A/N: The little upset a few months ago deleted all three of my chapters here, so this is a repost, if anyone remembers me. It took so long because my beta got pneumonia, the holiday season set in, and then I had to get used to dealing with real life again. So, here it is. (Also on the Pit, AKA Fanfiction.net, if you dare travel there. Same title, author Zurmdragon.)

Firefly is not mine.

Dedicated to my dear beta, hoperules.

- - - - - - -

I. Rendezvous Inara had vanished, claiming that this was a private moment.

Intellectually, River understood what a ‘private moment’ was, but the concept hadn’t translated into reality for…a long time. She could hear everything, sometimes, every thought, clean or dirty, twisted or sane. They invaded her very being, often to the point where she couldn’t tell if the thoughts were hers or not. Privacy, for River Tam, was not real.

Besides, she wanted to see how her brother would screw up this time.

The setting was ripe for it: high-class restaurant, expensive food, and best laid plans. It was only a matter of time before Simon said something stupid.

The pair was laughing about something that really wasn’t funny, and then Simon’s face suddenly settled into a sappily serious expression.

“Kaylee, there’s something important I need to say.”

River rolled her eyes. Creativity hit her brother in flashes, and never in the area of romance.

“I know things have been hard. With everything.” He grinned a little sadly. “I mean, Inara had to get us in here quietly, and we can’t get work, and all that happened before...it’s because of me, and I know it. My family thing.”

Kaylee shook her head. “Aw, c’mon. We got through that stuff, we’ll get through now. Everything’s gonna be just shiny.”

“I just wanted you to know it’s okay if you refuse,” Simon said, one hand going to a pocket. River shook her head as he hesitated. He knew, everyone knew, what Kaylee would answer. This would be the screw-up: never even asking.

He visibly took a deep breath and withdrew the box from his pocket, popping it open to reveal the glint of a small diamond. “Kaylee, will you marry me?”

River never heard the answer, because pain blossomed behind her eyes and pinned her against the pillar she hid behind. It was a thousand nightmare memories rolled into one—invasive, uncaring, coldly motivated—but entirely intangible. Icy green eyes in a pale gaunt face flashed in her mind’s eye, and then dissolved into mental static.

She needed to get to Serenity. They had to get off Persephone.

- - - - - - -

“Is she here?”

Hunter focused on the reality before him, leaving off trying to reestablish the tentative link. “Yes.”

The men nodded. It was as much as expected, less than desired. “Get search teams going. Be quiet. We don’t need to stir the pot any more.”

Hunter slipped off as specifics were given. He had already calculated all the probabilities they were just now coming up with.

It was time to live up to his name.

- - - - - - -

“Place smells like a ruttin’ dump.”

It did, but considering the suspicious glares of the dump-people, that might not have been the wisest thing to say. “Jayne,” Mal warned. They needed this job, and so help him, he’d shoot Jayne dead right then and there if he made a mess of this meeting.

The Alliance had made things difficult after Miranda. Almost every trusted contact they had was dead and gone thanks to that horror. The remaining few were even more difficult to find. Every crime Serenity had been involved in for the last two years seemed to have surfaced on every semi-civilized planet’s radar.

He did not want to do this job. Didn’t want to starve, either, and that was the thing.

Mal refocused his attention to the task at hand. Anticipation only made it worse.

No one looked up when they entered The Junkyard Dog. It was quiet compared to most bars. A man with a guitar strummed quietly in one corner, while most people just sat, either alone or muttering to a friend. “Sad old drunks. Maybe,” Jayne muttered, “Don’t like this.”

Mal scanned the small crowd, looking for someone out of place.

“Heya, Captain!” A hand slapped Mal’s shoulder, making him jump. The scruffy kid grinned at him, but his muddy eyes were serious. “Shad, bring your best for me an’ my buddy here! An’ his man! Sit, an’ let’s talk about gettin’ me outta this dump.”

Mal let himself be led to a table against the wall. This boy must be their contact. He was either smarter than he talked, or one rowdy backwater brat.

The kid sat and placed his hands on the table, casually, letting Mal and Jayne know that he wasn’t going to go for a gun. He looked like a young pickpocket or small-time conman: fingerless gloves, mud-colored jacket, dusty and stained shirt. “Mike at your service,” he said, speaking quietly, “He told me to look for someone in one of the old coats, and I pray to God you’re him.”

Smarter than he talked, then. Mal nodded. “Malcolm Reynolds, captain of a transport ship. Hope you’re not trying to be quiet.”

Mike waved it off. “That? I’ve been doing that for a year. Annoying, loudmouth kids aren’t worth any attention, really.” The bartender stopped by and sat three drinks down. Mike favored him with a stupid grin of thanks, getting a shake of the head in return, then looked back at Mal as the man walked off. “See?” He took a drink, cool as ice. “So you need a job…or not. Your name’s familiar, Captain.”

“That’s all in the past. What have you got for pay?”

“I mean it when I say I want off Persephone, and I can pay well.”

“No more passengers,” Jayne growled, “We don’t need any more weird folk runnin’ around.”

Mal smirked with a touch of sorrow. He didn’t need any more people dying for his stupid mistakes, either. “He’s right. Anything more in the transporting cargo category?”

“Most of that’s contracted.” The kid tapped the clay mug thoughtfully. “There’s one...you won’t like it.”

Mal leaned forward. “There are seven mouths to feed on my boat. My crew is closer to starving than they know. I’m hoping that my ship doesn’t decide to die on me halfway between here and wherever. I never wanted to touch this gorram business again. But here I am.”

Mike looked at Mal for a moment, then dropped his eyes and nodded. “Take weapons to a group of us on Ariel,” he whispered, “We’ve gotten them this far, but no haven’t found a way to move them further yet.”

“What do ya need weapons for on a Core world?” Jayne asked, “Fast way to get arrested.”

“Which is why he wants us to do it for him.” Mal relaxed and gave Mike some breathing room. “Go on.”

“You know how things have been since that broadcast last month. It was the kick in the pants that the Browncoats needed.” The term gave Mal a sort of spiritual jolt; Mike said it like a still living cause, not some name on the tombstone of history. “And it came back to bite us. We got too trigger happy and attempted to blow the Alliance’s pretty Galileo out of the sky. In the Core.”

“Didn’t go so well, I take it.”

Mike snorted and shook his head. “No. The bombs were too weak to kill a cruiser, though they killed a few of the crew. And most of ours were caught. Since that mistake, they’ve been cracking down on us in there. It’s firearms you’d be taking, to defend the others until things are done on Ariel.”

Mal nodded. “What do I need to know?”

“Half paid here—I’ll send it to your ship along with the cargo and rendezvous point. Half paid on delivery. Good, oh, three-thousand platinum on each side.” Jayne stared wide-eyed, and Mal couldn’t help but be impressed. They had someone helping on the financial side of things, and a lot of doubts about this little operation. “You’ll have to talk our admiral once you get there. He’s hard to miss. He’ll pay you every last coin.”

“Well, no worse than some of the things we’ve done. You know where to find my boat?”

The kid grinned. “I know a lot about the people I deal with. It’s an interesting name for a ship, Serenity.” He started tapping his mug again before getting up to leave, slipping easily into his act. “I’d best get goin’, Captain. Got things to pack an’ all.”

“I bet. See you at the ship.” Mal and Jayne watched Mike leave to be loud and annoying and a liar with a cause.

- - - - - - -

Zoë was sitting in the cargo bay, eyeing a large, recently delivered crate with suspicion. An overt paranoia had set in this month, not long after Simon had informed her that the pregnancy tests had been positive. Whether the feeling had mental or physical roots, River had no idea.

“Ready to take off?” Zoë asked, not looking up. Her hand rested gently on her abdomen, with the other on her gun, and River added a tally to the ‘mental cause’ column.

“As soon as they come back, we leave.” And good thing—the other, those awful green eyes, had grown distant since she’d reached Serenity, but she could still feel them.

A quick pattern of knocks sounded against the door, the beat of an obscure drinking song. Zoë peered through the window, nodded, and let the Captain in. “Crate came a few minutes ago, sir, with a note addressed to you.”

River noted the quick, somewhat forlorn gaze he gave the note before he picked it up. He was a man standing at the edge of something great, not sure that he wanted to plunge in. But there really wasn’t any other way to go, was there?

They’d been through lots of times like these, bottlenecks of history, where the possibilities and choices narrow down to one, where the path becomes set…

The spot between her shoulders suddenly started itching madly, cutting off her musing. Which was good, really, because the Captain was speaking. “Just a drop-off of some banned goods to the Core, on Ariel. Shouldn’t take too long.” He turned to River. “Ready to fly, little Albatross?”

It always flattered River—and logically it shouldn’t—when he bothered to address her by that nickname, an old symbol of good fortune. He thought her important. “I just need to set the course for Ariel and take her up.”

“You do that. Jayne, help me stow this.” Zoë’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. The Captain had been treating her like a semi-invalid since he’d learned of her pregnancy. He’d asked if she wanted to leave the ship, if she wanted to live on a pleasant planet at least until the baby was born. He was only worried about Zoë’s and the baby’s health. And feeling a little guilty about Wash on top of that. Zoë knew all this, of course, so she ignored his annoying behavior.

The itching intruded on her thoughts again, but River managed to push through it long enough to get to the cockpit, plot a course, and start the pre-take off diagnostic. Then she proceeded to scratch her back against the pilot’s seat.

“River, I know you’ve got all sorts of smarts in that genius brain of yours, but it’d be nice to get in the air before sun up,” the intercom crackled. Right, they had to get going, especially with hot cargo, a bottleneck, and those cold green eyes still floating in her mind.

- - - - - - -

Hunter watched Serenity take off. He’d tagged her with a sophisticated little tracking device perfect for this mission. The tiny machine would be hard to find by sight or sensor, though River might already know it was there. She was a better psychic than he. The stabilization process had done him many favors, but had also severely weakened his extrasensory perception skills.

“Gorram it, they’re gone,” one of the team muttered, coming up behind Hunter, “Weren’t you on her tail?”

“She can feel me coming before I know she feels me. I tagged the ship.”

“So we can find her no matter what. Good going. Let’s get off of this luh-suh rock. We’ve got a rendezvous with the Tiber.”

Hunter felt the man leave, but stood watching Serenity for a few moments more.

He wished he could fly away like that.