her heart to see him carry himself the way that he does – a man that is broken beyond repair. A man that has been beat down and left hopeless. A man that is trying desperately to resist the darkness, yet is tempted to fade into that very darkness. A man that seeks death because he’s tired of surviving in a ‘verse that could give less of a damn.

“‘Nara?”

She doesn’t hear him the first time. By the third time he’s called her name, she hasn’t realized that he’s knelt in front of her. Using his index finger to lift her chin up to look at him, he caresses her bottom lip with his thumb. She loses her train of thought as she gazes into his concerned, ocean-blue eyes.

They remain frozen in place like stone statues cursed by Medusa. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t lean in either. He’s silently asking for permission, wanting her take the lead. Inara knows that he believes that he doesn’t deserve a beautiful, fragile thing like love.

Whereas she’s never acted on her desires. As a Companion, she’s been trained in the art of reading people. She knows exactly what their desires are before they’ve even thought about it. She originally believed that she knew every type of man and woman until she met Mal. The man can be downright irritating and painstakingly stubborn at times, but he is a good man. Too good of a man for this ‘verse. A criminal with a strong moral compass.

After what seems like an eternity, he starts to pull away. As he pulls away, her mind flashes memories of all the times she gave up her chances to be with him. She is reminded of Nandi, God rest her soul. She was deeply hurt that they had made love, but it was her fault for always pushing him away. Well, she definitely wasn’t going to do that now.

For once in her life, she follows through on her own desire. She grabs his arm and pulls him down to her, crushing her lips to his. He returns her fiery kiss by hoisting her up as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He carries her towards the bed. As he lies her down, his hand caresses her face and begins to wander along the curves of her body. He trails kisses from her mouth to her breasts, her breathing hitches as he wraps her nipple with the warmth of his tongue. He smirks at how responsive she is. She can feel him smiling against her breast. He continues along her ribcage, down to her hips until he ends up at her pulsating heat.

She’s grabbing the headboard, trying to mentally prepare herself. However, nothing could prepare her for the impending rapture. He circles her clit with his tongue, then encloses his mouth on her pussy, suckling like a baby on a mother’s breast. He inserts a finger and rhythmically fingers her in tandem with fucking her with his mouth.

She tastes so sweet, he thinks to himself. He’s getting lost in her wetness. Her hands are clenching his head so tightly, begging him to thrust his tongue deeper into her. He complies and is rewarded with a loud moan. He pulls away to take off his boots and remove his pants. She patiently waits for him, touching herself in the meantime. What a tease.

He positions himself at her opening and slowly pushes into her. He groans as her pussy tightens around him. He leans in to kiss her and draws back to watch her as each thrust elicits a moan. Her fingernails digging into his hips remind him that she’s getting impatient and wants, no, needs to climax now. He slams into her, to his hilt. He feels her warmth wrap around his cock; for once in his life, he’s not afraid of losing control.

********

Splintering pain sears into his head as he tries to gather his bearings. He spreads his arms and feet like a snow angel, relieved that he’s able to move. He’s lying in something wet. Oh right, he thinks to himself. ‘Nara and I made love. He smiles at the thought and turns to look at the woman beside him. Her head is resting on his shoulder with her face nestled into his side. She shivers at his side, cuddling closer to him to steal his body heat. Mal reaches around to find a blanket, but he finds himself grasping dewy blades of grass in his hand instead.

“What the hell?” he says to himself.

“‘Nara, where are we?”

His body is instantly warmed by the rays of the sun. His face scrunches up as he’s blinded by its light. He shies away from the sun to see that she has her back to him, arms stretched toward the sky. She’s wearing a floral sundress with cowboy boots. Her sun-kissed, wavy hair is more profound because she likes undoing her French braid after a long day.

He’s captivated by what’s behind her: hills and hills of luscious green and a sky so blue that you could lose yourself just as easily as one would in the black of space. There is a fresh scent of laundry hanging out to dry mixed with a twang of manure. His head whips around so quickly that it could’ve done a 360; he swears he heard some cows mooing in the distance.

Something thunks him in the head.

“Ta ma de!” he shouts.

“One, that’s not very nice to say, Mal. That voice. Two, we’re home, silly! Where else would we be?”

His mouth is agape as he looks at the figure kneeling before him. Her green eyes stare at him intently and lays her hand against his forehead.

“Are you sure yer not runnin’ a fever, Mal? Or are ya ‘ready gettin’ senile that ya dunno where yer are?”

Chapter Text

“Ya okay there?” She stares at him, curiously.

This has got to be a dream. Mal shuts his eyes tight and after a minute or so, he takes a peek. She’s still standing there, hands on her hips. He turns away from her, pinching and slapping himself to wake him from whatever this is. Her facial expression is a cross between annoyance and worry. His head throbs uncomfortably. He hasn’t decided if it’s a dream because he’s reliving this particular memory or if it’s a nightmare because it’s reminding him of a dead memory. As he’s arguing with himself, she crosses her arms, expression unreadable.

He loses his train of thought when he feels soft arms wrap around his waist, hands sprawled across his stomach. He stiffens at her touch, not knowing what to do with his arms, so he lets them hang at his side awkwardly. She doesn’t seem to care either way. She nestles her face against the curve of his spine. He can feel her take a deep breath, smelling him.

He clenches his jaw and his fists at the sound of her voice, her touch, the image of Shadow in the background. Why in the gorram hell does the ‘verse always throw everything and everyone I’ve lost back in my face?

“Hush your mind, dummy,” she murmurs against his back. She peers up at him from under the crook of his arm. “Missed you.”

She releases her hold and turns her gaze away from him. He immediately regrets not returning her gesture. Even if this is a dream, she still deserves to be loved. Deserves all the things he wishes he showed her when he had the chance. He reaches out, at first, but retracts his hand instead. Best not. Can’t survive in a world that don’t exist no more.

“Yer wonderin’ if this is real or not, huh?” Her voice breaks the silence and turns to look at him.

He doesn’t trust his voice not to crack, so he just nods. She walks towards him and holds his calloused hands in hers. She rubs her thumbs against the roughness. Her touch is electrifying and tantalizing that he finds himself returning the small gesture. She raises her head up and he could feel her green eyes gaze into his soul. A soft breeze wisps her chocolate brown hair; she smells of peaches.

“Depends on you, love,” she whispers.

Their faces are inches away from each other. He can’t tear his gaze away from her. Those eyes, the ones that never judge, beckon him closer. He cups her face with one hand, gently guiding her chin to reach his mouth. Before their mouths can connect, he gets winded suddenly and falls to his knees. The mild throbbing from earlier has become much worse. Still standing, she runs her hands through his hair. The gentle massage alleviates the pain momentarily. At this point, the throbbing has become unbearable, but he refuses to shut his eyes. He’s frantically scanning her face, her body, her scent, their surroundings. I don’t wanna forget, he says to himself. That isn’t the truth. The truth is…

He buries his face in her stomach and tightens his embrace. She cradles his head in her arms and plants a soft kiss on the top of his head, His hopes to steal another look is ostensibly crushed; his arms feel empty. He realizes that he’s hugging himself because she’s no longer in his arms. She fell right through him.

She’s almost like a damaged holograph, glitching in and out of existence. She reaches out towards him and they’re both shocked that he can pull her into his arms. Neither of them is saying anything for fear of jinxing the moment. He lifts her chin up at him so that their eyes can meet. For a brief moment, time seems to stand still.

They don’t break their gaze away from each other. He’s still watching her as his eyes flicker from her face to her lips and back to the former. He leans in close and is instantly hard when he feels a hot and heady breath of air escape from her, and it bristles against his face. They are both breathing heavily, eyes and hearts darkened by desire and lust. Their mouths are literally centimeters away; both of them hot with desire, anticipating with need.

Her mouth slightly parts; however, an ominous, blinding light descends on them.

“Gotta wake up,” she whispers sadly.

He intends to steal a kiss, but she’s already fading away. Her body dissipates like paper turning into ashes shortly after being lit on fire. A deep, guttural scream cuts through him as an invisible, white fire obliterates everything around him.

Mal begins to shake violently, his arms and legs flailing. He looks like he’s having a seizure. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s shaking his head as if he’s fighting an inner demon. Mal balls his fists so tightly that his knuckles turn bone white.

“Simon,” Inara yells at the doctor, “do something!”

Simon unsuccessfully tries to hold the captain down and gets thrown into a medicine cabinet instead. His flailing knocks over a tray of medical instruments and supplies. Jayne’s holding him down the best he can so that Simon can inject the sedative properly. He’s still squirming underneath Jayne’s arms until finally, his body lulls into a sleep state.

“What did you say happened down there?” Simon inquires Jayne and Zoë.

“Mal gotta butt in the face,” Jayne says matter-of-factly.

Reading confusion in Simon’s face, Zoë speaks up. “Job went sideways. All’s I saw was that the Cap’n got the butt of a rifle slammed into his head.”

Simon runs a hand through his hair. A concussion doesn’t typically cause this type of reaction, he thinks to himself. The captain must be suffering something emotionally and mentally to elicit this violent reaction. He doesn’t dare say this aloud as the man, as everyone one on this ship, obviously has unresolved issues. He can feel River’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head the moment he says that. He opts to put on a neutral facial expression, his “doctor face” as Jayne calls it.

“We’ll just keep him in the medbay for further observation. The sedative should wear off in a few hours, so we’ll see how he fares then.”

Inara sits beside Mal, her face is wracked with fear and worry. She intertwines her fingers with his and clasps her other hand on top. She kisses his hand, slowly draws her lips away, leaving him with a lipstick imprint. Everyone in the room filters out awkwardly, except Jayne, who just lets out a raspberry “pffft” noise on his way out.

A few hours had passed, but Mal is still unconscious. Inara didn’t realize that she had fallen asleep, waiting for him to wake up. She hears a faint beeping from the intercom.

“Erm, sorry to interrupt, Inara,” Wash’s voice crackles through the old intercom speaker.

“It’s okay, Wash, what is it that you need?”

“There’s a wave for you. They’ve been trying to reach you at your shuttle and they’re itchin’ real bad to talk to you.”

“Can you patch it here?”

“Sure thing.”

Inara doesn’t want to leave his side, but she’s a woman of her word. A Companion without complications. She chides herself for forgetting her appointment with the Counselor, but she almost wishes she had a backbone too. She kisses Mal and he slightly stirs in his sleep.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she whispers into his ear.

As she leaves the medbay, she bumps into River in the hallway. River is peering from a distance, still wary of this part of the ship. Poor girl, Inara says to herself. She hugs River goodbye and asks if she can keep an eye on Mal while she’s gone. The girl nods at her, expressionless.

River tiptoes in the hallway, not making any significant strides towards the medbay. She watches the Captain’s chest rise and fall. Her face softens as she watches him stir in his sleep. She wonders what he dreams about. Before she can understand it, she has her hand on his forehead. The room warps into a suffocating black with no exit in sight. River starts to run, trying to find something, anything in this perpetual darkness.

She slams into something concrete. No, not concrete. She looks up and sees Mal standing over something. His face is expressionless, but she can hear his emotions. She looks over at the lump of mass on the ground. Is that a rock, or maybe turtles hiding in their shells? She kneels down near one, trying to coax the turtle out of its shell. A head falls out, but it’s not a turtle.

She gasps and falls backwards. Ribcages. There were so many of them lying around. Suddenly, bloody hands grab ahold of both of them. A face covered in blood appears in River’s line of vision. She cries out in fear and screams, “Reavers!”

But they weren’t. They weren’t reavers. There are hundreds of them – they groan and moan, grabbing at Mal.

“You ain’t supposed to be here, little one,” Mal mutters quietly.

“Sarge…sarge…sarge…” they keep repeating as they climb all over Mal, dragging him down.

“Why are we dead? Why aren’t you? You promised…to keep us alive,” their voices echo in the darkness. Nowhere to go, but here in this very spot.

“YOU LIED,” they growled, “we’re dead because of YOU. All because of you!”

Out of nowhere, it’s becoming hard to breathe. No. River feels like she’s being strangled. She’s struggling to breathe as the darkness takes a liquid form and collapses on her with its torrential waves. His guilt is so strong, so loud, she says to herself. She’s trying to keep her head above water, but it keeps dragging her down.

“Nothing you do will redeem you,” they sneer, “you’ll die alone, just like she did.”

She looks over at Mal, trying to reach for him. He’s resigned to himself, prepared for death. She’s attempting to swim through the black for him. The black water becomes gelatinous, coagulating like blood. Something wraps around her small frame. Immediately, she becomes claustrophobic and she tries to claw away. The darkness drags her under and she cries out.

She’s still screaming and frantically flails against the claustrophobic hold. Jayne sees the feng le girl, and instead of helping her, he walks in the other direction. Completely ignoring the fact he seen anything. She only relaxes when she hears a “shh, shh, I got you, River,” whisper against her hair. The hold that she was clawing and fighting against was the captain. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. He wipes away the tears and holds her close.

“You ain’t s’pose to see that, darlin’,” he sighs.

Chapter Text

It has been two weeks since his unconscious meltdown, and Mal is starting to itch from the lack of doing anything. Since the episode, he was put on doctor-appointed bed rest which he, to put it lightly, disagreed with. Even his usual, "I'll kill-you-if-you-get-in-my-way" stink eye had no effect on the good doctor. Probably because it was backed up by Zoë's "nuh-uh" facial expression.

He hated not being able to be on his feet, to do something, anything. He especially despised the fact that his crew did runs without him. Not only because he likes being at the forefront of the action, but he has a responsibility to his crew. To keep Serenity flying and his crew safe. River has yet to speak to him since the incident; she just nods at him and offers small smiles on occasion. He regrets that she had to witness one of his many demons; the poor girl already has her own nightmares that she doesn't need to tack on his.

At least he had Inara to keep him distracted from himself during the forced downtime. It is so strange not to be bickering with Inara as of late. Mal's not sure if it's because of his current condition or now that they're together together. Are we officially a couple?, he thinks to himself. They haven't gotten to talk about it since she's busy with her Companion duties and him getting his brain knocked around. Well, whatever they are, he knows that he doesn't want it to end.

He feels a soft hand tussle through his hair and a tickle at the back of his hand. He groggily opens his eyes to Inara placing a kiss. He smiles at her and tightens his grip on their interlocked hands. Inara is perched on the edge of the med-bed, and she starts to lean in closer. As she's leaning in, she stares at him and slowly licks her lips. She bats her long eyelashes, her dark brown eyes beckons him closer.

Her sultry look elicits a groan from him; it is a lot louder than he meant to, a knowing smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He lifts her chin up to him so that he can capture her mouth. Inara climbs onto the narrow med-bed, Mal tosses the blanket away from them. They are basically dry-humping, desperate to increase the friction. They are interrupted by a cough followed by an "ahem." They were so lost in each other that they didn't realize that Simon is standing in the doorway of the medbay.

Mal throws him a death stare. "Don't you know how to knock?"

"I did knock, Mal. Multiple times, in fact." Inara starts to untangle herself from Mal as they both notice River watching them curiously from the doorway.

"Are ya here to poke and prod me some more, doc? This bed rest is gettin' me a mite antsy."

The latex gloves make a suction pop sound as Simon puts them on. He conducts a general exam to assess the captain's cognitive functions, fine and gross motor skills.

"Looks like your lucky day, Captain."

A voice crackles on the Serenity's PA speaker.

"Hey Simon, is the Cap'n off bed rest yet?" Wash asks.

"I'm right here, Wash. What's goin' on?"

"I've got a wave for you. It's from Monty."

"Send it through."

Mal is in his bunk preparing to meet Monty once they touch down on Persephone. Monty had called for an assist on a job, which he rarely does. Jobs are notoriously competitive nowadays and everyone has needs to tend to. The rarity lies in the fact that Monty wouldn't be calling if it was something he could handle. He wouldn't say more until they landed.

He has a bad feeling about this job, but it's been awhile since he's been out and about, so he's willing to take anything to get off ship. He hears a knock, Inara walks in. She sits on his bed as he returns to preparing his gear. After a long silence, she speaks up.

"Mal, I don't think it's a good idea."

He says nothing, so she continues.

"You just got off of bed rest. We don't even have a clue what caused you to have that reaction, and..."

She doesn't get to finish her sentence when his mouth crushes hers. She tries to protest, but is ultimately subdued.

"Look, 'Nara. I'm not tryin' to shut you up or nothin', not like it'd work," she smirks. "I have a bad feeling about this job too, but we are runnin' out of fuel, and our food and supplies are at an all-time low. We got nothin' else to get by on."

"We can go to any planet, and I can use my Companion connections..." she counters.

He scoffs at the idea. "I don't need any help," she curls her lip in annoyance, "and tarnish your good name? I don't think so. The time that we use your connections will be a last resort thing. Sideway jobs linger on a person's reputation for a long time."

Inara sighs in exasperation.

They land topside on Persephone and it's bustling as always. Mal usually prefers the quiet, but as of recently, the industrial noise and smell is a welcome sight. It's a mite crowded and rowdier than he remembers, but it's better than the cookie-cutter everyday life on most Allied Planets. Good thing that there's only one bar on the entire planet because the way the crowd is moving, it's threatening to separate the crew in different directions.

Mal grabs onto River's hand 'fore she gets lost in the crowd. Jayne, the shepherd, and Zoë know their way to the bar. Mal accidentally shoulders someone roughly in the crowd. Deep grey eyes gaze upon him and for some reason, he can't tear his eyes away. The figure says, "pardon me," and continues on their way.

That was weird. He shakes his head and makes way to Monty.

Chapter Text

Mal curses at himself as his and Monty's crew are trapped in this maze-like building. They have been running around in circles, trying to find the exit. Wasting their oxygen levels from the initial panic, the gaseous smoke threatens to suffocate them. There are no discernible corridors or doors. Haven't we gone down this route...? He snaps out of his train of thought by a guttural scream.

"Two by two, hands of blue. Two by two, hands of blue!"

*Three hours earlier*

Monty jumps off of his stool and grabs the five of them in a bear hug. River giggles, while the rest of them are squished, uncomfortably. Something hard presses against Mal's thigh, which he prays that it is Jayne's gun. Only time he will ever pray. River lets out a snicker and looks away from the captain, as he shakes his head. It seems like forever before Monty decides to set them down. Monty signals to the barkeep.

"A round for all of my friends, won't ya?"

Mal eyes Monty and his two henchman guzzle their beers 'fore Monty begins talking.

"I called ya here for this job 'cause I have a mite suspicion it might be a trap."

Mal scoffs at Monty. "Monty, we didn't come out this way for a trap."

Monty puts up his hands, defensively. "Look, the job is too good to be true. On the perchance that it isn't a trap, we will be set for a good while. If it is, then I'll be glad for the back up."

Tactically, it isn't a good idea. It's a terrible idea. River is still on the lam from the Alliance, the shepherd has less than genuine ties to them, and it's not like him, Jayne, and Zoë are on their good side either. But he can't find himself to refuse Monty. Probably because he's a brother and any opportunity they lay their hands on to embarrass or steal from the Alliance is always a fine idea, to him.

They are stocking up on ammo and gear while perusing the newest weapons. Most of them are cosmetic and flashy, and that can get you bitin' a bullet faster than you can say your final words. Him and Monty are maintaining light conversation, talking about mundane things and catching up. Until he notices after a time, Monty has stopped talking. Monty is watching something unfold; Mal follows his gaze. River is browsing, touching and tracing every outline, indifferent to the selection. She walks ever so gracefully even in clunky, combat boots. Mal is 'minded that she used to be an avid dancer prior to being enrolled in the Academy. She's like a glass figurine: fragile, but jagged and weaponized once broken.

I'm sorry, River girl, he thinks to himself. She lets out an annoyed sigh and rolls her eyes, disdainfully. He knows that it is directed at him, but him and Monty continue watching the situation unfold. Becoming increasingly bored, she decides to prank Jayne. She hides in slight corners in the store and taps on each shoulder, causing the man to whip around to its touch. Unfortunately, for the big oaf, his broad shoulders and stocky body doesn't allow him to spin around quickly enough to see who is annoying him. This leads to many "you break, you buy" situations, ensuing scuffles and sharing impolite words with strangers.

Monty lets out a laugh that seems to have emit from the base of the sasquatch's belly. He nudges Mal.

"Doesn't she remind you of someone?"

Chocolate brown hair. Green eyes. Sweet smile. Soft giggles. Memories start to flood his mind.

Don't leave me, okay?

Monty coughs uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Mal. Helluva time to bring that go se up, huh?"

Mal interrupts him, "No, it's alright, Monty. It's good...to talk and celebrate her life."

He's not sure why, but he gives Monty a general, non-detailed rundown that he's been dreaming about her lately. He normally is good about keeping those memories locked up tight and well-buried in the black of his thoughts. Monty reminds him that they're nearing her death anniversary. Has it really been seven years? For a long time, he was hopeful that she would still be alive. The Alliance never logged a body, but they changed her MIA to possible KIA as Shadow was obliterated in retaliation for the Unification War.

Mal? He must be hearing things. A hand cradles his face, he cradles the hand in turn. He doesn't recall when he shut his eyes, but when he opens them, he sees big brown, hazel eyes look up at him worriedly.

He squeezes River's hand reassuringly before he drops their hands when he notices the rest of the crew approaching. "Let's move out."

The stores are exactly where Monty's contact said they would be. It was an Alliance storage building no bigger than the average safe house with very light guard duty of just five men. Two at the front door, two at the back and one that did their rounds and inspection of goods inside. The inside layout reminds him of the barracks before they were shipped out to Serenity Valley. There are about twenty or so bins filled to the brim with everything under the sun: Alliance uniforms and protective gear, medical supplies, meat and vegetables, gallons of water, and the list goes on. Jayne and Monty's henchman would find the bin of fine liquor. Zoë is watching their six while everyone else packs as much as they can.

Monty's boys are actin' a mite too nonchalant for this run. The guards were to be expected, but something about this is givin' Mal a real itch. They are about to exit from the rear when he hears a click under someone's foot. Unsure of who triggered what, Mal hasn't got a gorram clue how to move forward. It doesn't matter as the floors drops beneath them.

As Mal hits the floor with a thud, the ceiling closes up seamlessly. Before it closed completely, Mal was able to catch that there is a height of about 10 feet between the walls around him and the ceiling. Meaning that the walls are too high to scale to cut corners to regroup, but he can call out to them to guesstimate their location. It's pitch black where he is, so he uses sense of touch to gather the rest of his bearings. No one is in his vicinity, so he calls out to his crew. He can hear muffled ramblings from behind the wall to his left.

"River? River, are you alright?" Mal is feeling dizzy suddenly, he smells something odd but cannot place it. He sees a dim slit of light on the floor in one corner of the room, and figures that it is a door. He fumbles the knob and stumbles out into a dimly lit hallway. This place is like a gorram maze! He does roll call with his crew and Monty to find their locations. There is a thick smoke that is slowly filling the hallways. He continues to fight against the lightheadedness that threatens to overtake him. Speaker phones crackle and an ugly laugh similar to nails on a chalkboard echoes in the halls. He hears a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream.

"River, River. Come out. Come out. Wherever you are." Two voices, one a higher octave than the other, call out to River with this creepy song.

He hears River crying out, "Two by two, hands of blue," over and over again. There is fear etched in her voice.

"That's right, River dear. We're coming. For you. Time to come home." Mal can hear the sneering through the speaker phone.

He's running to find River, just anyone really because they have to regroup, protect River, and get the hell out of here unscathed. His vision is getting hazy and his surroundings are coming in frames. He's struggling to shake it off, but whatever this smoke is, it's doing a real number on him.

MAL! His head whips around to the sound of the voice. A figure beckons him and gestures him to run towards her. I'm dreamin' again. Helluva time to be distracted, idiot. His movement is sluggish and refuses to cooperate. Two hands clasp onto his shoulders and he gazes up into deep, green eyes. If this is real, then I must be dead. Just as quickly as she came, she's gone. Somehow, he manages to gather the strength to stand up. He can't afford to run around and waste his already depleted oxygen levels.

Mal. His eyes are drawn to her voice. I'm doin' the hidin', and yer doin' the seekin', remember? He's seeing things, no, this is an old memory.

~

"And what do I get exactly once I've found ya?" Mal calls out to her as he follows her through the dense forest.

"Well, yer just gonna have to find out, dummy!" Her laughter echoes along the gusts of wind.

~

Part of him is telling him not to follow the apparition, considering his state of mind as of late. But the other is curious, the temptation gnawing at him. The figure flags him down and beckons him towards them. He follows the apparition and slams into Zoë.

"Gorrammit, sir. Where the hell are we?"

"I'm not sure. I was following..." Mal doesn't complete his sentence. How is he going to mention that he's been following a dead lover? "I just kept goin' with my gut, and I'm actually happy to see your face."

Zoë snorts. "Alright, sir, where to now?"

Psssst. Mal. She calls him again, leading him into another direction where he comes upon the Shepherd. They keep this charade up until they've rounded up everyone, but River. Everyone is in a tight formation, clearing every corridor and doorway they come upon. If the doctors that messed River up some are here, there's bound to be Alliance soldiers coming their way. The apparition leads them to a final door and disappears. They hear River whimpering and multiple voices in the room.

"Sir, it is imperative that we leave from here. We do not know exactly how well-armed and trained these intruders are."

"I am not here for them. For my prize stands before me."

"Please, don't..." River wails.

It's not the best plan, but Mal throws a flashbang into the room and hopes that River will get the memo. Luckily, there is some cover as they bumrush the men in the room. The doctors are shuffled out to safety by a handful of guards. River manages to get a hold of a gun that was knocked out of a soldier's hand in the confusion and displays the deadly accuracy that Kaylee witnessed a year before. All the soldiers lay dead in the room, Mal reaches for River to assess her injuries and state of mind. She just nods that she's alright, but says nothing. They waste no time pilfering from the dead. Just as they are about to follow out the same way the doctors went in hopes of finding the exit, River is held hostage by an Alliance soldier.

"Don't move or I'll blow her brains out." His weapon is gingerly held against the side of River's head.

"Whoa, easy." Mal tries to reason with the soldier. He can see in his peripheral that Monty is trying to ambush him from behind.

"You should tell the big guy to sit his ass down." He cocks his weapon.

"Just let her go and we'll surrender."

River's face is a sobbing mess: she's got buckets of tears streaming down her face and snot backing up her nose. She suddenly stops hyperventilating and calms down. It's eerie how quickly she does just that. It almost appears that she's going to flip onto his back or do some kind of off-handed move to surprise her enemy. But she doesn't do anything.

"It's okay, Jaxon," the soldier stiffens, but says nothing. River slowly turns her head to look up at the man holding her hostage. He looks at her with confusion as she cups his face.

Good thinkin', River. We got you, Mal thinks to himself. He hears River yelling a loud "NO!" ring inside his head.

She maintains eye contact with the soldier. "Let them go." He mutters something to himself and lowers his weapon. He gently pushes River towards Mal and the crew. "Go."

They don't move, suspicious that it's a trap. The soldier pulls out a cigarette, lights it up, and takes a drag.

"Best get moving, 'fore they bring in the reinforcements." He blows a puff of smoke.

Mal looks at the man, curiously and suspiciously. "Why are you letting us go?"

"Just a feeling," he looks at River, longingly, "plus, she reminds me of someone."

Chapter Text

She rushes to the bathroom just as her dinner comes up. Picking her head from the porcelain throne, she drowsily wipes the vomit off her chin with her forearm and notices the blood. She sighs, I went too far again. She fumbles for the chain and yanks it a couple of times; a light flickers in and out before settling for a dim setting. She stares at herself in the mirror, the reflection is unsettling. A few sweat drops trickle from her forehead, she looks white as a ghost. She hasn't gotten used to her hair being blonde and her eyes are still red from the grey contact lenses. Her head is pounding like the sound of someone rapping on the door, so she lays down on the floor, hoping to get some cold relief.

After what seems like an eternity, she tries to prop herself up to no avail. Her senses feel dull, leaving her dazed and confused. Ya know, like standing too close to a grenade and it sends you flying? Her head feels like some kid shaking a fucking snow globe. Her eyelids start to droop as if she's about to fall asleep, her vision threatening to fade to black. No, no, no...not another trip down memory lane...

"Operative, are you prepared for your mission?"

"Yes, Mentor."

~

Blood. So much blood. It's thick and turning into dark, sticky pools from where they're dripping. Bodies, faces of the dead looking back at her. Questioning her. Men, women, children. No, no children. She couldn't do it, so Mentor had to. She's in for it for that one. Ta ma de.

Why...us...?

No reason. Just names in a file. Mission to be executed.

This was her new norm, she had no choice. No escape. But did she? In the end, she's just a coward and a killer.

She sits cross-legged with the bodies surrounding her. She pulls out a smoke, but silently curses for forgetting a lighter. Something falls into her lap: a matchbook. She looks up at her mentor. "Burn the bodies and all the structures. Meet me at the rendezvous point when you're done." She stares at the canister of gasoline and the matchbook for a long time, just thinking. She pours the gasoline all over the bodies and the surroundingsIsn't killing them enough? Apparently not. As she strikes the match head against the igniting stripe, she takes a look at the bodies. She lights her cigarette first, and she takes a couple of drags. Their faces are twisted, their last moments were spent in pain. Poor fools. Her eyes jump to each face; she counts 75 of them. Just a small village. Wiped out. Zip, nada, back to Go. Ready to be sold as the "newest colony with high potential." A face jumps out at her. Calleigh? She jumps to another: Mama?! Papa?! The villagers suddenly morphed into people that she has since shoved to the back of her mind. People she hasn't thought about for a long time. No, can't think about them. GET OUT, GET OUT. In her panic, she drops her cigarette and just barely jumps out of the way of the fireworks. Now, she was alone. The bodies make a high-pitched deflated noise as the fire engulfed them whole. She doesn't know where Matty, Maxine, and Wyatt are, but she hopes that they're dead. For their sake's and hers.

As she makes her way towards the rendezvous point, she passes another Operative. He's laughing about something his friend is saying to him. She wonders what they're talking about. He has a goofy grin..., someone pops into her mind and she quickly shoves it away.

"Do you know why you are here, Operative?"

She doesn't answer. That reward is a punch to the gut that knocks the wind out of her. She'd fall to the ground and nurse her pain, but alas, she's suspended on a chain.

"Answer the question."

"Um...I forgot to say good morning?" Crack. Sounds like a broken rib. A consecutive blow has her spitting up blood. She grunts. She lost count after fifteen. She remains hanging just a tad off the ground, swaying back and forth with her big toe barely skimming the floor.

"We'll just have to bring out your favorite treatment to make you all better." That statement alone has her body tensing up. She's trying to temper down the adrenaline that the fear is eliciting. They put the sponge with connection wires on her chest and crank up the electricity. She refuses to cry out. They do it a couple more times to the point that black spots are forming in her vision. At one point, she blacks out only to be brought back with a jolt.

"Ah, ah, ah. We're not done with you."

She feels cold and tries to pull a blanket over her, but she can't find any within her reach. Confused, she groggily cracks open her eyes. A bright overhead light is beaming and she realizes that she's laying on a stretcher. She immediately starts kicking and screaming when she feels a two pairs of hands holding her down. I'm not fucking letting them take me away again. She kicks the one set into a cabinet and grabs the other one into a choke hold. She grabs something sharp in the tray next to the stretcher, alternating between holding it against her hostage's neck and pointing it at her other captors. More people start rushing into the room they're in. When in God's Green Earth did they manage to capture her?. The adrenaline pulsing through her is utterly exciting and terrifying at the same time. It's like she's a crazed feral, going back to her caveman roots. Think, girl, think! What's the last thing you remember? Her head starts to ache again trying to remember; this is her first and last mistake -- she let her guard down. Three pairs of hands join the fight: one wrestles her hostage to safety; one restrains both her arms behind her; and the other injects something into her neck.

"No...I won't let you take me! I won't go back! Just kill me! End it all, gorramit" She screamed as the injection numbed her senses and everything around her starts to fade away.

She wakes up to fresh morning dew from last night's storm. Home. She loved squishing her toes in the grass and having the soft, wet blades bristle between the webs of her feet. No Allied or Rim planet could recreate the beautiful landscape of Shadow. Even if it could, it wouldn't be home. She shivered as a slight breeze blows past her, but the warmth from the sun reminded her of Mama's hugs. Suddenly, she's grasping her throat and her eyes are burning. Struggling to breathe, she clutches at her chest. The cottonmouth feeling is overwhelming. The sky starts to darken and the greenery begins to burn. She runs along a hidden path that she remembers a little fresh water crook is located. She passes by a partially burned mailbox: Avery Homestead. No tears fall because they're immediately dried due to the blistering heat from the flames. She passes another mailbox across the way: Reynolds Farm. She tries to rip the sign away from the fire before it is engulfed. She can feel her skin melting and peeling from the flames and recoiling on hands. The pain becomes unbearable and she drops the sign, it's already turning into ashes and blowing away. The only part she could salvage was the heart carved into the wood.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. You shall return. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. You shall return. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. You shall return.

It didn't matter what we did. Good or bad, we're all the same. We all end up the same.

She recalled the wave they made her watch to break her. These ruttin' assholes recorded themselves killing everyone on Shadow. They actually sent their boots on the ground to ensure that any resistance was wiped out. To add insult to injury, they blow up our gorram planet. In retaliation for the Battle of Serenity Valley. We lost...our brothers and sisters in arms, and we lost out home. Effectively making us wanderers, nomads with nothing to lose. In one of the waves, she saw a glimpse of Papa trying to get himself, Mama, and Mama Reynolds to safety. They were cornered, up against a firing squad. She tried to turn away and shut her eyes, but they forced her to watch them execute her parents. And his mother. We lost Serenity Valley, we lost Shadow, we lost the war; we lost ourselves, then and now.

Chapter Text

“We can’t keep lettin’ her do this.”
“And who’s gonna stop ‘er? When’s she ever listened to any of us?”

The voices fade in and out, getting farther away and harder to hear. It feels like she’s in a dream-like state. She tries to talk, but she’s met with crackling at her lips and inside her mouth. Gorrammit, cotton mouth. Each breath scrapes at her throat as she struggles to swallow. Feels like I’m eating wood chips. Her eye blinks out of sync at the attempt. Noticing a cup on a medical tray beside her, she’s willing her arm to reach for it. Nothing but her index and middle fingers twitch. Frustrated, she coughs forcefully to try to propel spit to wet her mouth. Must be comin’ off a sed.

With one hand, she holds on to the bed while mustering up energy to reach for the cup again with the other. Her fingers just barely skim the rim of the cup. Just a mite off… A pulsing ache ripples against her head. Pins and needles tingle throughout her body. Lightheaded, she exerts the rest of her energy. Ta ma de! Almost—, she manages to reach the cup. Only to underestimated how much bed space she had left –falls right off the bed and the cup splashes all over her.

She’s waving her hands in front of her face, trying to wipe away the water. But she hears splashing all around her. She struggles to open her eyes, but they burn as if she’s trying to open her eyes underwater. She forces them open, waving the bubbles away from her face. She’s submerged underwater and there are hands on her throat, pushing her down.

Mal shoots straight up in bed like someone sleepwalking. He rests his head in his hands. Heat’s gonna get us ‘fore the Alliance. His hair is matted against his face with sweat.

“Sergeant Reynolds? Private Tracey Smith, sir.” A voice calls from outside his tent.
“What can I do fer ya, Private?”
“Captain wants a word, sir.”

Mal steps into the dark room and stands before the captain and two lieutenants that he doesn’t recognize. The two lieutenants eye him before making their way to the other room. The captain stops him before they enter the next room.

“Sergeant, yer doin’ a mite fine job leadin’ your squad.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mal edges, knowing there’s a hitch.
“Can I trust you to obey an order?”
Mal pauses. “Yes, sir.”

Before he knew it, his hands were on the POW. According to intel, the prisoner had valuable information regarding base locations, battalion movements, weapons caches that would help them turn the tide in this gorram war. Mal holds the prisoner underwater.

“I don’t got to tell ya how important this is. We need to git everything, something, anything. Don’t care hows you do it, son. Just fuckin’ get it. For ev’rythin’ these bastards done took from us.” The captain’s order still rings in his ears as the prisoner struggles to fight back. He lets up for a hot minute.

“You ready to talk?” Mal screams in their face.
“I don’t know anything! I swear,” the prisoner’s voice cracks in fear, but Mal doesn’t let up. He submerges them underwater again.

She kicks her legs, hoping it’ll make contact with her attacker. She bites one of the hands on her throat and breaks through the surface of the water. Disoriented, she tries to gather her bearings. She uses her forearms to block the blows to her face. Hands return to her head and throat, pushing her under as she kicks and punches into the air. Dark spots begin to appear in her eyes.

Her attacker pulls her out just before she loses consciousness. She sputters and forcefully coughs to get the water out of her lungs. Something stings against her cheek and she snaps her head towards the pain.

“Are you ready to talk now?” They get right into her face while maintaining a choking grip on her neck. She gives a crazed smile, baring teeth smeared with blood. She flares her nostrils and stares defiantly at her attacker. Just before she hocks a loogie right smack into their face.

The air in the room changes and her captor grabs her hair back to punch her square in the face. Oooh, somebody’s mad. The man’s face becomes seething red, as she laughs at her predicament, the sheer irony of it. His broad hands dwarf her neck and shoulders as he proceeds to choke the life out of her. His face blurs as she plunges underwater.

Mal realizes too late that the prisoner goes still. He got enough intel, but he wonders if any of it will work out. The prisoner seems like a nobody, but you don’t gotta be somebody to shoot a gun. The captain hands the lieutenants a piece of paper and waves them away. One of them gives him a grin and a wink as they head out. The captain pats Mal on the back and hands him a cigarette as he steps out.

Mal goes to check on the prisoner, even though he knows they’re dead. He had to disassociate to commit to the order. He feels like he should feel shock or guilt for killing an unarmed person. Instead, he feels nothing. He justifies it because he’d rather it be him than Zoë, Smith, or worse, her. This war eats at you and he wants everyone under his command to come out unscathed or at least less damaged than they are already.
He goes to pull the prisoner out of the water when they launch towards him, gripping his shoulders.

“MAL!” She gasps in a guttural cry. His heart stops, he was drowning her.

The room starts spinning and she feels water regurgitating. Someone is holding her shoulders, trying to shake her out of her nightmare. She gets nauseous and holds her hand to cover her mouth. She spews last night’s dinner into what she assumes is a bedpan. She steadies her hand against something that feels like an arm, while someone is holding her hair up.

In her peripheral, her surroundings come in waves, like being in a funhouse with crazy mirrors. The connection…I’m losing him. She sees Mal backing into a corner—his facial expression breaks her heart, it’s complete terror. It’s like watching a staticky wave coming through the ship. The image of him is going in and out because she’s too weak to hold onto him. She wants to apologize, to explain everything. She struggles to reach him, touch him just a hair, so that she can maintain the connection. However, her eyelids get heavier and heavier, she loses sight of him as everything turns black.