Uriah's Heap pt 2
Friday, February 15, 2008

An occasionally raucous and somewhat tall tale of Monty – in two parts. 2: Unification Day with Mal, Wash and Jayne, Humbugger Hill and the War Buddy Bond, A very civilized evening with Inara, The Heap.


So far – Monty has met the young Sergeant Reynolds and we’ve seen the destruction of the Sanchez Bros during the Operative’s hunt for Mal. Oh and Bridget came and swept him off his feet.

- part two -

“Tell me again what an important statement we’re making… and how the cultured inhabitants of this world cannot possibly fail to be moved – even to tears because, well, there will be tears soon anyway, tears which will be MINE! WHY ARE WE DOING THIS CAPTAIN?! ” Having his head in the stocks prevented him from looking directly at Malcolm Reynolds – but nonetheless Hoban Washburne’s wildly bugging eyes managed to crawl around the reddening face to decent glaring effect. Mal shrugged. Even in stocks the man can shrug , thought Wash helplessly as another egg landed with yellow abandon just above his nose. “And what kind of kwong-run place still uses the stocks anyway?” Wash continued rhetorically, “and what kind of vile Gao yang takes advantage of “ - A particularly florid salvo of tomatoes interrupted him, this time coating both men equally – and both men looked up and both men yelled the same five-letter word. “ Jayne! ” “Just blendin’ in”, Jayne Cobb hissed, over the frayed collar of his khaki combat jacket – and fortunately for him, unheard by the obligatory angry mob stood with eggs and sundry vegetables to pelt and busy yelling out its hatred. “Yeah!” Jayne chimed in unrepentently. “Damn Brownies!” “Hey, Y’know I might be actually starting to like Unification Day”, he added. For a moment his two shipmates were speechless – then there was another splattering attack and Wash couldn’t help but note dryly, “Mmm, turnip! – There was some fish before – y’know I haven’t eaten this well since we last - ” There was an audible CLANG! “ – What was? – Was that a horseshoe? Tyen shiao duh! What can they possibly throw next?!” There was a splintering crash as a squat but rotund man landed smack on Mal’s position. “Oh,” said Wash, “right. People. Of course it would be people.” Another man came down on top of the first. And Malcolm Reynolds could be glimpsed wriggling out from under the both. “Well I’ll be…” muttered Jayne as yet another of the mob took to the air, “Monty!” “’Sbeen a while Monty”, nodded Mal as he clambered to his feet – his hands still cuffed behind him. “And here was I…” came the deep voice of Monty in reply and from under a pile of newly flailing limbs, “thinking as to how my timing was just about perfect.” The flailing limbs, clearly not his own, found themselves suddenly airborne. “Oh well, no - Shiny,” nodded Mal, “don’t get me wrong.” He paused to butt heads with a reckless member of the mob who bit dirt as a result. “Mr Cobb.” Monty said formally as he pulled back a punch upon recognizing the tall figure. “Monty,” said Jayne, glad the man’s fist weren’t nowhere near his favourite T. “Believe yon prostrate figure has the keys your Captain requires.” Jayne shook his head. “Huh?” Monty sighed and ducked under another man’s swinging arm - which therefore connected with Cobb, never a wise thing. Jayne eyes clenched like his fists and he went to work on those hapless remnants of the crowd as were still on their feet. Monty grabbed up the keys himself and clicked open the part of the stocks that still held Wash – and the man near leapt into his arms in gratitude. Mal turned about to allow Monty access to his cuffs. “Monty,” he said “This is Wash – don’t believe you two been face to face as yet.” Monty nodded. “I love you Monty,” Wash said deadpan, “take me away from this brute of a Captain.” Monty roared with laughter. The last of the mob were readying lemming like to rush at the Reynolds, who were now standing back to back. “Hell, it’s just like old times!” grinned Monty.


Old times… There were those that had called it Humbugger Hill – for there were but no good reason to go there and it were a definite bitch to climb. Stood on the summit and back to back were two men who knew the hill as H12SV#3 but called the place simply Muddy. The men in question were Sergeant Reynolds and Captain Reynolds. Mal and Monty - peas in a pod, foxes in a hole, men on a hill, buddies – bonded by war*. Cackling both they fired wildly in a semi circle with the captured guns ripped from their emplacements. “You think we held this place long enough yet?” Mal wondered – “seems like night’s coming down. Might be some promising cover.” “Hard to know”, Monty shouted back, “but I’m getting hungry.” Sergeant Reynolds agreed. “Yeah… besides - I figure Zoë will be missing my upbraiding blandishments by now.” Monty’s broad face creased up. “That Valkyrie?” he said appreciatively, “Hell, no surprise if she done took the Valley herself already - what with your back being turned!” Mal gazed up over the shield guard of his weapon across the bleak stretch of hill, out and down to the far off fireworks of Serenity Valley itself. “I surely hope not,” he laughed, “she promised she’d leave some of the purple mopping to me – after I see you get airborne again.” “Why bother?” Monty sprayed another round towards an Alliance squad vainly attempting to sneak up – when there weren’t nuthin to sneak behind. “We’re only goin’ up to come down again.” He added another burst for good measure. “That may be true,” Mal’s actions were much the same, “only you’ll be in company with God’s sweet flyin’ Cavalry.” “Count on it son.” Smiled Monty. There was a sudden furious explosion and the concussion sent both men flying sideways and out from behind the ruins of the gun battery. Mud splattered, dazed and for the moment seemingly deaf in one ear, Malcolm Reynolds kept low as he flicked open a palm top computer and checked the co-ordinates for the pick up zone. Satisfied, he looked up and across at the bulky but now clearly singed figure of Monty as he staggered upright. “C’mon,” the man shouted hoarsely, “let’s go get me my wings!” Shoving his tracker back in his pocket, Mal lurched drunkenly upright and ran over to his friend – who damn near knocked him down again with the force of his enthusiasm. Whooping now, the two men skedaddled off down the hill, towards the pick up zone and into the thickening dark. …………………………

Present times – and they still seemed dark. “Lost? – aint lost… not among the free and glittering stars, our stars…” grumbled Monty Reynolds passionately, stood as he was in the middle of the flight deck. “We don’t get LOST ”, he added, “We just get… further out. Y’get me lad?” and so saying Monty Reynolds glared at the cowering crewman. “Sir!” the man squeaked. Another man, bushy haired, yellow eyed and the navigator of the craft, looked up at Monty. “Just to say Capt’n, we are all, uh, very far out.” “HHmmph!” Still glowering under his brows and behind the snowy fleece of his latest beard, (a brilliant emultive colour that had shocked Monty most of all) the Captain peered through the square windows of the ship and clear out into the space beyond. “That’s as maybe – but we aint alone – just keep your eyeglass on the Black and let me know when he shows.” Reynolds hands twitched impatiently behind his back. There was a sudden warning sound from the nav-com – and a fountain of cursing from the navigator in return. Monty spun round to face him. “Well?” There was no let up in the cussin from the navigator – but still looking at his proximity controls, he pointed with his left arm back at the window. Irritated, Monty Reynolds turned round again. And he too let fly a volley of Galactic Chinese.

It was coming towards them out of the Black – seemed almost to be made of the dark stuff of the void itself – and it was massive. Dark metallic pieces gradually coalesced into view as they reflected the lights from Monty’s ship. But - sweet merry Lord and Saviour – the thing tumbling and rolling towards them – why they might as well be a tick on the back of a croc’ for the scale of it.

“What the Gorram blazes is it?” First-mate Lemmy looked to his Captain. Monty rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Old blockade looks like – maybe one we took out ourselves been drifting ever since…” Lemmy shook his head – and the three cornered hat upon it. “Out this far?” “Something musta disturbed it…” The two exchanged wary glances. The Navigator looked up. “We aint nowhere near Reaver territory Captain.” Hmm… Monty was still peering out the window, but he said thoughtfully. “Never really believed the Reaver’s had territory… don’t know as they’d have a use for it to say true…” He turned to the crew. “Best cut the power, lads - and slide us by. Just tread soft… seems safest.” “Aye, aye Capt’n.”

It was then that the comm. burst into life and the chirpy tones of Mr Uriah Sallow filled the flight deck. “Why Captain Reynolds – didn’t mean to spook you so. Deary me – and I been hearin’ such things as to how brave you be. Ah well. Anyhow – I know leastways you can see her – kinda hard to miss huh? Just like I said Mr Monty, prime piece of space worthy, base making, real estate.” The Comm-screen lit up and the wiry nervous features of the neatly suited Uriah Sallow could be seen clear. “I’m here to get you what you want, Mr Reynolds,” he said leaning into the camera in a matey fashion. “After all, that’s my job.”


Well now… jobs… hmm… in his lifetime Monty Reynolds had seen jobs come and jobs go – and some of ‘em was even legal… Jobs could sometimes mean plunder and treasure… and sometimes something more – something as would break the hard working monotony that was the truth of things for the Captain and his crew – something rare…

The Airlock door had opened and a sudden fragrant bloom of night scented stock, musk and cinnamon had lifted the stenchsome air of the vessel. “Lady,” said Monty Reynolds formally, “Welcome Aboard.” He bowed – hoping the action would distract the eyes of the woman before him as he sent a particularly lecherous varmint of a crewmember clattering down the stairwell. “Monty,” said Inara, friendly but cautious as she offered her hand. Monty admired the henna-ed swirls upon it. “I’m glad to see you”, she added. “We’re glad to be here – under the circumstances.” Monty smiled amiably. Inara gave a soft nod of her head, keeping her eyes on Reynolds. “And my shuttle?” she enquired. “Not to worry there, Lady. My rats’ll get her sail worthy and back on course again in no time.” “Oh thank God.” Inara’s relief was perhaps more obvious than she would have wished. But Monty never seemed to take offence, especially where none real was intended. “In the meantime,” he said, “if you would like to accompany me – you can take your rest and join me for some, uh, repast.” Behind the Captain could be glimpsed the grinning figure of a man, whose open leather jerkin, tanned chest and scarred face were offset by an incongruous white hat. Inara looked uneasy. “No fret for that,” Monty chuckled, “his food tastes better than he looks!” and he laughed louder at that. The Chef hat bobbed up and down as the man agreed enthusiastically. Monty stepped back – ignored the squeal as he trod on the Chef’s foot – and roared out, “Ok then! Back to your travails men! Nothing more to see here – any further peeping and you’ll be walking where there aint no road!” and he jabbed his hand towards the secondary airlock.

A few minutes later and Inara was comfortably sat in the Captain’s cabin, sipping at a surprisingly fine wine contained within a delicate stemmed glass. “Thank you Monty,” she smiled, “this is a rare treat.” “For us Inara, to tell true.”

The Companion looked about. “Very homely,” she noted, “you like to read?” her eyes were scanning the small oak bookshelves – antique in themselves seemingly. “Aye, that’s so – though the devil knows the time to do so’s rare enough.” He looked at them now himself and hmmmed. “Y’know, I believe Malcolm Reynolds still has a volume or two of mine.” Inara snorted – and changed the subject quickly. “I hope I’m not delaying you any then? My shuttle…” “Don’t be troubling yourself there, Lady, it’s all in hand.” At least this Captain Reynolds is a gentleman, thought Inara a little peevishly. “Well, again, thanks Monty – my shuttle’s been difficult ever since Jayne… well, ever since it had to fly more people than I would’ve wished.” Monty rubbed a thoughtful hand across his moustache. “Emergency?” Inara’s eyes twinkled with sudden mischief. “On Serenity? Isn’t it always?” “It has been said!” he agreed wryly, but Inara’s eyes had lost their shine for a moment. “Anyway,” the companion continued, “ I can’t guarantee that the problem won’t turn out to be incense sticks stuck in the wiring.” Monty gave a dry chuckle. “That’d be Jayne right enough.” Inara took another sip of her wine, “I must say Monty – that I wasn’t sure of the reception I’d get here, after…” and she cast her eyes down. “Mal married my wife?” Monty looked sour, “married her first that is.” There was a pause before Inara said, “Yes, I thought perhaps you would see a Companion as…” she left the sentence to dangle. Monty shook his head. “I aint minded to tar all of women folk with the same brush. Even less for the trade they’re in.” Inara covered her mouth quickly. Removing it, she said, “well, coming from a Reynolds – that’s something of a revelation.” Monty asked slowly the question that Inara had been waiting on. “And Bridget? Have you…?” “Seen her?” Inara shook her head - the tiny threaded beads therein caught the light flashing tiny rainbows. She set down her glass. “No, well - not since I put her in the dumpster.” Monty blinked. “The - ?” blinked again – and then began to shake as a galvanic burst of laughter started to build in him. “Oh, Lass,” he said, struggling to speak. “I hope your shuttle is broken but good…” he gasped for air – beetroot faced, “you have a LOT to tell me!” and so saying, he gave himself up to laughter completely.


Back in the present and Monty was still haggling with Mr Sallow. “And we’re to believe this is known about – and no/one’s coming to strip the place of its vitals – no/one as in people like us?” “S’already done, Mr Reynolds. Been mapped and charted and looted and left.” Uriah stated confidently, even as the relevant data scrolled across the screen. “So, no noses and no peepers peering in when me and the lads are home and cosy.” Monty said – and sounding interested. Uriah flashed a salesman’s grin. “I guarantee it. Now normally, a site like this would cost an arm and a leg -” Monty however was not grinning. “Best make sure they’re not your own…” he growled, causing Uriah, distant as he was, to raise one of the threatened limbs in a ‘let’s not be hasty big fella’ gesture and wave it about on the viewer. “Now, now,” he gulped, “this is honest and above board in all respects. It’s a terrible nasty verse… but some of us in it are still men of their word and my word is ‘cowardice’. Rest assured,” and he gulped again, “I would not dream of crossing you.” “Aye – well, that’s to the good.” He left the man to wait – while he moved over again to peer through the cockpit windows – out at the starry vastness and the slow moving metal behemoth he was thinking to buy.

Yes – it could be a good place, a fine place. A safe haven finally, far off and far away from the memory of war blasted valleys or the ruined homes of friends and compañeros… a place fit for a new beginning – to start fresh – new plans, new ideas… things could be different, really different… might even be that he could finally settle down…


… and rest for good... yes – far from the Alliance… and far from…

“Uh, Monty? Sir!” Reynolds train of thought derailed as he looked up, hearing the voice of his crewman. “Yeah?” “Transmission Sir, we got a wave coming in… some kind of distress call…” the man peered into the screen and jiggled the ungainly receiver in his ear, “ship called Serenity, a Captain… Malcolm Reynolds?” He pointed an index finger at his monitor.

Monty sighed. Then again, hell, maybe some things would never change. Malcolm Reynolds – always Malcolm Reynolds… He turned round from the window – and caught sight of his reflection, the gleaming eyes, the shock of his great white beard – and the wide white flashing grin that had spread from ear to ear. “Captain?” called Uriah from the viewer – and beginning to sound a little forlorn. “Hello? Captain Reynolds?”

Monty was already striding over to his crewman. “We’ll get back to you on this!” he yelled over his shoulder. Helplessly, Uriah tried jumping up and down and tapping on the camera. “But – but!” he cried. “Move that damn but of yorn!” Monty bawled at full strength – and the on-screen image showed a very quailing salesman – “I said WE’LL GET BACK TO YOU ON THIS!” He cut the transmission and grabbed the internal microphone, yelling instructions as he did so.

Yep, jobs could come and jobs could go… Meantime? Seemed like there was always work to be done.

THE END …………………………………….

*War (Buddy) Bonds available now from MY-Rey Enterprises! Don’t remember the war like it was – remember it better! These Bonds can be exchanged for goods and perishables available from any MY-Rey outlet just like the good old days. Sick of carrying Alliance coin and credit? - well, with Monty’s genuine Buddy-Bonds you won’t have to! Call MY-Rey Enterprises on Uni-wide 0808MUcode55X and await response.


Fic writers note: Monty/Inara? Just friendly is all. Also, I’m assuming ‘Bertha’ the bomber got blown up and that ‘Madagascar’ is the Captain’s later smuggling vessel.

Many thanks and a quick salute to all as commented on the first part of this fic - hope this entertained... Since this tale bounces off so much of Firefly and the BDM all credit goes to Joss, truly the daddy.


Friday, February 15, 2008 8:31 AM


This is so much fun! Monty and Inara having dinner is priceless. And I can just see Mal and Wash in to stocks being rescued by Monty.

Pure Jossionian.

Saturday, February 16, 2008 5:47 AM


You KNOW I'm enjoying this =D But gee, I couldn't even immagine Monty and Inara more than friends...

Keep flying ;)

Thursday, February 28, 2008 7:57 AM


I love the bit at the beginning with Mal and Wash in the stocks - Jayne blending in! classic


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