Word Count: 6803 Rating: R for Violence Spoilers: Series. Author's Note:Many thanks to anjulie for her many hours of support, encouragment and beta help, and for listening to me whine and mope when I just couldn't write. :o)

I decided to try using the 'span' tag this time, so, place your mouse over the Chinese in the text for the translation, and many thanks for reading!

We're in the home stretch now, folks. Only the epilogue remains, coming soon, (I hope).

CHOICES – Part 13 D by 2x2

Jayne approached the breach in the east wall of the compound cautiously, peering through the crumbling section for signs of trouble. Everything appeared calm from his vantage point – a good sign – though he could hear the sound of gunfire nearby.

”Looks clear, but keep your head down and don’t stop moving when we go in,” he said as he felt River come up behind him. “You stop movin’ and you’re dead, dong ma?”

“Easy target,” she agreed, and Jayne turned and gave her a guarded nod. Girl was creepifying at the best of times, he thought, but it was somehow even worse when she was all normal and competent like. “Jus’ stay close ta me an’-- Hey! Gorramit girl, that’s mine!” he hissed as, faster than lightening, River ducked under his arm, snatched his pistol from its holster and curled away, graceful as a cat.

“Forty-four caliber, eight point nine inches long,” she said, examining the weapon intently. “Muzzle velocity, fourteen hundred feet per second. Muzzle energy, six-hundred eighty-seven pounds per foot.” She hefted it in her palm thoughtfully. “Fifty-three ounces--”

“Gimme that gorram gun!” Jayne growled, reaching for the pistol but River danced away, taunting the mercenary to follow, always just out of his reach until at last he was forced to give up. He shook his head with a mouthful of curses. “Ain’t got no time for this. Gorram fāfēng rén,” he grumbled

River stopped abruptly and regarded him solemnly. “She needs it,” she said, face serious, "she has a part to play.” She blinked and smiled that slightly crazy smile at him again. “I can help.”

He spit on the ground in irritation. “Don't know nothin' 'bout no plays. Jus’ don't go gettin' yourself all shot up, dong ma? An’ don’t go shootin’ at me neither!”

River rolled her eyes. "All the world's a stage," she said frankly. "And one man in his time plays many parts."

"Yeah, well me an' my parts're goin' in there," Jayne said, motioning to the hole in the wall impatiently. "If you're comin' then how's about shuttin' up that chatty-box a' yours so we can get on with it?"

"Words without thoughts never to heaven go," she said and quirked a smile at him. "Ready now."

Jayne just stared at her and shook his head. “’Bout gorram time,” he mumbled and led them through the breach in the wall into the compound. When they were through, he turned to tell River to stay low, but the girl was already crouched, mimicking his movements with precision.

“The plan’s to head for the house,” he said as they picked their way through the courtyard, avoiding the bullet-chewed stone and concrete that littered the walkways. The crack of gunfire had them both ducking behind a large planter as a spray of lead spat up dirt where they’d been standing a moment before. Jayne returned fire with a rapid bark from Vera, letting out a small laugh as he heard a corresponding grunt of pain.

He leaned back against the concrete planter and nodded toward the mansion in the distance. “Cap’n’s most likely – Wèi! Where the hell’re you goin’?” he hissed as River suddenly stood up and began running across the open expanse of the courtyard. "The plan's ta head to the house!” he said, pointing back at the building in the opposite direction. “Wèi!" He stared after her open-mouthed for a good five seconds before the nearby ricochet of a bullet snapped him out of his stupor. Clenching his teeth, he pressed his lips together angrily and ran after her.

*

"Kao!" hissed Zoë as a large chunk of marble above her head evaporated under the spray of enemy fire. Where the hell was Jayne? She sent a blast around the fountain they'd taken cover behind as Williams leaned out and unleashed a burst of fire from his automatic rifle, both of them ducking back as bullets whizzed by them in retaliation.

The Lawman drew a hand across his forehead, wiping at the trickling lines of sweat that beaded in his eyebrows and dripped, stinging, into his eyes. "There's got to be near ten o' them up there," he cursed, breathing heavily.

Zoë nodded grimly. Another grenade would be undeniably handy about now, she thought, but she'd used her last one to blow the door to the mansion on their way in. Now they were pinned down, no way of moving forward, and they needed to move forward.

Finding Mal's browncoat on the floor of the foyer had been evidence enough that he was in the house; finding his pistol in the pool surrounding the fountain had just pissed her off. But when she'd seen the three unkempt men emerge from the hallway on the other side of the foyer she'd had no further doubt that the room beyond was where Mal was being held. They'd had that unmistakable aura that marked them as bounty hunters and she was sure they were the men responsible for kidnapping the Captain. She and Williams had taken them down, but before they'd been able to advance into the hallway beyond, another cadre of militia guards had stormed down the stairwell, taking up positions behind the walled balcony that circled that half of the room, effectively pinning the two of them behind the water fountain in the center of the foyer.

Another burst of gunfire sent more marble dust sprinkling through the air above their heads and Zoë cursed again. She turned her back to the stone and slid into a crouch, hand going to her ear to activate the radio transceiver she wore. "Jayne, 'you copy?"

There was a crackle of static and then a curse as the mercenary's voice came back to her. "Yeah. Jus'… a little bit of a Crazy problem—“

"Ain't got time for problems!" she said loudly as Williams took a bullet and fell back, hand clutching his arm. "Son of a--! We need some back-up inside the house. You got any more grenades?" There was a pause and Zoë swore she could hear the grin on his face.

"Hell yeah! I'm on my way."

*

Simon clutched the back of the pilot's chair desperately as Kaylee struggled to bring the shuttle down for a landing, the ground rushing up to meet them much faster than she expected. “Oh!” she gasped, cringing with the impact as the ship shuddered to an abrupt halt, rocking roughly as the emergency lights came to life and bathed them in an eerie, red glow.

"Are you alright?" Kaylee asked, worriedly, helping Simon stand. "I told ya I weren't so good at flying," she added apologetically as he gave her a queasy nod.

“No, I’m… I’m fine, really. Thank-you,” he said somewhat breathlessly. He took a moment to regain his equilibrium and then grabbed his bag, heading for the hatch.

“Simon, wait!” she said, jumping up to follow him anxiously. “I ain’t sure this is such a good idea,” she said, fingers twisting in nervous worry. Simon shook his head but she rode over his protest. “How’re you gonna find Jayne anyway? An’ there’s gonna be lots a’ shootin’ and—“

“Kaylee,” he interrupted. “I can’t just leave her out there! You think I’m going to rely on Jayne to keep her safe? After what he almost…” He shook his head. “I have to go after her.”

She nodded reluctantly, worrying her bottom lip in fretful apprehension. “Keep your head down, an’ don’t go makin’ too much noise,” she said, fear plain in her tone. “An’ whatever you do, don’t get yourself shot! Jus’… be careful out there.”

Simon nodded gravely. “I will.” He slid the hatch open and stepped into the desert heat, shielding his face from the sun as he hunched over and hurried toward the gap in the compound’s wall.

“Simon!” Kaylee called after him urgently, waving from the open hatch. He stopped and turned back to her. “Good luck,” she said, offering him a weak smile.

Simon met her gaze, a host of unspoken words on his tongue, mouth open but unable to voice any of them. Finally, he just nodded and waved back. Then, pulling a fortifying breath into his lungs, he turned and ducked through the ragged hole in the wall.

An eerie calm hung over the area immediately inside; misty white clouds of smoke hung low in the sky and everything around him bore the evidence of battle – bullet riddled stone and concrete, spent casings, toppled statuary. It looked like a war zone, he thought inanely.

He contemplated calling out for River, but resisted the urge; despite the apparent calm, he wasn’t foolish enough to draw any needless attention.

“If I were a violence loving, gun-toting Man-ape, where would I be?” he whispered to himself, at a loss as to how to proceed. Kaylee’d been right. Finding Jayne was going to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated.

He heard a sudden burst of gunfire in the distance, coming, he suspected, from the manor house, and though he questioned the wisdom of actually walking towards the fighting, he headed that way, knowing that where there was fighting, there’d be Jayne, and River with him.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late already.

*

Ignoring the sounds of battle outside the doors of the Salle, Mal focused as best he could on Atherton as the man continued to whittle down his strength, scoring small bites with his blade at every opportunity until Mal was bleeding from more than a dozen shallow cuts on his arms and body.

The swordsman grinned sardonically and Mal knew he was only being toyed with now, and that sooner or later the strike was going to come that he wasn't going to be able to get away from.

It came as Atherton launched a flurry of attacks suddenly, pressing him back, their blades clashing, steel against steel. Wing closed the distance between them quickly, dagger poised to strike as their rapiers tangled. Mal tried to grab him, but Atherton twisted the wrist of his sword arm, rotating their blades together and Mal’s sword went flying from his hand, sliding across the floor with a harsh metal scrape to stop out of his reach.

Wing swung around, bringing his rapier down in an overhand chop that Mal caught, both hands clutching Atherton’s desperately, his broken fingers throbbing with pain. The other man roared in triumph, driving the point of the long dagger in his left hand deep into Mal’s unprotected middle with a snarl.

Mal let out a choked shout, his face contorting in agony as Atherton shoved him backwards, leaving the dagger stuck in his side as he fell onto the steps heavily, hand clutching the hilt, gasping convulsively.

Wing stood over him, chest heaving, a sadistic sneer stretching his lips as he jabbed the tip of his sword deep into Mal's belly several times. "Feel like the better man now, Reynolds?" he taunted before lifting the point of his blade to Mal’s throat.

Atherton drew his sword back, ready to strike the killing blow, but paused as the ringing sound of steel on stone echoed in the room around him. He whirled as Inara slowly rose from where she'd bent to grasp the hilt of Mal’s sword, the tip of the blade scraping across the marble floor as she began to walk steadily toward him.

Eyes blazing, Wing came back down the stairs. “Do you see now what you’ve done?” he said madly. “I would have given you everything you could have ever asked for…everything! You gave up your life for this, Inara! For this!” he said, pointing to Mal with his rapier.

“You’re wrong,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height proudly. “I gave up your life, Atherton. This is my life, and you have no part in it.” She widened her feet into an offensive stance and raised the sword in a challenge.

“Be serious, Inara!” Atherton snapped, stepping away from the stairs, cutting the air with his blade. “You can’t expect to win.”

“You’ve done well enough against an unskilled opponent. Let’s see how you fare against someone who’s actually had some training,” she said scathingly.

“If this is how you want it,” he snarled, whipping his sword up and facing off against her. “I’ve killed better men than you, whore.”

She recognized his attempt to irk her, but she felt nothing, no fear, no anger. No pain or fatigue, thanks to Whelt's little cocktail. Her only thought was to save Mal. And that meant she had to kill Atherton. Patience. Control the initiative, she reminded herself. Watch your range. Be patient.

They circled warily, trading blows meant to test each other’s skill, learn their range, anticipate actions. Wing launched a sudden combination of attacks to Inara’s inside line, first low, then high, and then low again, forcing her to defend quickly and she retreated, circling to his off side with a hurried step. He smirked confidently at her but she kept her face devoid of expression, flat and unmoving, giving away nothing, her focus wide and watchful, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

She threw several feints and fakes, manipulating his position until she'd maneuvered him into a dodge that opened up his back and she whipped her blade at his unprotected body, hoping for a quick finish, but Atherton threw his blade up and over his shoulder, tip pointing down behind his back to catch her slash in the milieu de la lame, spinning out of the parry to face her again, grinning arrogantly.

He threw a feint suddenly to her offside, selling it with a dip of his shoulder, but Inara stepped wide and brought her blade across quickly, deflecting his thrust, not falling for the ruse, instead rotating her wrist into a slashing riposte that forced him back again. She saw his lips press together tighter than before, read the tensing of his muscles and knew he was going to charge her almost before he did. She faded left and ducked her head forward under his swing, scoring a light hit along the back of his exposed arm as he passed.

Wing growled angrily and, whirling to face her again, he leapt at her off his lead foot, closing the distance between them suddenly. Whipping his blade past her guard, his point slashed across her ribs, a line of deep crimson springing up in its wake, spreading over her shirt.

Inara gasped, though more in shock than in pain; she could feel it, but almost as though her body was numb. She slashed downward with her sword as he passed, scoring his thigh, and she heard him cry out in surprise and anger.

She allowed a small derisive smile to play over her lips and was rewarded as Atherton clenched his jaw angrily in response. He was too confident in his skills, she realized. Arrogantly so, and the fact that he hadn't been able to beat her yet was beginning to frustrate him. And that, she knew from experience, made him easy to anger. He might be an expert swordsman, but she was more than a match for him at manipulating emotion, and if she could goad him into making a mistake, she knew she could take him.

"Really, Atherton. Stop playing and try to kill me," she taunted. "I've already scored two hits to your one. Not very impressive."

"Unfortunately Inara, unlike your line of work, it's not how many times you score that counts, but how well you handle your sword," he said disdainfully, lunging to her right suddenly.

She let out a scoffing laugh as she parried the blow easily, the sound suddenly fading to a gasp as his blade pivoted around hers in an unexpected move and she realized too late she'd underestimated him. His blade bit into her at the point where the inside of her thigh gave way to pelvis and she staggered backwards, pulling out of his reach. She felt little pain, but knew it was a bad hit. Pressing her hand to the wound she could feel the wet stickiness of her blood and she knew by his smirk just where he'd been aiming for.

"A little poke, for old time’s sake," he said mockingly, advancing with a series of little jabs that forced her to retreat again.

"Little," she said, slightly breathless, voice laced with contempt. "That's certainly how I remember it."

He sneered and feinted to her right with a rising slash, and as she brought her blade across to parry, he rolled his wrist into a thrust to her left side, lunging forward as her sword moved out of position and she was left open. She slapped his blade away with her left hand in a desperate parry, wincing as she felt her palm slice open against the sharp edge, but his thrust was deflected wide enough that she was able to rotate away from him, out of his range.

But it had been close.

Way too close.

She was taking too many hits, was beginning to tire, and the growing acceptance that she couldn't beat him began to chip away at her confidence.

*

"Wèi! Somebody say somethin' about some grenades?" called Jayne with a grin, dashing into the foyer amid a hail of bullets as he spied Zoë and the Lawman pinned down. He paused a moment, taking in the finely carved body of the figure in the fountain above them. "Huh," he grunted. "Kinda reminds me a—"

"Gănjĭn!" Zoë yelled as another piece of the statue disintegrated in a barrage of gunfire and Jayne ducked into a crouch and hurried to her side. “We got close to a dozen men up there,” she said, “spread out along the balcony.”

Jayne nodded, assessing the situation with swift acuity. “We’ll work it from the outside in, get them bunched up together,” he said. “Cut off the stairs an’ then pick em’ off.”

Zoë turned to Williams. “You think you’re up for some cover fire?” she asked.

The Lawman pulled his hand away from his arm with a grimace but nodded, taking hold of his rifle gingerly. “I’ll give you what you need,” he promised.

Zoë turned back to Jayne and gave him the go ahead.

Grinning, the mercenary pulled a grenade from his belt and armed it. “Cover me,” he grunted and sprung up as Zoë and the Lawman opened fire, lobbing the explosive up and over the balcony in a perfect, deadly arc. He ducked back down and the three of them hunched over, hands covering their heads as the room echoed with the sudden deafening explosion, dust and shattered particles of stone raining down around them amid the painful screams of those guards caught by the blast.

An angry burst of gunfire answered in retaliation, and they stayed hunched over as bullets and marble shrapnel whizzed by their heads.

“Guess they didn’t like that so much,” chuckled Jayne and Zoë nodded grimly.

“They’ll be waiting for us this time,” she cautioned.

“Yeah, figure as much,” he agreed. “On three?”

Zoë and Williams gave their nods and Jayne started counting. “One… Two…. Three!” he whispered and the three of them rose up to fire, only to be forced back behind cover by a barrage of bullets before they could fire a shot.

“Gorram hell!” cursed Jayne as a piece of stone ricocheted off his cheek, leaving a welling red cut in its wake.

“Get down!” yelled Zoë, covering her face and head again to protect herself from the flying shards of marble. The Lawman and the mercenary followed suit, cringing under the onslaught.

“Think we can wait till they run outta bullets?” asked Williams.

“Guess I’m gonna hafta try and get it over the statue,” said Jayne, contemplating the height and angle at which he’d have to throw the grenade to get it up and on to the balcony.

“If you can do it,” Zoë said warily. If he missed or hit the balcony itself, the grenade could very well bounce back and hit the fountain, which would bring an end to their rescue real quick.

“Need ta get a better look,” he said, adjusting his grip on Vera. He sucked in a quick breath and then popped up to release a spray of bullets up at the balcony, ignoring the projectiles that came his way and grunting in satisfaction as the men above dropped behind the wall to take cover.

A second later he crouched back down and nodded, breathing heavy. “Yeah, I can do it—“ he started, but stopped in surprise as he heard an enraged voice shouting his name suddenly. “The hell?” he said as he turned to see Simon, of all people, weaving his way through the debris toward them.

“What the gui are you doin’ here? I told you to stay with the ship!” Zoë hissed, but Simon ignored her, heedless of the danger now that he’d actually found Jayne.

“Where is she!” he yelled, face turning red with rage and fear for his sister when he didn’t see her with Jayne. Bullets whizzed by him, unheeded, and Zoë grabbed his shirtfront, yanking him down beside her roughly.

“Are you lookin’ to get dead?!” she shouted in annoyance, ducking as a chunk of marble exploded into a shower of dust and sharp edges as another bullet struck the statue above her head.

“He took River!” Simon shouted impatiently, trying to reach over her to grab Jayne.

Zoë shoved him back down with a growl. “What do you mean he…. Jayne,” she said, eyes moving to the mercenary, voice low and dangerous.

“Hey, I didn’t do nothin’ ‘cept follow the plan,” Jayne growled. “Ain’t my fault your crazy sister came along for the ride.”

“Along for the ri--- You knew I was calling you! You looked right at me!” Simon said, jaw clenching in incredulous anger.

The big man shrugged as well as he could in his hunched position. “She tol’ me to go. Didn’t have no time to waste waiting for you to catch up and haul ‘er off.”

Zoë sighed. “You mean to say River’s here, now?” she demanded, looking back to Simon. He nodded, opening his mouth to yell again but she forestalled him, holding up a hand to keep him silent. “Jayne,” she said, turning back to him. “Where is she?”

The mercenary shrugged, looking guilty. "She run off out there somewhere, soon as we got inside. Said she was part of play or somethin’, I dunno. Wasn’t gonna go chasin’ after her to get shot up or kil't. 'Sides which, you needed some grenades, remember?" he said defensively

“I can't believe you let my sister go by herself and—“

“Bi zwai!” the First Mate snapped impatiently. “Jayne’s right. She ain’t his responsibility. There’s no time to worry about River right now. I’m sorry Doc, but she made the decision to come, just like you,” she added as Simon protested. “We finish this, find the Captain and Inara, and then we’ll find River. That’s the way it is.” She stared at him, her gaze plainly stating that she would tolerate no further argument.

Simon looked away, raising his hands in defeat, throwing a glare at Jayne as the mercenary smirked at him over Zoë’s shoulder.

"Jayne, zúgòu!" she barked without looking, fully aware of what he was doing. She brought her focus back to Simon. "Think you can patch up our Lawman friend?" she asked, nodding to the wounded man.

Simon's eyes went wide as he took in William's crimson stained sleeve, suddenly becoming aware of the surrounding gunfire. "Of course," he nodded, chagrined, shifting to the Lawman's side to examine the wound.

"Could be fortuitous havin' you down here," Zoë said, firing a shot up at the balcony as Simon worked. She glanced back at him. "You bring anything other than that bag with you that you can fight with, doctor?"

"No," he replied, distracted. "I didn’t even think to bring the gun. I had enough to worry about just getting Kaylee to fly the shuttle—"

"Kaylee!" exclaimed Zoë, turning to look at him sharply. "You brought Kaylee down here?”

“Ni yúchŭnde yīnjīng!” Jayne cursed, casting a quick glare at the doctor, his lip curling as he took down a careless militia-man with a well aimed burst from Vera. “No! I mean… n-not into the compound,” Simon stammered, looking between them, realizing suddenly that in his haste to get to and protect River, he hadn’t thought of much else.

Zoë closed her eyes briefly and then gave a quick shake of her head. “There’s nothing we can do right now. We have to get to the Captain,” she said, resignedly.

“She’ll be a sittin’ goose out there,” warned Jayne and Zoë knew he wasn't wrong. She gave the doctor another angry look and then nodded at Jayne's remaining grenades.

"Then we'd better hurry up."

*

Whelt watched as the sun slowly sank behind the mansion, painting everything a dusky orange, the light reflecting in the windows with a brilliant flare of colour that might be considered beautiful were he interested in appreciating it. But Whelt had room for one thing only on his mind, and that was still bein’ alive when the day was over.

So, he waited.

He’d always been a patient man when the situation called for it; a man didn’t get as far as he had in his profession by jumpin’ the gun. Getting out of this compound free and clear was a situation called for patience and caution, and no little amount of luck. But luck always had smiled on him, he thought to himself, shaking his head as he stared through the gap in the wall at the unmanned yellow hovercraft and the short-range shuttle waiting a few yards away as though they’d been placed there by the hand of God hisself.

Still, he weren’t one for taking luck for granted, so he waited and he watched for signs of occupation and was rewarded finally as he saw a young woman in coveralls step into the open hatch of the shuttle. Young, soft and alone – defenseless, he smiled to himself, and his ticket outta here.

The hovercraft would’ve done in a pinch, but the shuttle’d be a lot faster, he knew – even break orbit if he were any judge, an’ he could probably fly ‘er too – but if he could get the launch sequence out of that young thing without having to figure it out his own self, well, all the better.

He watched as she pulled her sweat dampened shirt away from her body and fanned the fabric, no doubt trying to cool herself – the temperature in the shuttle was most like to be as hot as Hades, sitting out under the desert’s sun like that, he reasoned. When she pushed a strand of hair off her face and shielded her eyes against the sun, Whelt held his breath and froze, afraid he would be seen as she seemed to stare right at him. Finally she just sighed and went back into the shuttle.

He waited a good five minutes, watching the shuttle to be sure she wasn’t about to come out again before he slipped through the gap in the wall and made his way across the open sand quickly.

He edged his way to the open hatch, pistol drawn, and chanced a quick glance inside. He saw a few crates held securely with cargo nets, but the ship appeared empty for the most part. Cautiously, he stepped inside, his shirt instantly sticking to his back with the enveloping wave of heat that surrounded him, and he paused a moment to get used to breathing in the moist, hot air and to make sure he had a secure grip on his weapon. Last thing he needed now was to miss a shot because his fingers were slippery on the butt of his pistol.

“There you are!” the woman said suddenly, and Whelt startled, heart pounding as he pushed himself back against the hull, gun at the ready.

“Just a few more and we should have you back up and runnin’,” he heard her continue on. “Be good as new in no time.” Realizing she wasn’t, in fact, speaking to him after all, he moved toward the cockpit stealthily, understanding dawning as he saw the woman crouched down underneath the ship’s console. He watched as she wiggled a connector loose and then plugged it into a different slot, then startled again, ducking back out of sight as a voice suddenly filled the cockpit.

“—lee, come back. What the heck is goin’ on? Kaylee? Kaylee, come back. Do you read me?”

The woman scrambled out from under the console and hit the comm. button. “Wash! I’m here,” she said reassuringly.

“Kaylee! Wo de ma he ta de fengkuang de waisheng dou, are you okay?” the voice asked.

“Oh! I’m shiny, don’t worry none. Just had a bit of a bumpy landin’s all, I’ll have her fixed up before you know it,” he heard her say with forced sounding cheer.

“Fixed up? Kaylee, what are you even doing down there? Zoë said to stay with the ship—“

“I know… I know,” the woman – Kaylee he presumed - went on, words tumbling out breathlessly. “But Jayne took River an’ Simon needed to get down here real quick an’ we knew you had ta stay with Serenity an’ that Shepherd Book’d take care of that lady in the ‘firmary if she needed anythin’… So he asked me ta fly ‘im down, even though I told him I ain’t so good at flyin’, but then we touched down a little harder’n I meant to, so I’m just fixin’ her up while Simon’s gone and—“

“Woah! Kaylee! Slow down,” interrupted the voice worriedly, and Whelt agreed silently, realizing when he heard the name Serenity that these people must be part of Reynold’s crew, most like down here lookin’ for their Captain.

Gorram hell! he cursed silently, knowing that that probably meant that those weren’t Guild Assassins coming for the Companion at all, only Reynolds’s crew. Tamade, he’d let that jinu mess with his head!

“--ack up a minute. Let’s start with the first part. Jayne took River?!” he heard the voice say, snapping his attention back to the situation at hand.

“Drove off with her in the mule right beside ‘im,” the girl said. “Simon was out of his head with worry. I couldn’t say no to him, what with him actually askin’ for my help an’ all…”

“Where’s Simon now?”

“Don’t know. He went in lookin’ for River. I ain’t seen nothin’ since.”

“Ai ya! Well just hurry up and get back!”

“’Soon as they get here,” the girl promised and signed off the wave, but Whelt didn’t think she would be. Girl wasn’t worth nothin’ coin wise as far as a bounty went, but he was willin’ to bet that she meant somethin’ to Reynolds and his whore. They took his money from him, well, seemed only fair he take something of theirs in return.

With an angry smile, Whelt shoved a crate out of his way, deliberately making the noise to alert the woman to his presence, waiting for her as she came out of the cockpit with an expectant smile. “Simon! Did ya find Riv--- OH!” she gasped, her hand going to her mouth in shock as she suddenly came face to face with the bounty hunter.

“Boo,” Whelt said, lip curling in a sneer and the woman stared at him, eyes betraying her fear before she could mask it. He smiled. Too easy.

“What do you want?!” she whispered, voice wavering as she backed away slowly.

“Well. Name’s Whelt, Kaylee. It is Kaylee ain’t it?” he said in a chillingly friendly manner, spitting a wad of saliva at her feet as he maneuvered himself between her and the cockpit coolly. “Friends a’ yours took somethin’ from me, Kaylee, figure they owe me, zhēngdāng? An’ I am in sore need of this here shuttle.” He took another step, pistol leveled at the mechanic’s middle. “So tell me, Kaylee. You gonna give over the launch sequence, or are we gonna have ourselves some unpleasantness?”

“M-my friend…s, friends, are gonna be back real soon,” she warned, but Whelt only smiled and took another step closer, menacingly.

“Then we’d best not be wastin’ time chit-chattin’”

*

Mal ground his teeth against the pain, hand wrapped around the hilt of Atherton’s dagger as he pulled, brow beading with sweat as he forced himself not to cry out. He shuddered, a swirl of nausea twisting his guts at the feel of the blade sliding out of his flesh, aware of every inch of movement as he drew it from his side. There was a feeling of wet suction as the tip finally withdrew and he gasped for breath, eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay conscious. 'Nara, he told himself. Hafta stay awake for 'Nara.

The ringing clash of steel on steel brought him back to awareness and he opened his eyes as Inara just barely turned aside another of Wing's thrusts, backing away as the man pursued. Mal could see by her movements that she was growing tired, her parries not coming as fast, her feet not so nimble. She was still holding Atherton off, but her attacks were less frequent and he knew that unless Wing made a serious mistake at this point, it was just a matter of time. She was good – damn good, he thought with pride – but Wing was better.

With a sheer force of will, Mal pushed himself to his knees, Atherton's dagger clutched tightly in his fist. His arms trembled with the effort of holding himself up and he tasted a fresh swell of iron as his mouth filled with blood. He let it fall from his lips, splattering red on the white of the marble beneath his hands, concentrating on the need to draw air into his lungs and fight off the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him at the agony in his belly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind came the realization that he must be dying, had taken too many hurts and was losing too much blood not to be. And with the thought there came a sudden release. It didn't matter. All that mattered was making sure Inara survived, that she walked away from this and lived.

Mal lifted his head determinedly, reaching inward for that last burst of strength, that part of himself he'd always held in reserve, the part that he'd always relied on to fight his way back to life. The part he'd willingly use up to save Inara. Slowly he inched his way forward, every bone and muscle in his body working resolutely to move him across the floor toward Wing.

Inara bit back a gasp as she saw Mal in her peripheral vision, her heart swelling with relief and hope to see that he was still alive. She fought with every ounce of control she had not to let her eyes widen or give any other outward sign that she'd seen him, and had to make a sudden, daring lunge and parry to keep Atherton from turning them to the right and exposing Mal's position. She launched a flurry of attacks, fueled by the burst of adrenaline that rushed through her as she gleaned Mal's plan, and started to force Wing back.

Atherton smirked inwardly as Inara pressed him, content to defend and let her wear herself down. She was already tired, and this all out attack would only steal the last of her strength all the more quickly. It was a mistake many inexperienced swordsmen made, and though he had to acknowledge that Inara was surprisingly skilled, he knew his experience was going to win him this fight.

His grin spread as Inara's assault began to slow and falter, her thrusts and slashes falling short more and more often, and he sensed the end approaching quickly. All he had to do now was wait for his moment and then—

With a fearsome roar, Mal rose up on his knees behind Wing, using every ounce of strength and will he had left to drive the dagger into Atherton’s leg, the blade slicing downward through the meat of his calf and slipping deep in between the bones of his ankle under Mal's weight as he fell forward.

Atherton screamed in pain and shock, his body instinctively pulling away form the source of the pain, eyes leaving Inara's for only a split second to take in the dagger in his foot and the slumped form of Mal at his feet.

But it was enough.

Inara saw her opening and took it, stepping forward as Wing's eyes moved, driving her point towards his exposed chest. At the last possible second, Atherton's eyes snapped back to hers in fear-filled realization and his blade flashed, deflecting her sword upward - but not enough. The point sunk into the hollow of his throat, the double edged tip slicing through his flesh effortlessly, severing arteries, veins and tissue with deadly efficiency as it pierced the back of his neck, just at the base of his skull, and thrust through.

Atherton's eyes went wide with shock, his mouth opening and closing in a drowning gasp as his blood spilled down his throat and into his lungs with every pounding beat of his heart. Inara stared back at him, her eyes devoid of compassion, and with a ruthlessness she hadn't known she possessed she grasped his shoulder in her free hand and drove her sword through his throat to the hilt, shoving him away as his leg finally gave out, to let him fall to the stone floor, gasping his last gurgling breaths.

She stood numbly for a moment, chest heaving in unsteady breaths, unable to comprehend that it was over, until at last her own legs buckled under her and she fell to her knees beside Mal.

"Mal, Mal…" she breathed, her face pressed against him, hand running along his back in shaky relief. She lifted her head, eyes darting over his still form, a worry beginning to creep into her as he didn't answer. "Mal? Mal, talk to me," she begged, rolling him onto his back, her heart clenching as his head lolled on his shoulders, face slack. "Mal? Oh God, Mal!" she cried, pressing her head to his chest at the realization that he wasn't breathing.

She couldn't hear his heart.

Hands shaking, she tilted his head back and pressed her lips to his desperately, tasting his blood as she blew into his lungs, choking on the tears that were suddenly streaming down her face. "Please, no… Mal…" she sobbed as she began chest compressions, counting silently as she continued to plead with him. "Come on, Mal… come on. Don't walk out on me now." She hit thirty and gave him two breaths again, moaning as he failed to respond, her tears blurring her vision as she went back to pumping his chest. He couldn’t be dead, she argued with fate, not after going through all they had and beating Atherton. He couldn't die now!

"Come on, come on, come on, come on! You are not doing this, damn you!" she cried, anger washing through her. "Don't you dare!" She breathed into him again, filling his lungs without effect. "You can't die!" she yelled at him, gasping for breath through her tears. "You can't die…"

She had no idea how long she worked on him, continuing without a response, until at last her grief finally took over and she collapsed against him, terrible sobs wracking her body as her chest heaved, hands clutching him to her. "Ren ci de Fo zu! Don't do this," she pleaded, begging whoever might be listening not to take him, knowing in her heart it was already too late. She felt a heavy weight settle on her chest, her breaths growing shallower as the edge of her vision began to turn gray, threatening to pull her under. Absently she remembered that her leg was bleeding, suspected that an artery had been nicked, but she couldn't seem to care.

It was too late; he was dead.

He was dead.

The last thing she was aware of before the blackness claimed her was an echoing explosion and then a familiar voice suddenly yelling for the doctor; gentle hands turning her onto back as two fingers were pressed against her throat…

"Too late," she whispered. And then there was nothing.

Go to Part 14 A