Author’s Notes:

I wish to give everyone fair warning, the view of the Firefly ‘verse I’m taking with this fic is decidedly darker than what’s been presented on the show (save, perhaps, for the episodes “Bushwhacked” and “Objects in Space”). The characters may seem to you to be different, although I pray not entirely so. Certainly, there will be those (Dutch, in particular *G*) who will dislike where I take various people and what I do with them. Just don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

Also, you may notice a distinct lack of Chinese in this fic. I do this because I’ve been involved in other fandoms (as a reader, only) where Japanese is used heavily in stories. If you don’t know what’s being said, or how to pronounce it, the appeal of the language is lost. I find that no integrity is tossed to the wayside by using phrases such as, “Wash cursed vigorously in Mandarin.” We’ve all seen the show, and we all know what it sounds like. I’m sure almost everyone can fill in the gaps. :]

The Firefly universe is largely incomplete. Certain questions remain unanswered, and as such I’ve taken the liberty of filling in the gaps that I want to discuss with my own assumptions. I’m not, in any way, in the ‘know’ about anything ‘according to Joss.’ Don’t take my word as the end all be all on certain things, please.

Thanks to HotForKaylee for Beta reading.

And, lastly, feedback is welcome, scathing or otherwise.

Strawberry Road, Chapter I

The transmission was garbled enough that Wash had to work hours to get as much as he did, which he was quite ready to admit wasn't much at all. The image on the screen presented a worn and tired man, one who might have been very rich if tragedy hadn't struck him down. His eyes were sunken and his hair unkempt. A greenish tinge reached around his face, smothering him in ill pallor. Wash was tempted to tell Mal he couldn't salvage anything from the distress call.

"What've you got for me?" Speak of the devil, Wash thought to himself. Or would that be think of the devil? "Anything yet?"

"I've got about as much as I can get, Captain." Wash spun around in his chair, leaning back and allowing the captain to bend over the view screen as he pressed the playback button.

"........under quarantine. The Alliance refuses aid of any kind......ease, we require assis..."

"Hun." Mal turned to look at Wash with one of his more captainly faces in place, which Wash felt wasn't really saying much considering how captainly Mal was all the time. "Where's this comin' from, 'zactly?"

"Uh," Wash turned to his navigation console and typed in the coordinates that had been transmitted along with the ruined video. "Planet called Methos. It's on the far edge of this side of the Core. Take about ten hours to get there." Another grunt in response from Mal. The pilot briefly entertained the mental image of Mal as a caveman being chased by dinosaurs.

"Lay in a course. Let's go see if we can help these folks out some." The captain watched as Wash nodded and punched in the commands before leaving to tell the others. Might not be a job, but it was something. Something after a long stint of nothing. And as far as Mal was concerned, that was worth a little risk.

He’d been brooding for two weeks. He’d had two weeks to deal with the fact that Inara was leaving. Two weeks to wonder at why. The conclusion he’d reached had left him unsettled in a mean way. He’d been judged, and been found wanting. Not by God – no deity ruled him or his judgements anymore, not since the Valley. He’d found himself wanting – lacking – and he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

His boots rang loudly against the metal plating as he made his way towards the cargo hold. He'd ordered Zoe and Jayne to work on getting all the minor dings and holes repaired so that they wouldn't have to stop later down the road in order to fix a big, gaping wound in the side of Serenity. Better to keep things in top shape all the time than let his guard down.

Malcolm had no wish to end up on the wrong end of a space chase.

"Well, it's ruttin' stupid if ya ask me." Jayne was finishing off a conversation, probably mostly to himself, as Mal rested his lanky frame heavily against the walkway's railing, several meters above his working crew. The hired tracker let out a loud grunt as he pushed against a piece of the repaired inner hull, snapping it into place so Zoe could bolt it back in. "Dunno why he's so gorram interested in gettin' this place prettied up."

"Captain likes bein' prepared." Zoe’s reply was as calm as always. She leaned into the screw gun, putting her weight behind her arm as she drove the last bolt home.

“Captain also likes having crew that don’t gripe about a little heavy labor.” Mal’s voice carried down to Jayne, who had the grace – if such a thing was possible – to look somewhat chastised. The two workers turned to face him, Zoe nodding her attention. “We’re swingin’ by a planet called Methos. Got a distress call, gonna go check it out."

Jayne shifted, adjusting his belt and putting his weight on his heels. “What’s the take?”

“No take.” Mal eyed him down. “None right away, at least. Jus’ seeing if we can help, is all.”

“Help?” The larger man seemed slightly alarmed. “Help with what?” Jayne’d been caught too many times in situations that got him nothing thanks to Malcolm Reynolds, and he was none to anxious to have a repeat performance. If he wasn’t getting paid for it, he wasn’t gonna do it – regardless of what “it” was.

Mal chewed on his lower lip as he turned around. “Don’t right know. Something the Alliance don’t want no part in, whatever it is.” Best to leave out the word “quarantine” from any discussions he had with Jayne. He’d tell Zoe more, later. “Kaylee in the engine room?”

“Think so, Sir,” Zoe called to his retreating form.

“What d’you suppose this’s all about?” Jayne turned a quizzical look to the mocha woman. Zoe didn’t even bother to shrug, instead turning to pack the tools they’d drug out. Jayne waited for an answer, expecting he’d get one since Zoe was always so proper. When she simply headed for the bridge, he was left with his jaw swinging.

“What’s going on?” His wife’s voice wasn’t as hard as it might’ve been had the captain been on bridge. Wash mentally sighed to himself in relief, glad not to have to put up with First Mate Zoe. “Captain was mighty upset about something.”

“Got a distress call,” he shrugged the question off, not really wanting to discuss the possible implications of the word “quarantine” and what the green tinge on the man’s skin had meant. He was beginning to sweat lightly at the thought of any of them setting down on Methos at all, for any length of time. And knowing Mal as he did, Wash was mostly sure Zoe’d be going down there for at least a few hours.

Her nails dug, not unkindly, into his shoulder. She meant business. “What kind of distress call?”

“Some kind of sickness. They want help.” He bit the words out, swallowing the lump of worry that’d found its way to his throat. “Alliance isn’t too happy with the idea.”

“So’s been said.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, rubbing her smooth skin against his stubble as she bent to share space with him. He felt her curves pressing into his shoulders and he leaned into them, closing his eyes and reveling in the feel of her. He loved her so much; he didn’t want her hurt, didn’t want her sick.

“Don’t go down there.” It came out a hoarse whisper. He was close to tears, and he wanted to kick himself for allowing his worry to run that far from him.

Zoe squeezed him tightly, slipping a hand into the opening at his collar to place her palm against his skin. “Can’t promise anything, lover. I’ll be careful. We’ll wear suits.” Her hand was warm, and she flexed her fingers in emphasis. He believed her. He had to – couldn’t afford not to. “We set on course?” Her breath was hot on his ear and he shuddered, nodding slightly against her. He felt her smile. “Then let’s go make sure I’m healthy enough for planet-side.”

He chuckled, flipping the navigation panel to automatic as he stood. Zoe’s hands rubbed his back, scratching gently through the material to raise his Goosebumps in a less than scary way. Turning, he grabbed her hands in his and kissed them gently. She smiled at him, and leaned forward, only to find herself sprawled outside the bridge, her ears ringing and her sight full of stars.

Wash groaned somewhere near her feet, and Serenity lurched again.

Silence pervaded the ship as the machine stilled. Ten seconds passed, as near as Zoe could tell, and the white noise returned as the auxiliary life support kicked in.

They were dead in space.

Kaylee let out a string of Sino curses as she hauled herself to her feet. She was bleeding from her arm and dripping red, red blood all over her engine room as her vision blurred. The captain was in the doorway, unconscious. She thought Simon might’ve been in the infirmary when the engine hit full burn only to cut out shortly after, and she feared that maybe he’d been skewered with one of his instruments. The urge to vomit hit her like a brick, and she had to force herself to swallow or risk getting more than blood over the already mistreated heart of Serenity.

She’d been neglecting it in favor of herself. It’d been working just fine before the incident. The girl leaned over the core of the engine, trying to find the problem. Her eyes weren’t working all that well, and she had to blink away drops of sweat. There, close to the igniter, several wires had come undone and gone and gotten themselves all tangled up. She could fix that, easy.

Or, she could have if she hadn’t collapsed into Mal’s arms.

He let out a gasp as she fell into him, shimmying backwards in order to keep himself upright and keep her from slipping out of his grasp at the same time. She was bleeding from the head, a large gash having seared its way from above her left eye back towards her right ear. Blood had run down her face and into her eyes, and gotten all over the place. The wound on her arm didn’t bother him near as much as the idea that she’d scar.

Mal hefted her up into his arms and rushed as best he could back towards the cargo hold, down the stairs and back to the infirmary. Inara, River and Simon were picking up spilled supplies, and the young reader sported a new bandage on her calf. He lay Kaylee gently down in the chair and looked helplessly at Simon. “She fell into the engine.”

“Inara, get me the-“ Simon slipped almost immediately into his best head doctor impersonation, only to find himself met halfway by the Companion. She was already mopping at Kaylee’s brow, clearing the blood away so that he could suture the wound. “We’ll need to shave off the hair growing around the wound if I’m to get a clean stitch line. When you’re done with that, grab the antiseptic.”

Inara nodded as he prepared his set of field clippers. They were small, and it’d take him a while to get a clean, close crop, but it would be important if Kaylee were to come away without a permanent reminder of this particular adventur. River moved away from them, still in his field of vision but not the center of his attention. He could feel her there, watching. It comforted him.

He turned back to Kaylee, supervising as Inara smeared the antiseptic gel on the wound before once more wiping away blood. The gel would help clot the plasma flowing to the gash, causing the bleeding to stop while at the same time killing anything infectious that might have already taken hold. As soon as she was finished with the final wipe down he set to work.

Simon felt barbaric, clipping away at her hair the way he was. He was hurried, and so he took little care to make sure he did an even job at first. Clumps of hair fell away, landing at his feet. As he got closer to her roots he slowed his movements, bringing the center of his focus towards the area immediately surrounding the laceration. He clipped down to half an inch above her scalp before stopping to switch guards. At last, he took off the final layer of hair, being careful to shave away from the open wound so as to keep any pieces of her hair out of it.

Once finished, he turned away again. “Inara, clean the wound once more. Make sure no hair follicles are in it.” He had to get the needles ready; they were over by River. He turned to his sister, expecting to have to tell her to move, only to find that she’d vacated the area and left in her wake a perfectly prepped tray with three sutures, all with varying thread lengths. He grabbed the tray and resolved to discuss this latest manifestation of River’s intellect with her later – well after Kaylee was recovering.

After cleaning the now prepped wound Inara backed away, and Simon stepped up to the chair. He swallowed, pushing his feelings for the patient before him into the darkest recess of his mind. He’d screw it up, somehow, if he saw Kaylee lying there, rather than just another girl. Taking a deep breath, he held up the medium suture and began.

Mal watched all of this happen in that special stupid kind of silence reserved for those who can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. He knew Kaylee was hurting something fierce, but his brain didn’t want to accept that she was in any kind of danger at all. It was just a bump, just a bruise; his Kaylee wasn’t gonna scar and she was gonna get up tomorrow and fix the gorram engine, ‘cause the simple truth was that there weren’t no one else on board who could. He finally tore his eyes away from the doc’s work as Inara rushed past him, a pained look spread across her porcelain features.

She’d made it to the walkway above the cargo hold before he caught up to her. “Inara, hold up!” She stopped, but didn’t turn to face him. He came up behind her, slowing his pace some to let her breathe. “You okay?” He said it quietly, unsure of himself, but wanting to let her know he cared.

“She’s so young Mal,” the Companion whispered. “So young, and she’s seen so much these past few weeks.” He didn’t know what to say, mostly because he wasn’t certain where she was going. She didn’t seem particularly upset. “I worry about her, Mal.” Inara paused again. “She reminds me of my sisters.”

“You got sisters?” He didn’t bother to hide his surprise. The idea that Inara had family was entirely new to him.

“Three.”

“Hun.”

“Emily died after falling out of a tree back home. Her skull was split open.” The ragged intake of breath let him know she was visiting that time, that place, all over again. “She was so much like Kaylee.” She fled, then, back to her quarters. Used to be he’d’ve followed her. Now... Now he just let her go, a vague ache in his chest.

Zoe grunted as she lowered her husband down the shoot to their quarters. He wasn’t bleeding, but was knocked pretty bad. She’d managed to keep him talking to her by asking him silly things about the planet where they juggled geese. He was babbling something awful, but she was thankful for it. “And the pretty girls in town wore the most irritating underwear. You’d have to be a rocket scientist to figure out how to get if off. Lucky for them, I have a degree in-“

“Honey, change topics before I finish the job that the ship did on you.”

“Right. And they had these great pears. Never had anything like ‘em before...” Zoe rolled her eyes and hefted Wash onto her shoulders, walking him to their bunk. Tuning him out, she sat him down and gave him a complete once over, checking for any kind of broken bones or cuts. When she could find nothing aside from the rapidly swelling place on his crown, she slumped down next to him and proceeded to prod him now and again when he’d start to doze off.

She’d spent a number of days doing the same thing for the Captain.

Simon tied off the remainder of the suture thread, cutting it and laying the used needle down. He’d done the smallest stitches he could in order to minimize scarring. It would have been easier had she severed a limb; he could have used the dermo-mender Mal had invested in when they were last at port to fix such a wound. But, gashes weren’t the same. The particular model Mal had bought was older, and while it would heal the wound faster – almost immediately – it would do so at the cost of elevated skin around the site, and thus increased scarring. Simon wasn’t willing to mar Kaylee’s face in such a way.

If he were better with machines, maybe he could focus the tool so that the diameter of the beam was smaller. If he could, then the growth of new skin would be more precise, and he could aim it directly between the edges of the laceration. This would allow a small strip of new skin to coat itself over the exposed veins rather than placing a patch of skin over the whole area (as the tool would do in its current state).

He sighed to himself as he began cleaning Kaylee’s arm wound, prepping it for its own set of sutures. It was much smaller than her head wound, and wouldn’t take nearly as much time to fix. Had he been totally focused he’d have already had Inara clean it; he was getting too close to the mechanic to work on her with a clear head, and that scared him.

Seven stitched lines later and Kaylee was back in one piece, or as near to one as she was liable to get. Simon began cleaning the area, placing the used needles on a tray to be decontaminated and rethread (Serenity couldn’t afford to carry the small, individually wrapped, disposable suture kits that he’d have preferred). Just as he was about to begin that final task of cleaning the needles, Jayne tromped into the infirmary.

“Doc?” He was holding his leg, which looked to have been bleeding rather badly for some time. “I need some stitching.”

Simon turned and grabbed the dermo-mender, motioning the behemoth to take a seat on the bed he’d be moving Kaylee to later.

Book sat quietly in the mess hall with River and the captain, staring off into space. He smiled to himself as he read over his Bible, keeping Kaylee in his thoughts and prayers. Mal had joined them several minutes ago, and had yet to say anything to the preacher. Book thought that perhaps Mal was doing some praying of his own.

“She’s gonna be okay.” Mal’s voice broke through Book’s concentration. He sounded vaguely desperate to hear confirmation of this, although he’d obviously meant it as a statement. Book merely nodded a response. “She’s a tough girl.”

“The toughest.”

“She’ll pull through.”

“No doubt.”

River’s voice was so soft Book almost didn’t notice that she’d said anything at all when she spoke. “Long time. Big mountains. The journey will be hard, but the line will be straight.” She smiled a little. “And there’ll be lots of strawberries.”