PART 2 – Help Rushes In

Inara reclined on her porch swing and stared up at the stars, dreaming of the days when she traveled between worlds rather than watching them cross her sky. It was cold for August, and she either wanted her husband to come out here and keep her warm, or she needed to get some hot chocolate and a fleece blanket. She was just about to call out for Mal when the night air filled with a wretched cry and the sound of smashing glass. Her heart quickening, Inara jumped from her swing and dashed inside. Mal leaned over the sink, his head bowed broodingly as he reigned in the outburst that had sent a collection of teacups crashing to the floor. Tension rippled through him and Inara kept her distance, not wanting to be in his path if he lashed out again. “Is it Michael?” she whispered fearfully. Since her son had shipped out six months ago, she’d been constantly worried for his safety. “Zoë,” Mal said tersely. “Relapse.” His fists clenched and unclenched, and then he reached out to her. Inara took his hand, but he hooked her into an embrace. Hugging him gently, she waited in silence, wanting to know why the news had rendered her favorite tea cups into shards. Zoë had been fighting cancer since she was five, and had had half a dozen relapses over the years. The news always hit Mal hard, because every time he thought about losing little Zoë, he lost her Momma all over again, but he normally stored the anger for later. Perhaps, being off the job now, the teacups were his only outlet for violence. “How far has it spread?” Inara asked. “She said to bring Jayne.” Inara’s hand flew to her mouth and her heart sank. Burying her face in both hands, she prayed fervently that things were not as bad as Zoë’s request implied.

*~*

Simon’s knee ached in protest as he hobbled down the hall to Little Zoë’s room as quickly as his feet would take him. He’d known her, loved her, and been her doctor for her entire life. He’d be damned if he outlived her. He carried the hospital’s chart and his own records in one hand. As much as he wanted to review them while he walked, he needed his cane right now, else he would tip over for rushing. When he arrived in Zoë’s room, she slept peacefully on the bed, numbed by medicines. Michael squatted in the corner, head tucked, hugging his knees. Simon’s concern immediately shifted to the boy, worried that River may be facing greater problems than detoxing from her meds. River’s psychosis was related to what the Alliance did to her brain, but when something hit Michael too, Simon knew it was related to the psychic ability, and that required different analyses. “Michael,” Simon called, but Michael didn’t look up. Simon set Zoë’s charts on the bed and leaned over Michael. His leg was stiff from the trip to Ariel, and he stumbled as he tried to kneel. Startled, Michael lashed out, knocking Simon sideways and hard. Simon cried out as he lost balance, but Michael caught his elbow and helped him settle to the floor before he fell flat and hit his head. For a moment, they both sat there looking at each other. Simon was trying to catch his breath, and Michael looked for all the worlds like he couldn’t believe Simon was actually there. “Sorry,” Simon said bashfully, when the room stopped spinning. “Are you alright?” Michael cocked his head, and then reached for his ear, switching on his hearing aid. “What?” “Are you sick?” Simon asked. He scooted closer, trying to get a better look at Michael’s face. Michael’s eyes were bloodshot, and he had the rumpled, unshaven look and smell of a man who hadn’t seen a shower in a few days. “No. It just gets loud,” Michael said finally, rubbing his ear and resisting the tendency to scratch and tear at the skin. Michael was a more sensitive reader than River, and he got overwhelmed fairly easily when he had to distinguish real sounds from read ones. It was why he had chosen to work with a small crew on the rim. “I thought you were bringing Aunt Kaylee and Aunt River.” “They’re upstairs getting a room for River,” Simon said, accepting a hand from Michael as he tried to stand. Michael’s jaw tightened in concern. “Is she alright?” “No worse than normal,” Simon dismissed, even if it wasn’t exactly true. Michael had enough to worry about without shouldering River’s burdens as well. Michael screwed up his face, but accepted the lie without complaint. He went to Zoë’s bedside and took her hand, keeping quiet as Simon opened the two charts and started his evaluation. “When did you last sleep?” Simon asked Michael, unable to stand there without doctoring (or uncle-ing) a little. Michael leaned on his elbows and rubbed his cheek against his and Zoë’s clasped hands. He turned his head sideways to look at Simon and shrugged. Simon gave the boy a stern look and Michael sighed. “What day is it?” Michael asked. “Tuesday,” Simon said disapprovingly. It was going to get hectic and crazy in the next few hours as everyone started arriving, and if he weren’t rested, Michael would suffer a breakdown. Between Mal and Jayne alone, there would be enough tension to snap Michael like a twig. “Nothing will change here in the next few hours. Why don’t you find a quiet spot and get some rest.” Michael sighed hesitantly and looked at his sister, not wanting to leave her side. He could be stubborn, just like his father and Simon decided he’d wait until he had a preliminary diagnosis to give Michael before asking him to leave again. He noticed Michael wincing when he touched Zoë’s neck. Could he feel her pain? Before Simon could ask, Michael switched off his hearing aid, returned to the corner, and sat down on the floor, resting his head on his knees again.

*~*

Jayne hadn’t been the same since Sky died three years ago. Mal had set him and Emily up in a little house, and he helped as best he could, but mostly Mal stayed out of the way. When he tried to be social, Jayne usually withdrew and looked quietly at his boots. Last week, when he’d come, Jayne had twitched his lips and grunted, which was more acknowledgement than Mal had gotten in years, so at least he knew it was okay to keep trying. It would have been different if Sky’s death hadn’t been an accident. Jayne hadn’t touched a gun since that day and Mal had taken all his knives when he caught Jayne cutting on himself. They’d put Jayne in a hospital for a short spell, and even now Jayne only ever talked to his daughter, but that was something. Mal had checked out homes on a few different worlds, but when he’d brought Jayne to this one, Jayne went straight to the pond in the back yard and smiled wistfully, so Mal had fought hard to get him this piece of land. As he came through the front gate, Mal heard the gleeful shouts of laughter in the back yard, so he by-stepped the house and went around back. Jayne stood by the pond, twirling his ten-year-old Emily in circles. A broad smile lit his face and Emily squealed with delight and dizziness as her purple dress flared and her bare feet ripped up the soft grass. Mal hated that his presence alone would render Jayne somber, and he shuddered to think what the news of Zoë would do to the man. He hung back and watched, treasuring the happiness of the moment, not wanting to interrupt. “Uncle Mal!” Emily squealed when she saw him. Dropping her father’s hand, she dashed across the yard toward Mal, her path swaying slightly from residual dizziness. She had Sky’s blonde, curly hair, Jayne’s chiseled jaw, and all the youthful sweetness of a daddy’s girl. She was too big to lift, but that didn’t stop her from trying to jump into Mal’s arms and hang off his shoulders. He couldn’t help but laugh. If she was in such high spirits, Jayne must have been having a good day. Mal looked over at his old friend. Jayne hung back by the pond. His features were solemn, but he hadn’t ducked his head like he usually did. Mal rarely showed up unannounced, and Jayne knew something was wrong. Taking Emily’s hand, Mal walked to the pond, because he knew Jayne wouldn’t come to him. “Hello,” Mal said politely to Jayne. Emily leaned against Mal, draping his arms over her shoulders and holding his wrists, while swaying foot-to-foot. “Papa, Uncle Mal is here,” she said encouragingly, watching him for a response. Jayne had never wanted to be called Papa. He and Sky had been competing to see whether Emily would say Momma or Daddy first. Then one day they were all sitting at dinner, and as a joke, Jamie suggested Papa, and that’s what Emily repeated. It was her first word, and she looked right at her father, reached out, and said ‘Papa.’ There was no going back. Jayne picked at his fingernails and turned to face the water. Little Emily ducked her head sadly, because as accustomed as she’d become to seeing her father like this, it still hurt her heart. Mal hugged her lightly and patted her head. “I need you to come with me to Ariel,” Mal said, getting right to the point. Jayne nodded minutely. Truthfully, Mal hadn’t expected that much of a response. “There’s a transport that leaves in an hour. The next one doesn’t go ‘til tomorrow. I ain’t waitin’ and I ain’t leaving without you.” Jayne nodded again. His forehead creased and he moved his jaw side-to-side, like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. “Who?” he asked quietly. “Zoë.” Jayne’s jaw quivered and his fingers curled into a fist. Jayne had seen Mal through every one of Little Zoë’s relapses, and Mal had never realized how much he’d come to depend on that strength. When things got darkest, Mal would remember Zoë’s momma, and he’d be in Serenity Valley all over again. Jayne had never waited for him to come out of it on his own. “Simon’s already there, so I’m hoping …” he trailed off. Mal didn’t know what he was hoping. If it was her time to leave this world then he was hoping to get there in time to say good-bye, but what he was really hoping was that this was all a giant mistake or an elaborate, sadistic rouse for a surprise party. He’d done worse to Simon. “Pack light.” Inhaling deeply and squaring his shoulders, Jayne lifted his head just enough to see his daughter. “Emily, go inside and get your green jacket, your walking boots, and one toy.” “The green jacket? Papa,” Emily whined. “It’s cold on Ariel,” Jayne said, placing a hand on her shoulders and turning her toward the house. “Now go before I change my mind about the toy.” He waited for her to go inside, and then paced three steps upstream, moved a rock, and pulled on a handle in the ground. The earth dislodged, and a small door opened, revealing a hidden, weather-sealed storage area. Inside was a medium-sized duffle. It didn’t seem odd that Jayne had a bag packed and was ready to leave at a moment’s notice. With a past like his, one could never be too careful. There was a gun in there too, buy Jayne left it behind. He shouldered the duffle, closed the door, kicked the grass and dirt back into place, and then turned toward Mal. Jayne was looking right at him, blue eyes glistening, grim but determined, sad but strong. It was just for a moment, and then Jayne was looking at his boots again.

*~*

Zoë was worse than Simon had anticipated. She’d suffered severe blood loss when she’d been attacked, and had bruises on several internal organs, but worse than that, the cancer had returned after almost ten years of being in remission, and it was everywhere – throat, lungs, spine. He had a meeting with the lead surgeon who had spent days mapping out the extent of the cancer and how best to get it out. They were waiting for Zoë’s body to recover from her initial injury before proceeding, but given the rate the cancer was spreading, every hour seemed crucial. “Dad!” Startle, Simon swore and jumped, agitating his knee. His son, Jamie, had arrived from Osiris where he’d been attending medical school at Simon’s alma matter. “How is Zoë?” Jamie asked, catching up to Simon. He was dressed the part of a well-bred, well-moneyed, core elitist, except for the bright orange flip flops. “Her surgery is tomorrow morning,” Simon said, then pointed dismissively in the direction of Zoë’s room. “I have to go.” Simon walked away, but Jamie kept pace. “I’d like to assist,” Jamie pressed. “No.” “Zao gao! But Dad –” Simon held up a hand to silence the protest. Jamie had three inches on him, but at least he respected authority. “You’re not a doctor yet. You’re a med student.” Jamie scrunched his nose angrily, paced in a circle, then trotted to catch up with Simon again. “Gou shi! I have been assisting you with surgeries since I was ten years old! I know Zoë’s chart backward and forward. I can quote her record from rote memory. There is no zhen ta ma de medic better qualified to assist.” It was true – Jamie had been helping Simon in Serenity’s infirmary ever since Simon had injured his leg and he knew as much as Simon could teach him about medicine. Simon had been expecting Jamie’s request (and the accompanying blue streak of swear words), but he couldn’t have this conversation now. He was holding too much in the tip of his mind, preparing to meet the chief surgeon. “This is not a rim clinic; this is a core hospital,” he said patiently. “A medical degree makes a difference. That’s why you’re in school.” Jamie bit back further protests as they reached the door to the surgeon’s office and Simon stopped walking. “You could at least ask,” Jamie said quietly. He cursed when he argued, but never when he begged. “I know if you vouch for me…” “I’ll ask,” Simon agreed, knocking on the door. He heard someone shout ‘just a minute,’ and so he turned back to his son and forced himself to take a breath. Jamie was a mystery, a miracle, and a wonder to Simon. Never in a million years would he have guessed Jamie would follow him into medicine, but once the boy had taken it into his head, he went at it with all the force of a freight train and there was no stopping him. “How are classes?” Simon asked. “What are you missing today?” “I’m not in classes,” Jamie sighed, boredly. “Shen me?” “I tested out at the beginning of the semester,” Jamie explained. Sometimes, Simon wondered if Jamie might be smarter than River, at least in some things. Here Jamie was, poised to start the promising career that Simon had abandoned almost twenty-five years ago. He was learning about new medicines, new technologies, and new treatments. Simon was looking forward to the day when Jamie finished his training and he would finally have a second medical opinion with regard to River… and Michael, for that matter. One couldn’t just bring cases like that into a hospital and ask for a consult. “This month I’m on oncology rotation,” Jamie said bitterly. “Ironic.” They looked at each other, sharing grief in that quiet, reserved way they both had, and then Simon hooked his hand around the back of Jamie’s neck and pulled his son into a hug. Rising on tip toes so he wouldn’t get smothered in Jamie’s jacket, he complained, “It’s not fair that you’re taller than me.”

*~*

Inara had lunch with Emily at least once a week, but she rarely saw Emily and Jayne together. Jayne seemed to make progress quietly and in private, and whenever she came by to check on him, he just stopped everything and waited for her to leave again. Sometimes Inara wondered if Emily was lying about her home life so that she could keep her father with her, but seeing the two of them together now alleviated that fear. They had caught a transport from Deadwood to Ariel and appropriated a cramped but private cabin for themselves. There was a picture window on the outside wall and an L-shaped bench that constituted two beds. Above one of the bench seats was a third fold-out bed. The cabin was designed to fit three average sized peasants, not two giants and two women. Jayne had claimed the bench/bed underneath the window for himself and he’d played cards with Emily most of the afternoon, looking like he was a whole person, not broken at all. Mal and Inara had walked the ship hand-in-hand for a few hours, and Inara remembered the days when they did this on Serenity. She missed the freedom of being space-born, but they simply couldn’t maintain their own ship anymore. When they returned from their walk, Jayne was sleeping on his bench seat and Emily was on the top fold-out bunk reading a book. Mal slouched into the lower bunk, leaning against the wall with one knee peaked, making a space for Inara to nestle between his legs. She reclined comfortably against him, staring wistfully out the picture window. She could see out now that Jayne was lying down. Mal’s breathing slowed as he dozed off and Inara wondered how he could sleep given the circumstances. Restless, Inara carefully disentangled herself from Mal’s embrace, and peeked over the top bunk to see if Emily was still awake and in the mood for a walk. The girl lay on her side, holding her book but not reading it. She wiped her face quickly to hide the tears in her eyes, but Inara ignored them graciously. “Do you want to take a walk, sweetie?” Inara asked. Emily shook her head and tried to read her book, but when she blinked, a tear escaped. “Auntie ‘Nara, is something wrong with Papa?” “What makes you say that?” Jayne seemed fine to her, but if anything were wrong, Emily would be the first to notice. She quickly turned her attention to Jayne and Emily hopped off the bed to stand beside her, taking her hand. Leaning over, she checked that Jayne was breathing and that he didn’t have any unnatural-looking marks on his skin. He looked like he was sleeping peaceful. “Uncle Mal said we were going to a hospital,” Emily said soulfully, leaning her head on Inara’s arm, and immediately Inara understood. The last time Mal had taken Jayne to a hospital, it was to have him committed to the psych ward for three weeks, and they’d had to pull Emily off of him kicking and screaming. “Do we have to go?” Emily asked, her eyes welling with tears. “Papa’s been good. I promise.” “Oh, sweetie,” Inara said, squeezing the girl across the shoulders. “No one’s told you anything have they? We’re not going for your father. We’re going for my daughter, Zoë. You remember Zoë, right?” Emily nodded, but did not look comforted. “Is she gonna die?” “I hope not,” Inara said. She could offer no stronger assurance than that, no matter how much she wanted. Emily saw the uncertainty in Inara’s eyes, and she started crying. “What if…” she choked on the words and buried her face in Inara’s chest. “It’s not fair. It took so long to get him better. If Zoë dies ... I don’t want to lose him again!” Emily could barely get the words out as fear and grief overwhelmed her. Inara closed her eyes and embraced Emily, whispering a prayer for Emily that she’d composed when the girl first lost her mother. Emily knew the words by heart, but she was sobbing too much to say them. Inara held her until her cries woke the men, and she felt Jayne’s hand on her shoulder. Tapping Emily on the elbow, Jayne opened his arms to his little girl and she threw her arms around her Papa, weeping bitterly. “Hey, baby girl,” he soothed and shushed, rocking her gently as the sobs shook her whole body. “Don’t leave me, Papa!” “Never again,” Jayne said surely, kissing the top of her head and holding her tight. “I promised.” Inara closed her eyes and cried, as much for the fear of losing her daughter as for the joy of watching Jayne reclaim his. Mal touched Inara’s hand and nodded toward the door, but Inara was too distraught to be in public. She fell into Mal’s embrace and heard him whisper a short prayer to his own God – something he hadn’t done since the last time they were heading to a hospital. “I want Momma back,” Emily wailed and Inara felt her heart bleeding and she prayed that Jayne wouldn’t lose his mind. “Me too, baby,” Jayne whispered, choking on tears of his own. Then he sucked in his grief and cleared his throat. “Did I ever tell you about the time your Momma and me were stranded in that vineyard on Greenleaf?” Jayne had always been a story-teller to the kids on Serenity. Inara had never heard him tell a story about Sky, but it gave her hope to know he did it for Emily.

*~*

Mal’s mind was racing as they dashed from the port to the hospital. Little Zoë’s life was flashing before his eyes, and if anyone was telling him to slow down, he didn’t hear it. The only peace to be had was in his head, and in the memories of watching his kids grow up. As they came into the hospital, Mal immediately homed in on Jamie Tam, dressed in scrubs, standing to greet them. He vaguely felt the hospital receptionist as he plowed over her to get closer to Jamie. He was glad the boy was here and ready to work. Two Tams were better than one. Jamie was a genius. He’d only been a month in medical school when he’d heard about some experimental treatment and called Mal to Osiris. Within three days of treatment, the arthritis that had plagued Mal’s hand for years was completely cured. Mal was so excited about using his fingers again that he took up the piano. He wasn’t any good at it, but that didn’t stop him from trying to play along when Inara pulled out her harp. Emily ran excitedly to Jamie, nearly tackling him in a bear hug. Mal was glad to see it because the girl had been moody all morning. “Hey, look at you!” Jamie smiled, pinching her cheek and giving her a brief hug. Then he looked to Mal and Inara. He cringed when he saw Jayne, but masked it well, adopting that cool, unfeeling doctor-tone that he’d learned from Simno. “Zoë is this way.” Jamie led the way through the corridor, up three flights of stairs, and through another maze of corridors until Mal finally stopped paying attention. “The other doctors are scrubbing in. I’m supposed to walk her to the O.R. in –” Jamie paused to check his watch, “15 minutes.” “Can she talk?” Mal asked. From the report he’d heard she’d been pretty brutally attacked, and she’d killed her attacker. “They repaired the damage to her vocal cords, but it might be awhile before she can use them,” Jamie said somberly. There was an unspoken ‘assuming she survives that long’ in his tone. Jamie hadn’t been an optimist since Sky died on his watch. Mal and everyone else had given up telling him he wasn’t to blame. “Where’s Michael?” Inara asked. Jamie shook his head. “Getting some air.” They turned into the room, and there lay Zoë. She was unconscious already, with a mask over her face, an IV in her arm, and a bandage on her neck. Mal went to her side, his feet feeling like lead, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach and churning up fear. He touched her hand and her face. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking, because his ears had stopped hearing at some point. All he saw was his little girl, lying so powerless that she couldn’t even ask for help. She held in her being the memory of his best friend and the promise of hope. She was the reason Inara had stayed, and thus the foundation on which all his present happiness had been built. She was his life, his heart, and his precious child. Mal felt a hand on his shoulder and he shuddered and gasped. “Zoë,” he choked, calling to the ghost of his best friend as much as his dying daughter. He always felt the rain beating down his back and the warm brown coat on his shoulders. The skies cried out for Zoë, and the ‘verse never stopped mourning her loss. He’d held back the tears up ‘til now, but there didn’t seem much point anymore. If he held his grief inside much longer, he’d drown in the sorrow. “Uncle Mal,” Jamie said softly. “It’s time.” Grief receded, forming a lump in Mal’s throat and a knot in his belly. His face was damp, his breath raggedy, and his head aching. He stepped back, nearly falling on Inara. Had she been clinging to his arm this whole time? He gripped her tightly, holding on for dear life as they watched their little Zoë wheeled away. “Wait,” Emily cried out, looking from Jayne to Jamie. “Will she be okay?” Jamie pressed his lips together, not wanting to make any promises he couldn’t keep. Finally, he said, “I’ll be with her the whole time.”

*~*

Please comment before reading on to Part 3