Title: Shadow

Rating: PG. "So there /is/ kissin'..."

Characters: the whole crew, plus toddlers Kacey and Lolly, Baby Abey, the Reynolds-Stokes clan

Pairings: Heavy on the M/I, trying not to neglect the rest of canon (S/K, Z/W, J/Vera)

Summary: Set 4 years post-BDM, Mal and the crew have a job on Shadow.

Author's Note: Thanks for the encouragement. Here's some more!

Part 4

Malcolm Reynolds doesn’t believe in God anymore. He lost Him in the Valley and isn’t likely to ever find Him again. But he re-found faith. Faith in Serenity, her crew, the family they formed. Faith in the woman who made him feel again, who loves him for reasons he often times has trouble understanding. Faith in that tiny infant who looks up at him with total trust in wide brown eyes, whom he felt grow in his wife’s womb over nine months. One could even say he found a new religion, because he rocks his son and makes love to his wife with devotion akin to worship. But his mama believed in God, had until the day she died, and raised him to believe in Him. She saw Him in every aspect of their daily lives on the ranch, in the ceaseless plains stretching out around them, in the births and deaths of the ranch’s cattle, in the beams of the old ranch house where seven generations of Reynolds grew up. There’s nothing left of the old ranch house now but a concrete foundation and a few charred beams. It’s a shock to him. He didn’t know it burned down. Something feels funny in his gut, his childhood lost forever in the ashes that had long since blown away. Abe begins to cry behind him. He can hear Inara try to calm him, can imagine her bouncing him gently, whispering soft comforts. The poor thing’s hungry, exhausted, his routine all out of whack, what with the fawning of relatives and being carted three hours in a shuttle to yet another unfamiliar place. Why is he here? There’s nothing left. Most of the land has been sold off, the forty odd ranch hands scattered. His Shadow youth lives only in his memory now. Maybe it’s better there. “Sorry I dragged y’all back here,” Mal says, voice rough, as he turns around to look at them. “It’s all gone…” He trails off as he spots it over Inara’s shoulder. She gives him a quizzical look, following his gaze to one of the few trees in the area and the stone sheltered in its shade. “Oh, Mal…” “I… I forgot it was there. What kind of son…” “Mal, stop it.” Abe’s still crying, his angry wails echoing in Mal’s heart. Inara is trying to comfort their baby boy, holding his head against her shoulder, murmuring comforting words against his ear. Mal crosses to the tree, brushing a hand over Abe’s back as he passes them. Margaret Abigail Reynolds Beloved sister, mother 2461-2511 His fingers trace over the chiseled letters of the memorial, the tears he couldn’t shed ten years ago filling his eyes now. He’s on his knees in the too-familiar dirt, too lost to hear Inara’s footsteps behind him. Abe seems to have calmed a little now that Inara has set him on the ground, testing his crawling skills on the unfamiliar dirt. He crawls over to his daddy, pulling himself up on Mal’s blue shirt, grunting to be held. Inara lets him go, lets the infant bring Mal back to the present. Mal notices the baby with a start, takes Abram into his arms, buries his nose in the soft skin of the infant’s neck. Inara joins them, kneeling softly beside the rest of her family while saying a silent prayer for her late mother-in-law. She notices something that was once white, is now stained, propped against the stone. She retrieves it gently, noticing the Maggie scrawled across it. She drops a hand on Mal’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough to pull his attention to her and hands the envelope to him. “Where?” “Right next to it,” Inara gestures. “It looks like it’s been here for a while.” Mal opens it slowly, shocked by the first line. I never did right by you, or the boy. “Wo de ma. It’s from my father.” Inara’s eyes go wide, turning to see the utter surprise on her husband’s face. “I didn’t know your father was…” “I don’t know my father. I never have.” “Mal… you never said…” “Never bothered me much, not after I was ten or so. Spent most of my tenth year trying to prove in turn that each of the forty-three ranch hands was my pa, but when that search ended and my ma refused to answer any of my questions, I just let it go. I had forty part-fathers, which added up to more fathers than any of my friends had. I just let it go. Mama never talked about him; I never asked again.” “So your aunt never told you?” “Don’t know if she knew. If anyone knew. Never mentioned it to you, ‘cause it hasn’t really crossed my mind much ‘til now. ‘Sides, all you’ve ever told me of your childhood is how great your pa was, how much of a daddy’s girl you were, how devastated you were when he died. Didn’t feel right followin’ that up with ‘Huh. Don’t got a pa.’.” “Mal… Are you going to read it?” “You do it,” he says, shoving the letter back into her hands and setting their squirming son on the ground to chase ladybugs. “It’s your father.” “Biology don’t change the fact I never knew him,” Mal says, eyes focused on his precious baby boy, who giggles as he chases down bugs. “Ain’t a power in the ‘verse short of death could keep me from knowing Abram. And obviously my pa wasn’t dead. Please, ‘Nara. You read it first.” Inara reads, reluctantly.

//Maggie, I never did right by you or the boy. Don’t have an excuse, and hell, you probably wouldn’t want one. I was too young, Maggie. I wasn’t ready for a wife, a son. I ran off, joined the army, fought a gorramn war I’ve only just now learned I was on the wrong side of. The side that killed you. The side that shot at our boy. I was career military, Mags. I didn’t give a cow’s ass (and growing up here, we sure had a hell of a lot of those, didn’t we?) about “unification” or “independence”. I wore a uniform, took orders, killed on command. All because I was too gorramn scared to face up to my responsibilities. I hear you did good for yourself, Maggie. Kept the Reynolds ranch running while Laney, Jack, and Em moved to the river, raised the boy to be a good man. All I did was get riddled with holes, lose a leg the Allied government’s too gorramn stingy to replace, and retire on half-assed disabled benefits. I came back here, Maggie, to do right by you, only to find you dead because of the Alliance blockade. I’d heard about the blockade, but not thought much of it. It’d been almost thirty years since I’d been on Shadow and I was too busy getting shot at, doing the shooting on Hera, even two weeks after armistice. That Valley was hell, Maggie, but just a taste of what’s awaiting me in a couple years. Never expected to outlive you, never expected to sit by your graveside and write a letter like some lovesick puppy dog. I ain’t that, Maggie. Just a man older than he should be, with regrets that have been weighing on him for a while. We weren’t in love. You probably wouldn’t have let me marry you if I had the guts to ask you. But I still should’ve stayed, provided for my son, actually met him, taught him a few things. I fear, though, he would’ve been worse for it. This is my last act before I disappear, take that half-assed pension and just fade into the Black. A boat, maybe. Always liked boats. A little one, cargo-hauler, work short routes until the Alliance shuts me down or a pirate shoots me down. Had to do this, though. Had to say sorry. Hopefully I’ll find our boy one day, say all this to him. Won’t do any good, I know, but this is just me being my selfish self once again.

Sam//

Inara feels sick at the revelations in this letter, fights down the bile and grips the paper. There was no point in finding this, no point in learning these horrible truths without even giving a full name, any closure. That Mal’s father was a purple-belly is hard enough to deal with on its own, but to know that he fought in Serenity Valley will bring him nothing but hurt. “What’s it say?” “Nothing good,” Inara admits honestly, dropping the letter and retrieving Abe, who has crawled up to her, spent from his bug escapades. “Nothing you want to know.” Mal furrows his brow, meeting her pained eyes, and retrieves the letter. She knew he would, but can’t watch him read it, has to stand and bounce Abe, walking slowly by the tree. She can tell when he’s done by the crinkle of paper followed by “Hun dan.” Inara turns back to face Mal, sees the hollow returning to those blue eyes, those eyes she’s watched fill with life again. She can’t stand to see it all melt away. “My… father… A gorramn purple-belly. A gorramn Alliance lackey who… Serenity Valley, ‘Nara! Then to come back and write this piece of go se, thinkin’ it’ll atone for his gorramn sins!” Abe, who was finally settling in on his mother’s shoulder, eyes drooping closed, starts at the shouting, begins to whimper, then lets out a full-on confused, exhausted, angry wail. Inara sighs and continues to rock him, trying to calm him. “You need to yell, shout, get everything out. I understand that. But he doesn’t need to be here for it. We’ll wait for you in the shuttle.” Mal watches them walk away before balling the letter in his hand and chucking it hard against the tree. It bounces off ineffectively, only adding to his frustration. He sinks to a squat, taking a deep breath. This man doesn’t deserve his anger; this man doesn’t have the right to work Mal up this way, to affect his family. He exhales the breath and with it, the emotion. Inara has attempted, several times, to teach him to meditate. All of those attempts ended in disaster, but he has retained a few of the basics. He clears his head, instead focusing on his mother and her memory. This pain is better, more familiar, easier to handle. But it is also less painful than he expected, and he finds himself talking to his mother. “You’d love them, Mama. I know you would. He is absolutely amazing… his laugh… There’s nothing more special in this ‘verse than that baby boy’s laugh, his smile. He’s got this twinkle in his eyes, dark like his mama’s. But he’s a Reynolds, Ma; he’s got the chin, one you said was Grandpa’s. The two of them, together, they’re so beautiful. I didn’t think anyone could be prettier than Inara when I met her, until I saw her hold our son. You didn’t have any of that, did you? Someone to watch you grow, talk to your stomach. Someone else to get me when I cried at night. Someone to fight with over whose turn it was to change the diaper… I’m fair sure I wasn’t any kind of company until six months, at least. I know from experience now…” He grows quiet for a moment, suddenly self-conscious that he’s talking to the air, saying things he thinks in his head every day but rarely voices, and even then only to his wife. He swallows hard, his voice thick as he finishes. “Wish you were here. That’s about the gist of it. Wish you could hold your grandson, knit him blankets, sing him songs. Hell, Ma, I’d probably let you tell him Bible stories, ‘long as you could be here with us. Might have a bit of trouble, seein’ as his mama’s pretty set on raising him Buddhist, but I’m sure he’d like the stories. But I’m good; don’t worry on me, I’m the shiniest I’ve ever been. Love you.” He raises his fingers to his lips, then brushes them over the stone before standing. As he stands, Mal notices the letter balled next to his boot. He sticks it in his pocket and heads back to the shuttle. He can let his father go, just as soon as he gets a few answers from his aunt or uncles. Inara’s in the pilot’s seat of the shuttle that doubles as their home, Abe passed out in his crib in the corner. “Are you read to go back?” Inara asks gently without turning around, finishing up pre-flight. Mal comes up behind her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. “Yeah, let’s get going,” he answers, dropping a kiss behind her ear. “Thank you.” She turns her head back to look at him, smiling a little sadly. “You’re welcome.” “Do you think we’ll make it back in time for dinner? I hear there’s barbeque chicken and red rice…”

*** By the time the shuttle lands on the Stokes land, Mal has returned to his normal self, which both worries and relieves Inara. She tries to ask him about it as they disembark, but Mal has a refreshed and awake Abe in his arms and aunts and cousins clamoring to play with the baby. He gets lost in the crowd, pulled over to one of the picnic tables by the group while his youngest cousin, Rachel, wins her turn to hold Abe. He passes a grin over everyone at Inara as she disappears into the house in search of the rest of the crew. She sees him next at dinner, which is outside again. They’re squished onto one of the picnic benches, between Laney and Si and Zoe and Wash, Abe passed along the family whenever he gets restless, but always returning to his mama. There is no time to talk in private. Still, he seems relaxed, at peace, comfortable with his family. She relaxes as well, enjoying the stories his family is divulging, the stories it would have taken her years to coax out otherwise. “My favorite Mal story involves a fence and a pile of manure,” Hannah is saying after dinner, head resting on her husband’s shoulder as the younger cousins clear the table and wrangle the children. “I have to hear more,” Inara encourages the line of conversation. “No, you don’t,” Mal says, a grin on his face, arm slung over her shoulders. “I’ll tell it,” Laney volunteers. “Y’all didn’t even see it!” “No, but we’ve all heard the story enough. When he was about sixteen, they had a real tough yearling they were tryin’ to break. Apparently, Mal was workin’ with him one day when he just went crazy and chased after Mal. He was so worried about that yearling that he ran straight into the paddock fence and flipped over into a pile of manure.” The table bursts into a familiar laughter, Mal’s ears turning a little pink as he laughs right along with them. Inara laughs as well, thinking that this story is not all that hard to believe. “Or how about that time Aunt Maggie found him in the barn,” Keaton adds. “Oh hey now, Keaton…” Mal warns. “My wife is at the table… And my son!” “Aw, he’s too little to understand, Mal. And I think Inara should know this story.” “Please, Keaton, continue,” Inara says, elbowing Mal when he grumbles. “What was Mal doing in this barn?” “Well, he sure as guay wasn’t alone,” the younger cousin smiles, those blue Reynolds eyes twinkling at Mal. “Nope, he was with Miss Lily Wang, the rose of Carlton County, who was missing a very important article of clothing.” “Her shirt!” Mal quickly throws in, before any one can think anything dirtier. “I was only fifteen.” “And on solo stall-mucking duty for the next six months,” Keaton laughs. Mal’s ears are very red now. The table dissolves into laughter again, and the string of stories continues until the sun sets and Abe is ready for bed. Mal offers to put him down, but Inara begs him off, saying she can take care of it. Mal kisses and cuddles his son to say goodnight. The little one giggles as Mal places a raspberry on his chubby cheek. “Goodnight, Bubba. Go down good for Mama.” Abe and Inara disappear into the house. Mal eventually gets his aunt alone in the kitchen, helping her carry coffee cups to be washed. They’re washing the dishes in amiable silence when Mal finally drops the question he’s been harboring since he finished reading the letter. “Aunt Laney… who’s Sam?” Laney crinkles her brow, wondering at the sudden question. “That’s a mighty common name, Malcolm. Mind givin’ me a little context?” “I found a letter from him at my ma’s headstone. A letter in which he talks all about how he failed her and ‘their boy’. Now, since I’m guessin’ I’m Ma’s only son, I’d like a little explanation.” Laney drops a coffee mug and meets her nephew’s eyes warily, taking a deep breath. “That Sam…”

TBC (just one or two parts left, but more Pirate Children to come)