The sick sound of bone popping forced Inara's eyes to open. Mal's sound of pain turned into a shout of anger before three gunshots echoed in the small room. Inara tried to move, to roll over to see who had fired the weapon, to get up to help Mal, to do anything, but her limbs were sluggish and unwilling to respond. A body dropped into her line of vision, blood bubbling out of what was left of a man's face. She pushed away with a cry, her side screaming in outraged agony. Mal was there suddenly, helping her to roll onto her back, his words a litany of promises she wasn't sure he knew he was making. She glanced back at the dying mess behind Mal and gagged. "No, no, no," he instructed, using his left hand to gently nudge her chin. "Don't look at that, you just focus on my eyes, you understand me?" She nodded, swallowing thickly. His right arm hung at an odd angle and there was evidence of the fight blossoming across his face. He did everything one-handed as he worked to staunch the bleeding from her own wound. "Hold here," he instructed, his hand pushing her own hand against a warm makeshift bandage. She wondered vaguely which part of her skirt was now missing a large patch of fabric as Mal pushed away from the floor to stagger to the shuttle's consul. "River, you there?" She heard the slight edge of panic in his voice. Inara stared at the dead eyes on the floor next to her. The air was thick with a smell she prayed she would never remember. She closed her eyes and turned her face away. The bandage in her hand was getting warmer and sticky. "Mal?" she called, her voice shaky. "River, answer me!" The fabric was slipping from her sticky fingers. Her side felt warm on the wrong side of her skin. "Mal?" "RIVER!" *** Dear Parental Authority Figures, By now, you must have heard that your fugitive children (Simon and River, chronologically ordered) have been removed from the Alliance's Most Wanted Censored Individuals List. It is not for lack of trying. There is still an ominous cloud hovering about our names and we have been led to believe there always will be such a cloud following us. However, through the continuous efforts of our new family (read: you have been replaced and, we are glad to report, not missed), we remain firmly on the Wanted Individuals List of not only the Alliance, but several other less-known bounty hunters - legal and otherwise. Despite this, we remain happy and healthy (by relative standards in some cases). Simon continues to practice medicine and has saved lives of those you would certainly regard unworthy of his efforts. River finds new challenges in her daily life, albeit some of those challenges have been considered troublesome by some less than understanding people regarding a spoon's magnetic properties within the confines of a power converter. I would have been proven right, had the spoon's molecular density held up longer. Still, the purpose of this letter is not to engage in a renewed interest in familiarity, but as an announcement of felicitous news: Simon has married for love. His wife is a smiling woman answering to the name Kaylee. They married ten months, two weeks and four days ago, to the date of this letter. They expect offspring to arrive in three months, one week and four days (by my calculations). As you might expect, their happiness knows no bounds. Should you wish to congratulate your only son on his joyful coincidence (the odds of finding a woman such as Kaylee on the run, as we have been, are against him and would quite possibly impair your minds were I to explain them in full detail here) or blessing (the concept of 'blessings' has been named and argued frequently in the past year among our fellow travelling fugitives), an address can be found at the closing of this letter. Should you attempt to aid those named above in capturing us, the address will prove fruitless as a means of contacting us. Your daughter is a mind-reading genius of outrageous proportions. Don't attempt to out-think her. Many have tried and failed. Sincerely, Simon and River *** "On our way, Sir," Zoë's voice crackled over the comm. "Little trouble seemed to have attached itself to our belly, but shouldn't be a bother anymore." "You should answer that," Inara suggested softly. Mal nodded, still not letting go of her hand. "Let 'em worry a bit," Mal managed. "Might prepare them better." "Captain?" Zoë tried. "Answer or I will," Inara insisted. Mal smiled - a good sign that he wasn't falling as quickly into unconsciousness as she thought - and squeezed her hand. "Don't see how if I don't let go," he teased. Knowing what kind of pain it was going to bring to both of them, Inara started to lean forward to answer Serenity. Mal's eyes flew open as he bit back the protest. He released her hand and slammed his palm against the switch to open the channel. "Make sure Simon's got his med kit ready," he growled. He fell back against the co-pilot's chair with a groan. He hand reached out for hers...she was reaching for his before she realized it. Rejoined in hands, she watched him breathe. "Do what I can, Sir," Zoë answered, her voice as steady as ever. Inara had crawled to the pilot's chair when Mal hadn't answered her some time ago...his attention had been solely on getting her medical aid. He had tied her bandage in place then, hoping it would stay until Simon could get to them. Together (she told him to adjust settings several times) they had plotted the course to rendezvous with Serenity before he admitted he wasn't up to flying anymore and had to land. "We'll be fine," Mal insisted. "Don't you worry none. We'll be fine." "Absolutely," Inara agreed, more for his benefit than her own. His eyes were closed again and his hand was losing its grip on hers. She shook his arm slightly, feeling worse when he started forward and grimaced. "Don't fall asleep now," she said quietly as he leaned back slowly. "I need the company." "Wouldn't dream of it," he slurred. He looked at her, his exhaustion showing in the fact that he couldn't raise his eyelids more than halfway, and smiled. "Enjoy your holiday planetside?" She smiled back at him. "Immensely," she answered. "Although the flight back to the ship seems to have been more excitement than I requested." "You wanted somethin' new," he chuckled. "Getting shot is new for you, ain't it?" "You never told me how calming it can be," she sighed. "While everyone else seems to rush and carry on, I feel...slow...and quite at peace." "It's realizin' how much time we don't have," he answered. "And what really matters falls into place." "It's a wonderful meditation practice," Inara went on. "It certainly forces one to breathe with purpose." "That it does," Mal agreed. A moment of quiet passed and Inara worried Mal had slipped into the same darkness that beckoned to her relentlessly. "Where did he come from?" she murmured, thinking again of the man who had attacked them. Mal stirred and saw the direction of her gaze. He shook her hand, regaining her attention. "Don't look at him, look at me," he instructed. "I don't want you having nightmares of that." "Thank you for your concern," she responded. "But my nightmares have reflected more gruesome qualities since meeting Reavers. This is really nothing worse." She hoped he wouldn't know it was too late - that the man's face was already burned into her memory and threatening to loom in nightmares to come with or without permission. "Captain, if you can dock the shuttle, speak up," Zoë's voice caught their attention. Mal released Inara's hand and sat forward in the chair to respond. "I'll do what I can," he promised. The welcome sight of his ship beckoned as he sat forward with a stifled groan. He caught Inara's eyes on him and gave her a quick grin. "We're home now," he whispered. She nodded. Home. Safe. *** "How's Simon doing?" Zoë asked as Jayne entered the bridge. "Won't know till he can wake up and tell us which stitch is crooked," the man muttered. "Kaylee's sittin' by his side, her eyes all fear and concern." "And River?" she asked carefully. "Still out," came the response. He paused before continuing. "I still can't tell how they got on the gorram ship..." "Don't matter," Zoë said tightly. "We got them off. Now we just need to patch up and be ready next time." "Yeah," Jayne muttered. "It'd help if they didn't shoot the mind-reader first next time." "I'll be sure to pass on the suggestion," Zoë commented drily. She turned to face Jayne, her injured leg still throbbing. "Let's go meet the Captain."