Start with Chapter 1

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CHAPTER 2

Zoë had been sleeping when she heard the ruckus, but immediately sprang from bed, pulling on whatever clothing was near, and listening for gunshots before climbing out of the bunk. Wash and Kaylee peeked curious heads into the hallway, and Mal was at the door to Jayne’s bunk, trying to signal the override on the door locks. “H-3-5-7,” Kaylee called and within seconds Mal had kicked open the hatch and was peering hesitantly down the ladder. Jayne was hollering a storm, pounding a chair against the outside wall, denting the hull plate, causing pieces of the chair to go flying. Zoë and Mal hardly exchanged a glance before springing into action. Zoë went in first, yanking the chair free of Jayne’s grasp while Mal caught him from behind, pulling him into a choke hold and shouting his name. Jayne rammed Mal into the wall, then shoved him sideways and Zoë went in again, catching Jayne in the side, causing him to double over. Turning his attack to Zoë, Mal was able to get behind the distraught man and trapped him with a debilitating hit to a cluster of nerves near the small of his back. Zoë caught Jayne as he pitched forward and lowered him onto the bed. The bed, as it happened, was nearby, having been ripped off the wall and tossed unceremoniously into the middle of the room. Seething through a black eye, Mal knelt beside Jayne and glared. “What has gotten into you?” Mal demanded. Jayne’s eyes clouded again, looking at the wall. Zoë wasn’t sure he could talk even if he wanted to. “Ain’t no excuse for this kind of behavior,” Mal growled. “You are getting off at the next stop.” “I can finish the job,” Jayne panted, his eyes meeting Mal’s desperately. “There’s no place for a loose cannon on this job. Ain’t no excuse for this.” Zoë watched, stunned, as Mal turned and climbed up the ladder, leaving Jayne and the room in disarray. She heard him order the others back to sleep, and turned to Jayne again. “What’s going on, Jayne?” The man just lay there, face flushed from exertion, and blinked slowly. “I’m out.” He seemed more stunned than anything, and Zoë knew she could talk Mal out of this threat in the morning. Crazy or not, they needed the third gun hand on this job. Hopefully, in two weeks, the merc would be a little less nuts. She hit the comm on the wall, summoning the doctor, and looked again at Jayne. “What’s eating you?” she murmured, but his eyes were closed.

*~*

An hour later, Simon climbed out of Jayne’s bunk and massaged his temple wearily. Zoë had stayed with him the whole time in case Jayne became violent, but the man was about as lively as road kill. He hadn’t managed to get a single response … not even an annoyed swat as Jayne was prone to doing whenever he cleaned a cut. He’d reneged on the sedative because Jayne had fallen asleep half way though the examination. Mostly cuts and bruises. Given the way the room was torn up, Simon guessed a few strained muscles, but none that Jayne would complain about. When he came out, Mal was sitting on the bottom stair at the end of the hall, and Kaylee slouched on the floor outside her bunk. She reached up to Simon and their hands connected briefly before Mal interrupted by clearing his throat. “No sedative,” Simon said in response to Mal’s unasked question, before giving Kaylee’s hand one last squeeze and heading for his own bunk to sleep. As he passed through the galley, he could’ve sworn he saw a ghost disappearing around the corner, and he wondered briefly if River had awoken, though she wasn’t prone to running from him… Perhaps it was their new passenger. Simon quickened his step curiously, coming out to the catwalk that led toward the cargo bay. No one was running down the stairs. He heard the door to Inara’s shuttle click shut – a deafening sound in the silence of ship’s night. Inara wasn’t prone to running either. Intrigued, he walked over and knocked on the door. No answer. “Inara?” He knocked again. He knew she was awake, and now he knew she was hiding. Simon couldn’t explain the unsettling twitter in his stomach, but he couldn’t ignore it. As softly as possible, he slid open the door to Inara’s shuttle and froze. The scene was not all that dissimilar from the one he’d just left in Jayne’s bunk. Dim lights from the shuttles inbuilt system cast an eerie, wraithlike feel about the torn and tattered room. The soft lamps that usually lit the space and the deep red curtains that gave it color were violently ripped from the wall and tossed carelessly on the floor. A single red spread covered the tilted mattress which appeared deflated in the middle. “Inara?” Simon called softly, not seeing the woman. He tread carefully, worried that she might be in any one of the heaps of fabric strewn about. Instinctively, he began straightening as he searched, righting her altar, resetting the statuettes on the table, collecting the broken tea-cups. “Are you hurt?” Simon asked, directing the question to the room-at-large. He found her, quivering under a curtain, feigning sleep, a gash across her swollen face. He pulled the fabric away, finding her huddled in a light dressing gown. Carefully, he raised the sleeve, then the lower hem, and finally pushed it lightly off her shoulder. Her body was covered with welts, bruises, and cuts, her eyes pressed shut as she wrapped her arms tightly across her chest. “You are hurt,” he whispered, horrified. “My bed is broken.” “Seems to be going around,” Simon agreed sardonically. “Don’t come in,” Inara murmured, sitting up and edging away from him. “Don’t see me like this.” “Inara, let me help,” Simon pleaded quietly, reaching out a hand. “I can’t go out there.” “You don’t have to go to the Infirmary. We can do this here. If you let me help, you’ll heal much quicker.” Inara met his eyes, her own sunk in hopelessness. Simon was suddenly hit with the same wave of sorrow he’d felt when he first found River broken by the Alliance. Only now, as he looked at Inara, he knew he could at least help a little. “No more.” “No more what, Inara?” Simon asked, inching close to her as he squatted on the floor next to her, trying to get a good look at the cut on her face. “No more clients.”

*~*

Kaylee waited until the others had gone to sleep before tipping open the hatch to Jayne’s bunk and climbing down. The first thing she noticed was that the bed was no longer attached to the wall and that the gun rack was hanging at an odd angle. A green turtle that Jayne had won at a county fair awhile back was torn headless, the stuffing strewn about the room. Kaylee picked up the discarded body, found the head, and looked over to Jayne. His dislocated bed frame lay unevenly on a pile of laundry in the middle of the floor. Jayne’s back was to her, facing a large dent on the opposite wall where he’d been beating the hull with a chair. Secondary electrical relays and a few plumbing pipes went through that wall. She’d check it out in the morning. Tucking the decapitated turtle under one arm, Kaylee tried to re-hang the gun rack so it didn’t rattle so much with the ship. “Jayne?” Kaylee tried tentatively, but he kept his back to her. “Did the girls do somethin’ wrong?” “Come again?” “It’s just you’ve slept next to ‘em ever since I knew ya. Think it might’ve been easier to move the gun rack than the bed.” Jayne grunted and kept his back turned. “This ain’t funny, Kaylee.” Kaylee circled the room slowly, hoping to get a look at his face. When she came around, she saw the knife in his hand, a few tentative cuts across his palm. Her heart quickened fearfully at the sight of the blood. “Jayne, hand over the knife,” she ordered firmly, her voice quivering. “Kaylee, leave.” “I ain’t leavin’ you alone. Not tonight. Now hand over the knife and tell me what’s driven you so Reaver that you started cuttin’ on yourself.” She saw Jayne flinch at the word ‘Reaver’, but the insult had the desired effect. Jayne looked at his sliced hand, then balled it into a fist and handed over the knife. Kaylee took the blade, finding it heavier than she expected, and looked around for a place to hide it, but finally had to settle for just out of reach. “Mal kicked me off the ship.” “That ain’t why you cut your hand, though.” “No. He –” Jayne stopped, his voice hitching on some lump of grief he didn’t want to share. Kaylee knelt beside him, stroking his cheek consolingly. “Just say it, Jayne. Whatever it is, say it.” Jayne met her eyes briefly, then looked away, swallowing hard. “Go away, girl.” He rolled over on the bed, but seeing as it was now in the center of the floor, had no wall to put between them. Kaylee stood patiently and walked around to the other side of the bed, then she knelt down and stroked his face again, racking her brain as to what she could do to get him to open up. Jayne kept his eyes firmly closed, his arms wrapped around himself, and his mouth shut. He wasn’t talking, but at least he wasn’t pushing her away. “If you tell me, I’ll let you touch my boobs.” “Really?” That got a curious eye peaked open and looking at her. “If that’s what it takes.” Jayne considered her with pursed lips, hesitating. Kaylee couldn’t decide if she wanted him to take her up on the offer or not, but she’d put it out there and she’d do what it took. Someone had to find out why Jayne had decapitated an innocent, stuffed turtle, and the Captain sure as hell wasn’t up to the challenge. “I don’t really want…” Jayne began dismissively, and Kaylee thought she’d lost. “I can’t – not to… My mother is dead.” He blurted it out so suddenly, Kaylee couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping. Jayne seemed shocked by the revelation himself, as if it hadn’t been true until he spoke it then and there. Her heart going out, she rushed to Jayne, replacing the pillow that was at his head and gathering him in her arms. He scooted towards her, wrapping his arms around her, and crying on her lap. Kaylee bent her body protectively around him, mildly aware of the blood he was smearing on her clothes as he hugged her tight. But she couldn’t care about that now. She just held him, sharing his grief. Jayne choked the tears back quickly, but didn’t let go of Kaylee. His voice came strained and grieved, floating from the space between them like a confession. “She wanted me to come; kept sendin’ waves. I kept thinkin’ after the next job, after the next big take. Didn’t want to miss a share of somethin’ big because I was off visitin’ my family.” “Oh, honey,” Kaylee moaned, feeling tears burning her eyes. “She was sick for awhile. She knew she was goin’. I just wish I’d come home when she’d asked.” “Jayne, there’s nothin’ you could’ve done.” “I could’ve been there.” Kaylee kept quiet, having no idea how to respond to that guilt. She held him awhile longer, waiting till his grip on her loosened before moving. Carefully, she extracted herself from the embrace, nursing the cuts on Jayne’s hand with the bed sheet briefly before heading to the ladder. “Where you goin’?” “Just gettin’ some bandages and stuff to clean your hand. You ain’t leavin’ a bloody palm print on my chest.” Jayne heaved, frustrated. “Kaylee, I ain’t gonna… you don’t – just don’t tell anyone I cried. I’ll trade ya boobs for that.” Kaylee smiled, biting her lip, amused at Jayne’s attempt to hide a gentleman streak behind a macho image. “Can I at least explain about your mother or are you gonna do that in the morning?” Jayne shrugged, tracing the still-bleeding cuts on his hand. “Just don’t tell anyone you saw me cry.”

*~*

Mal caught Kaylee as she was returning to the passenger dorms, bandages in hand, and kicking open the door to Jayne’s bunk. “What are you doin’?” he demanded, clearly alarmed by the blood Jayne had smeared on her clothing. Kaylee met his eye firmly, not wanting to argue. “I can’t leave him alone tonight, Captain.” “It ain’t safe down there,” Mal persisted, grabbing her elbow sharply. “It’s one thing startin’ a brawl in a bar but tearing your own space apart. Ain’t no reason for that.” “What did you do when your mother died?” Kaylee countered calmly. “I – His mother?” Kaylee nodded and felt Mal’s grip on her arm loosen. His eyes vanished briefly to some point in the past, but he came back just as quickly. “That’s a damn good excuse.” “I just – he shouldn’t be alone tonight.” Mal released her with a nod, then motioned at the bandages in her hand. “What’s that? Thought the Doc saw to him.” Kaylee looked at the collection of first aid supplies, wondering how much she should tell Mal, not knowing how to protect Jayne’s dignity. Finally she answered with the same question as before. “What did you do when your mother died?” Mal inhaled sharply and she knew he understood. He nodded, backing away. “You leave that hatch open while you’re in there. I’ll leave mine open, and you holler if he tries anything. You hear?” Kaylee nodded slowly. “I’ll holler.”

*~*

As his feet took him into his bunk, Mal’s mind climbed into the past, Kaylee’s words still echoing. “What did you do when your mother died?” The answer was simple: he’d died too. Died again, that is, because he’d already died once before a few months earlier in Serenity Valley. When Mal’s boots hit the floor, he punched the wall behind the ladder, cursing the grief that had suddenly let loose in his heart. He hated thinking of his momma’s death. If he could help it, he only thought of her alive. He was like to rip his own bed off the wall if he did much different. Mal fell to his knees at the foot of the bed, reaching for a memory box filled with letters. Every day he’d been at war, his momma had written him a letter, and Mal had kept every single one. He could still hear her whispers and see the curves of her face through the cursive lettering, sometimes encouraging him in his cause, sometimes writing out her prayers for him, most times just telling him to make it safely home. That was an order he’d followed. Shadow was in drought when he’d returned. It had taken months to be released from Serenity Valley, then months more to be released by the Alliance. He’d received his discharge papers, but had one last order to follow. “Come home safe.” His first concern arose when he didn’t hear the familiar sounds of cattle as he entered the estate. The fence had been trampled at one point and someone had thrown a rock through the second story window of the main house. With no one around, he climbed in through his traditional sneak-out window in the first-floor guest room. He’d come safe, but home was no longer there. He found out later that she’d died the very day the Independents fell at Serenity Valley. Her prayers for him had ceased the same day he watched his angels flying away from him. If he still believed in God, he’d have thought that meant something. One of the ranch foremen had tracked him down and given him a stack of letters – all the ones he’d written to her. Mal had sat in the dirt under his favorite childhood climbing tree and read them all one-by-one, spilling his own tears right next to his momma’s. In the middle of the mix was a letter Zoë had sent her. Mal remembered asking her to write it. “…I was stranded in the kill zone, encompassed by enemy fire, my men all dead or dying. The mortars rained down, but I was injured and could not move my legs. I was sure that moment would be my last. As if from nowhere, your son appeared beside me and carried me to safety. He asked me to write to you if he fell, and though he has not fallen, he cannot write. When he went back to help others, he was captured. I thought you should know…” Every time Mal read that letter, his breath caught. Zoë hadn’t been the only one he’d saved that day. She wasn’t the only one he’d asked to write, but she was the only one who did. She was the only reason his momma knew why his letters had ceased for a season. And when they’d all parted ways after the war and gone to their respective homes, Zoë went briefly to her family, and then she came to Shadow for Mal. She’d heard about his momma’s death. He never called her or asked her to come, she was just there. And she hadn’t left his side since. Zoë had slept beside him in the dirt under that tree on his momma’s ranch for a week. She helped him settle all the family accounts, walked with him to the cemetery every day, and placed a hand on his shoulder while he mourned. When it became apparent that he would grieve so long as he was there, she booked them both passage off Shadow and took him away from that world. Brought him to the place where he found Serenity. Mal sucked in the cold ship air, letting it drive away the heat on his face. Carefully, he tucked the letters back into the box and slid it under the bed. He kept trying to think of what he’d say to Jayne in the morning. Kept trying to think of the crew. But as he lay heavily on his bunk, his mind was filled only with the words of his own momma. “Come home safe.”

*~* * * Chapter 3 * Post-A.N. Yes, that is a firm thank you to Mark Schultz, "Letters from War", for inspiration on Mal's last narration and giving breath to Zoe's letter.