Author's Notes: I'd been meaning to write a fic for our beloved Captain's birthday, but it kept slipping my mind. Finally remembered yesterday, and wrote this up quickly, but finished too late to post it then. So, Happy Belated Birthday, Captain Reynolds!

September 20, 2486. The day of his birth. He don't remember it, of course, but he remembers his mama tellin' him about it. His daddy'd been killed in a freak accident in the spring, 'fore they even knew he was on the way. So she'd been all alone throughout his growin'. Well, as alone as a woman could be on a ranch with 40-odd ranch hands. When the time came for his birthin', she'd sent one of the younger hands to town for the local doc, just in case, then retreated to her room with the cook, a woman with some considerable experience as a midwife. Durin' the height of her laborin' a storm had blown up out of the west, cuttin' power to the house while wind and rain lashed outside, thunder followin' lightnin' so fast you couldn't count the seconds in between. Time the storm blew over, he'd been born and was sucklin' at his mama's breast. She'd givin' him his first name for his daddy's patron saint, and his middle name for his daddy. Doc didn't get there 'til the next day.

September 20, 2496. His tenth birthday. He'd learned to ride almost as soon as he could walk. Had his own pony from the time he was three. Started takin' care of her all on his own when he was five. Still rode her daily, even though he was gettin' a mite long-legged for her. She was a real sweetheart, too. But he was growin' up. Wanted a horse. Not a pony. Wanted to ride the ranch, learn the ropes as it were. Couldn't do that with a pony, no matter how much he wished he could. Didn't say anythin' to his mama, though. As young as he was, knew times were tough and money was tight. That's why it'd been such a surprise to wake up that mornin' and be told his present was in the corral. The little filly that'd been waitin' for him was the most beautiful horse he'd ever seen. Mama and Joe had told him in no uncertain terms that he had a lot of trainin' to do before he could even think of ridin' her. He didn't care. He'd fallen in love and would do everythin' he could to see Beauty brought up proper.

September 20, 2506. His twentieth birthday. Talk of war had been rumblin' 'round the ranch for months. His friends and neighbors were none too pleased about the Alliance wantin' to barge in and take over their government. Improve their way of life. Couldn't say that he disagreed with them. He'd talked it over with his mama, and she agreed. Didn't like it, but she agreed. He needed to go off and join the fight. Wouldn't be right to sit back and do nothin' while everybody else went off to war. She'd gone into her room and come back with a box in her hands. Put it in his hands and told him to open it. Inside was the finest lookin' pistol he'd ever seen. Pickin' it up, he'd discovered that it fit his hand as if made for it. He'd looked up to ask where she'd got it when she'd said, "It was your daddy's. Always meant to give it to you, just never found the right time. Guess this is it." He left the next day. Gave his mama a hug and never looked back. Was the last time he saw her.

September 20, 2516. His thirtieth birthday. Times were tight in the black. Honest jobs were gettin' harder and harder to come by. Not that he minded the not-so-honest jobs. 'Specially if it meant thumbin' his nose at the Alliance. But he needed those honest jobs, too, if he could get 'em. Or a way of bringin' in steady income. So decided to try rentin' out one of the shuttles. Figured, though, that the only taker had been the uppity Companion who'd been too beautiful for his own peace of mind. He'd never been able to wrap his mind around the concept that Companions weren't the same as whores. Far as he could tell, only difference was that Companions just dressed themselves up fancy and pretended sex wasn't their main purpose. Oh, well, if it meant steady income for the ship, didn't see where he had a choice. His mama might not have approved, but he'd done lots of things since the end of the war she wouldn't've condoned. Some things just couldn't be helped, and it was more important to have food in their bellies than worry about the wrath of the God-fearin' woman his mama'd been.

September 20, 2518. His thirty-second birthday. He looked around at his crew, or what was left of them after the Battle of Miranda, as he'd come to call it. They were all still recoverin' from their wounds, him and his ship included, but leastwise they were together. Weren't that long ago he wasn't sure he'd make it to this day. Still wasn't sure he'd make it to next year's birthday. He hoped to have many more, but you just never knew, livin' day-to-day out in the stars. Anythin' could happen. Course, he hoped whatever was to come wouldn't be as bad as what they'd just been through, but never could tell. Not with the Alliance bein' involved. Could be an all out war or it could stay the same as it'd been since the end of the last one. And if it came to war, he didn't rightly know what he'd do. Not that he'd mind givin' the Alliance another run for their money, but he'd already lost one home to the war. Wasn't sure he could bear losin' another one, if that's the way it turned out. Guess he'd have to see how things panned out, and talk it over with everybody else 'fore he did anythin'. He might be captain of the ship, but they all had a right to decide for themselves. His mama had taught him that long time ago and now might be a good time to start rememberin' that his mama had generally known what she was talkin' about.