The two watchers waited for their backup, motionless, ready for her move - still smiling, always smiling, like carrion birds expecting the fear to drown her. A murder of toothsome crows, shrikes impaling her on long thorns. They surrounded her. She saw the others drifting like shadows, the seen and unseen, tangled up in wires sharp as knives, victims of a gallows whim. Ghosts of lives stolen, including her own, haunted her like a hall of reflections and infinite nested images.

Just one outcome in thousands. So many possibilities from one origin, and only one path ever chosen. Wavelengths painted in prism. A butterfly flapped its wings, and a veil dropped from clear skies. A field of chrysanthemum and peonies grew around her, golden and electric, filling the austerity with vivid hue. She could feel their confusion. Pale imitations. Their idea of deliverance was a steady aim.

She had walked willfully into this ambush. Visions of triumphs had been clearer than the tragedies, so much closer. She let her thoughts wander and the microcosm bled away to grey until she encountered herself, dancer lithe and poised to strike. Which was the reality? She seemed herself a raven, dark hair spun around her in the simile of wings and feathers, a grim psychopomp and harbinger of ill tidings. Wū ​yā​ zuǐ. Not her. Not the girl she had been, unrecognizable now, but the figment carved from herself, the cruel marionette.

Just a trick of the mind. Physics had no law here. River reached for the whirling tempest within her and struck first, releasing it onto the hapless landscape. The hurricane tore though the illusion, and a circle of judgment like those used by the patriotic tribunals was swept from amid the swirling fog. Three small children recoiled from where they stood around her, retreating from the exposure and onslaught. Startled. A brunette boy, all wild fringe and almond eyes; another ashen and empty; and a girl with hair like fire. All orphans wearing form-fitting Academy slate, no family to miss them. The butterfly, the bluebird, and the phoenix - codenames Cho, Sialia, and Lucy. The hallucination could no longer sustain itself, and the three younger students fell away from her, laying around her like a fractal pattern on the hangar floor. A tetrahedron. The center of the dragon's eye.

Once they flew of their own will, all the prodigal children, until the greatest minds snatched them all up for further study. Locked them in the tower until they molted under the weight of the chains. They gathered the feathers and glued the filaments together with wax and steel, hoping to construct their own archangels, albatross wings arched forth to span the entire heavens. Made them jump from the rooftop, over and over again, cut open the ones that failed to recoup their investments. Justice from injustice. Then shelved when a stronger prospect came along. Replaced. Forgotten by the society they were supposed to cleanse.

She has seen oblivion in many forms, spied as though through a mirror. Indirect, like the gaze of a gorgon. Only way to survive. Glimpses of mortality - shadows of glory and then dust. Each instance like every other. Dying takes a lifetime, but death itself takes only a heartbeat.

The agents were now out of options, and out of time. Like conductor batons the instruments were drawn, a threatening omen, more alchemy than science. Cold iron and tellurium and silver. Psionic weapon against psionic weapon. She heard the memory of the terrible symphony in the back hallways of a hospital, variations in frequency oscillating though the spaces between. Silent shrieks joined by the choir. Dissolution by resonance in rhythm with the throbbing of her pulse; a wave in red, rising until it spilled over. She clawed her way screaming up their nerves, fighting against the tide, in harmony with the music.

- - - - - The feed cut out all a sudden, and the two ice queens froze over the keyboard, staring at the network access screen. Cortex down. Troubleshooting tips in Chinese scrolled around the edges. Finally one of them shrugged. "That takes care of the locks. Can we go now?"

Kaylee looked over from where she was shoulder deep in wires and opened her mouth to answer with some cheerful farewell. She kept forgetting they were treacherous and she was supposed to be mad at them. Couldn't ruffle a skirt with her smiles or the heart patch on her overalls. Not unless their name was Simon. "Nope," said Jayne, before the words were out. "Put a missile up our taillights we don't lock you in the brig."

He admired the newest rifle added to his collection. Big nice one, not as fancy as Vera's armor piercing rounds, but a three barrel automatic bull pup 9 mm Kurtz-Marlow with an infra-red scope. He was thinking he'd call her Iris, after the former owner who was glaring pure jealousy at him. Women, he thought. Couldn't trust them for a moment. Not like guns; take care of them, and they take care of you. He pointed the muzzle, motioned them up from their chairs towards the door.

"Where would we even get a missile?" one of the sisters complained, and the other one just sighed. The third girl kept glowering, her short black hair still messed up from their scuffle. Kaylee trailed along after them, pouting. Fine by him. All he cared was they did as they were told, or that he could win in a matched brawl. "The targeting computers around here are just as cooked."

Jayne shrugged. "Last I heard, you were after an Alliance gunboat. I ever get a thirty salvo salute, better be once I'm already dead." He studied them, doubtful. "Any of you even fly them buzzards?"

"I'm certified," Iris insisted. The blondes looked elsewhere, the walls, the floor as he herded them along.

"Yeah, damn right you are, turnin' on a fella like that." Wasn't on the square, not just because he got himself dragged into this, but Mal was the biggest sucker for women-folk and a sob story there ever was. "And for what, just t'get yourselves caught? Stayed with us, least you would've gotten clear."

"Why not just leave us then?" she asked.

Girl was not about to be guilted out of a such a fine piece of action. He could respect that. "'Cause ain't no one deserves a creepy-ass place like this," he told her. Plus he didn't want to be here any longer than he had to. That got them all quiet, even Kaylee who was disapproving on his manners. Good. The girl needed a reminder what they'd done. They trudged along, the mechanic and all her ship layouts near memorized occasionally snapping at him, no, this way, like the sameness didn't all go to the docking bay and they'd get baffled.

A couple kids ran in front of him, then another, laughing. Three of them, all a confusion in play around the hangar. And crazy, right in the middle of a blood-splattered mess, sobbing and crying and carrying up a storm.

Well. He was lost. Jayne stomped over to her. At least the others followed him, and weren't running and were quiet. So there was that. Weren't like they had anywhere else they could go. "Shut yer mouth, girl!" he hissed.

"Jayne!" Kaylee admonished. Gorramn sunshine. Didn't know there was a proper time and place for niceties and thought too kindly and trusting. Never noticed how aggravating the psychic core-brat was either.

He waved his hand at the little siren. "She gonna bring the guards down on us with that banshee wailing." And that wasn't unsettling at all, after he'd seen her leap at a room full of Reavers without even flinching. What had the little witch done anyhow? There were bits of fabric floating in all the gore, like scraps of black confetti. He'd seen grenades leave a prettier corpse.

Didn't much want to get blown up himself if she was unstable. Her brother and Zoe could deal with her. Wherever they were. "River!" Right on schedule. Except it wasn't the doc come running across the hangar bay and threw themselves at her.

- - - - - "Confined to her room for a week," Zoe said, seething. Simon had seen her angry before, a deadly calm before dishing out punishment. Usually he wasn't almost as furious and definitely not at River. "Only allowed out for her toiletries and for mealtimes."

He couldn't disagree. It had definitely been River who had knocked them both out and abandoned them in a strange room on an Alliance ship, not an Academy program. "I don't know what's gotten into her," he admitted. Whatever it was, he hoped there was a good reason for her actions. Their earlier speculation hadn't reassured him.

There she was. His heart wrenched at the pitiful noises she was making. His irritation quickly shifted targets. Jayne was standing idly by, doing nothing. There were others around her as well. They talked to her, softly, petting her hair, but River remained unaware, her cries inconsolable. He hadn't seen them since he left home, his life, and the core. They hadn't changed much, a kind of aged dignity they shared, more grey around his temples, more wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. They'd fit right in at a dinner party except for the prisoner scrubs they were wearing. No, it couldn't be. They couldn't be there. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"She was already like this," Jayne snapped.

Simon ignored him, and pulled River away from them, the tears soaking into his shirt. As if they had any right after what they had done. They sent her to that place, and when he had risked everything to save her, they'd thrown him out and given up on their own children. "Get away from her!" he shouted. Regan and Gabriel Tam stared at him, shocked. "Don't you touch her!"

Zoe sized up his parents and the other women in the mercenary's company coolly, the condemnation in her eyes enough to wilt them. "Where's the captain?" she asked, taking account of those who were missing with resignation.

Jayne couldn't meet the first mate's insightful gaze, and Kaylee's cheeks were wet as she hovered nearby, uncertain, entirely at a loss. "Over there," the gunman said, pointing at the elevator without looking. Simon released River into Kaylee's care and they held each other like sisters. As complicated as their relationship was lately, he was grateful for her help. To all of the crew, really; he didn't always agree with them but they were like family, after his own had abandoned him.

He already knew what to expect as they approached. Mal and Inara looked peaceful together, the only way they could. He thought he might never understand either of them. The captain had managed to top his usual routine of denial and self-destructive overtures, and dragged Inara along with him. She hadn't deserved this, but perhaps, this was what she wanted. They were both willing to risk their lives for each other, all but given up on ever having anything more, and they'd gotten their death wish. Their courtship was a long tortured spiral, predictable, and no less tragic for them than for those around them. Zoe took in the scene with solemn acceptance, another loss before her like a flickering gravestone. Her desolation prompted Simon to check their vitals, however remote and futile the possibility.

Inara was holding something, a syringe that he pried out of her hand. His mind raced with the realization. Byphodine. Suspended cerebral, cardiac, and pulmonary activity. He'd left the box out after putting Inara under for cryogenesis. "Get them to the infirmary," he said, authoritative.

"Li'l late for that, don'tcha think?" Jayne called back loudly.

He exchanged a look with Zoe, who after some initial surprise nodded. She stooped over the captain. "One more time, sir," she whispered, and then her voice surged. "If you're comin' with us, best get aboard."

- - - - - Long day. Zoe could feel it wear on her, deep in the marrow, Alliance handling and interference as well as her duties as acting captain. She watched them settle Inara on the counter to the side, as she eased her former sergeant and brother onto the infirmary chair. The doc hooked him up to damn near a cocoon of IV lines, monitors, and oxygen, until she was pushed out, the situation beyond her training as a field medic to assist.

She dragged herself away from staring at the surgery and passed Jayne where he was crouched half hidden on the stairs, peering into the sick bay windows. "Passengers secured?" the corporal asked.

The mercenary glanced up at her, seemingly concerned about more than his own survival for once. "Yeah. Snobs locked in the dorm rooms, snake women in the belly airlock."

Not enough room in the stores to feed them, Zoe knew, even with Kaylee's parcel of sweets from home. They'd stretched the budget just for supplies for seven. She nodded to him, and continued on to the bridge. Stood at the threshold, just a moment, looking where her husband died. She could almost imagine him, short blonde hair ashen by the stars, seated and half turned towards her with a curious smile. You ready?

Always, she thought back, and sat at the console. Three overhead switches later, Serenity hummed to life.

- - - - - The flag fluttered to the ground in the aftermath, red stained and soaking, smearing the ink of the near-illiterate scrawl. The barricades had gone silent, the mob departed and looting the supplies and reserves in the distance. There was a glow in the east, the dawn and the fires.

Arim gazed at the the inferno of the airfield, the golden streaks emerging from behind the columns of smoke and fire. Ras had always been the leader of of the three brothers, the last to fall, but hadn't lived to see the end of the oppression. Justice, dearly sought, had asked them one last sacrifice.

This was the new life Ras had fought for, one without fear of capture or slavery. Time to start living it. Arim raised the banner, and walked one more time with his brother to the chapel sanctuary.

- - - - - The road stretched before him long and dusty, a broad valley indistinct under a deep glowing sky, between mountains that touched the clouds. Will-o-the-wisps lined the path, their little wings glinting like patterned windows, mirrored in the endless expanse as they floated along. He couldn't tell morning from evening or how far he'd traveled, but there were miles left to go and not any notion where.

A wind clear and sweet stirred the air, humming as a shimmering, ever-shifting blaze of color flashed from one horizon to another. The breeze carried with it a distant song, rising over the hills and through the vales like a soulful hymn from his childhood.

They never had a pipe organ at the church in Vertrag on Shadow, but they'd made do. He heard the bells, softer than the fiddlers, the choir, and couldn't make out the words, but he knew them by heart. Though like the wanderer the sun gone down. The night before the surrender he'd serenaded the troops and thought there'd been an answer from beyond the trenches, other hapless souls trapped under the raining fire, but in different uniforms. Never again he'd caroled since then, but the captain smiled despite himself. "Well shepherd," he said, "Guess I've lost my way."

"Always said as much," his pilot opined, visible and vibrant and solid as stolen daylight, with the usual irreverence and a lazy smirk. He shouldn't hit Wash. Wasn't even sure if he could.

"I could offer a parable," Book suggested, appearing just as suddenly, stepping out of the shadows, his deep timbre out of the music, hair in silver coils. "Jonah and the whale comes to mind."

So much for a lonely walk. "Been here longer than three days and nights," he challenged. Preparing his whole life, really. "Do your worst."

In retrospect, not the best thing to say to a couple of vengeful spirits. Or to Wash, ever. The joker had a creative sense of humour, and Book had his own techniques and mysteries. This time, though, they just laughed. "Not to worry," the preacher reassured him. "We're here to help."

Just three travelers, each of them guiding each other. Ironic he'd meet a pilot and a shepherd here. Mal grunted, noncommittal, and surveyed the landscape again. Kinda pretty. Some other time he could gaze up forever and try to trace the constellations for the ones he knew, but he felt a tugging insistence that he couldn't stay. "You got a map?"

The old man shrugged. "We all get where we're going sooner or later."

"Where's that?" he asked.

Wash really looked at him then, equal parts liquid sincerity and awe in his blue eyes, and a kind of disbelief, demanding, how could he not know this? "Home." Almost a breath, filled with all kinds of inflections, like Wash pining for Zoe, and Serenity, and the stars, and something nameless that surrounded them. As though that one word could remind Mal of something he'd forgotten.

In the lingering strains were long grasses and wide open plains, the thundering of wild horses, the festivity of a potluck banquet, quiet meals around a campfire, the warmth around the galley table and the mismatched chairs, a shuttle filled with the scent of some exotic spice. Not just the places, but the people.

Mal missed so many of them, even years later, some long gone, all of them shaped and ushered and transformed him into who he was now. Then he'd repaid their kindness with anger and wretched grief. He wished he'd never met them, maybe they'd all still be alive.

"Are you glad to have known them?" Book asked, and it was more than just the two of them he was speaking for.

The truth. Mal nodded, choked up. "Yeah." More than he could ever say.

Wash tilted his head to one side, studying him. "Ever thought maybe they might've felt the same way about you?"

He stared at them both. They were making even less sense than usual. Mal knew what he'd done, and no amount of speculation could change that. He wanted to rage at them both, but when he reached for the anger, he couldn't find any. Let them think what they want, he supposed, didn't matter now. "Zoe's having your baby," he said to Wash instead. The sha guā looked like a kid himself with his face lit up like that. And I'm the reason you won't be there. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," answered Wash, and he almost sounded like he meant that. "You find a lot of things are when you're out here." Then the funny was back again. "Zoe's wanted a family for a while now. I mean, sure, I won't be able to go out for beers anymore, but I figure you'll be on diaper duty for me."

Mal glared at him. "Okay, who are you really?"

"The mastermind who just turned your boat into a nursery?" Wash posited, and Book chuckled at him.

That was a cheap shot. "No!" he sputtered. They were almost transparent now. A brilliance was growing, off in the distance, the world breaking apart around them, starlight shining between the cracks. "Both of you. All this talk about home and such. You're here to fetch me away?" Mal paused thoughtfully. He'd expected dying to hurt more. Wasn't as grey, either. "Shoulda known you're both mó guài."

Wash pouted comically. "Hey."

Book clapped him on the shoulder with that gentle grin the preacher had about him sometimes, like all the 'verse was known to him and the captain was the one talking nonsense. "We're your friends, Mal. Always will be." At the contact, there was a rush he couldn't really understand that spoke to the soul of them, a brightness and compassion and the potential of all things. The background voices swelled, an angelic choir. Or if on joyful wing cleaving the sky, he thought, sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I fly, still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to thee. "C'mon now, they're waiting for you."

He blinked his eyes open, then shut, against the blinding surgical light, and groaned. Someone was holding his hand, tight enough to hurt. "Mal?" Inara. Her voice quiet, tentative, like she might scare him back to that place between.

Mal breathed a few moments, trying to accommodate the dream, and he couldn't. "Tell the doc he's got my morphine dosed too high."

A flicker of amusement and snickering rose around the infirmary. "We just saved your life," Simon said, somewhere around the back of his head. Dry as ever, and also relieved. "You're welcome."