Captain Doctor By KMS kmspider@aol.com http://hometown.aol.com/kmspider/myhomepage/index.html

Summary: AU—instead of losing the Battle of Serenity, the Independents won, extending the course of the war. Takes place around the same time as the series, six years after the First Battle of Serenity on Hera.

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* * * * * * * Chapter 4 * * * * * * *

‘Oh, diyu,’ Jayne thought. Zoe was gonna kill him. And if she didn’t, the Sarge was likely to just as soon as he woke up.

Jayne hadn’t taken much of liking to the doc when he’d first seen him. Too clean. Too rich smelling. Too Alliance. But having the boy stand up for himself when Jayne had wanted to muddy his face had earned a bit of Jayne’s respect. And seeing that pretty face looking back at him like a raccoon had been worth the small show of defiance. Turned out the doc was good for a laugh.

Standing there holding a lamp for the doc while he’d rummaged around peoples’ insides hadn’t hurt either. Boy knew what he was doing, and had shed his scared ways like a cloak when he worked, instead becoming sure of himself and softly giving instructions to those helping out, and layering on gentle praise where it would do the most good. Made people want to do as he asked.

Jayne had shifted off of lantern duty three times before Zoe had ordered him to finally go back to pick up the boy and put him to bed. The 2IC had been right, boy was dead on his feet. It was almost funny to watch him being so easily led. Reminded him of a pretty toy his youngest sister had when she was just a kid. You could flex its leg, elbows and knees, and the toy would stay in that position. Doc, after twelve hours of surgery, was just like that. Push the protein near his face and he suddenly remembered how to eat. Push him over, and his eyes closed automatically. Just like the doll.

Now that he thought on it, seemed the doll’s eyes were the same color as the doc’s, too.

And now he’d up and lost him. To Commander Early, of all people. How the hell that liumang had found out about the doctor, Jayne didn’t even want to guess. Then again, there had been dozens of people in and out of the tent since last night. Anyone could have told him.

The Commander and his chief henchman where two of the meanest hundans that it had been Jayne’s misfortune to meet.

And now they had the boy.

Jayne cursed the mud, and the rain, and officers in general, as he turned and hurried out to find Zoe.

* * * * * * *

Commander Jubal Early looked down at the shivering surgeon tied to a chair before him.

It didn’t sit well with him that Reynolds’ team had dragged this Alliance doctor across enemy lines so that he could operate on their man. Didn’t sit well that the man had clamed up the minute they’d snatched him.

Early looked down at him and snorted. Doctor! The boy was barely more than a child! But then again, so were most of their own soldiers.

“Tell me about troop movements!”

The young doctor merely shivered harder in response, eyes focused inward.

“I want to know where they plan to hit us next!”

The doctor sneezed.

The Commander stepped away, nodding to Crow. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the room, and the Commander turned back, signaling his man away.

“You can make it easy on yourself, Doctor. Are they planning on going north?”

One eye swelling, and his bottom lip bleeding, the doctor swallowed hard. “I don’t know anything. I’m just a doctor.”

“Surely the Alliance keeps their medical personnel informed and ready to move. Have you been ordered to prepare for a change of location?”

Early picked up a large knife off a nearby table, pointedly inspecting the blade.

“I don’t know. I’d been in surgery for over twenty hours when your people grabbed me. I can’t even tell you how long I’ve been here.”

Jubal grabbed a handful of the doctor’s thick, dark hair and yanked backwards until his slender neck was stretched. He leaned close, young frightened blue eyes darting in his direction. The flat of the blade slid over the boy’s cheek until the tip hovered over one blue eye. A quick press forward and the boy would easily lose an eye.

“Then I really have no need of you, do I, Doctor?”

The boy didn’t respond, just gulping down his fear instead. “I can’t help you,” he said quietly.

Jubal released him, nicking the boy just under his eyebrow as he did, ignoring the boy’s small gasp. “No, you can’t,” he responded thoughtfully.

The Commander looked over at his men, giving them a nod, then leaving the room.

Choked cries of pain chorused his exit.

* * * * * * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown:

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t part of the plan. Someone had bent the rules.

River Tam poured over the names of known Independent officers.

There. That’s what she had missed.

But she could use this. Forge the bonds tighter.

Quickly she began scribbling notes, instructions and orders.

There was a rogue piece on the board and she’d have to maneuver around him. The black king would have to come to the assistance of the white king.

Soon she’d have to move her own rogue piece into play.

* * * * * * *

Hera:

They dropped Simon into a pit of sorts. Surrounded by a circular cement walls, a small grill above for light and air, and a metal grill for a floor. Below the floor narrowed into an abbreviated cone, where bodily waste accumulated, instead of a bathroom. The grill floor kept the prisoner from standing in his own filth. The opening above was at least six feet over his head when standing. The whole thing was buried into the ground with barely the covergrill above the earth. Altogether, it was like a cylindrical coffin. A smelly, cold, up-ended coffin.

The diameter inside barely allowed Simon to stretch out his legs while in a seated position. Lying down and curled up on his side was more comfortable, or he could stand upright. They’d taken his boots, so standing meant the grillwork left impressions in the soles of his feet, and no boots meant his feet were cold all the time. He wished he hadn’t lost the blanket. Cold, dirty, wet, tired, and sore. Simon had never been so miserable in his entire life. His cold had gotten worse. He could feel it moving into his chest, attacking his lungs, soon to be a full-blown case of pneumonia. His fever was on the rise. They hadn’t given him water in hours and he was starting to feel the effects of dehydration, too. Sometimes it didn’t pay to be a doctor, cataloging each symptom and knowing what the next stage of illness would look like.

He tried to focus on happier things. He and his sister, picking what they thought were wild berries on the Camberson’s estate, graduating in the top three percent of his class from Medacad; trying to decipher the last cryptic letter from his sister.

They had tried to keep in touch, but between the new Academy she was attending on another world, and being in the trenches on Hera, mail call was sporadic at best.

He was starting to get concerned about her. Her letters were getting stranger and stranger. He’d even sent off a letter through the Cortex to his parents expressing his concern. The letter he got back from them hadn’t reassured him. They had merely dismissed his concerns, sure that his sister was playing word games at his expense. He was beginning to suspect that the letters were encoded. With what, he didn’t know. And he hadn’t found a quiet moment to figure it out.

Simon shifted position again, trying to get comfortable. His head was pounding. He would rather have sat with his head on his knees, but the iron grillwork dug into his butt, and if he scrunched up that much, his bruised ribs ached and made him short of breath. He prayed he wouldn’t have another coughing fit. The last one nearly killed him.

A shadow passed overhead, and Simon glanced at the grill above his head, anxious that another guard would amuse themselves by using the grillwork as a latrine. Again.

As cold as it was, he wondered if he should wish for more rain or less. More tended to fill the bottom of the cell, lifting the sewage closer, but it gave him water to drink, or rather, moisture he could lick off the walls.

The shadow above turned into full darkness, and Simon heard the grill above open with a clank and a curse.

Blinking into the darkness, he tried to scrunch back as a figure leapt down to join him in the cell.

Shaking like a leaf, both from cold and from terror, Simon sat up and stared at the man in front of him. The darkness and the small light that was attached to the man’s clothing, blinded Simon, obscuring the man’s features. The figure’s hands reached for him, and Simon’s jerked his own up defensively.

“Hey, easy there, Doc. We just came to get you.”

“Jayne?”

Simon had never felt so relieved to see an Independent soldier in his life.

Jayne hunkered down in front of him, and reached for him again.

Simon stared blearily at him, wondering if he’d been dehydrated enough to have hallucinations, then wondering why he would be hallucinating about the big mercenary. He would have shook his head to clear it, but each time he did, it made him dizzy.

Above them a voice urged Jayne to ‘get the hell on with it’, making Simon wonder what ‘it’ was. Were they here to get him out, or to kill him?

If they wanted him dead, all they had to do was leave him where he was. This place was bound to kill him, and soon.

“What are you doing here?” Simon croaked.

“Getting you the hell out. What did ya think? It’s Visitin’ Day?”

Simon snorted despite himself, causing a coughing fit that had him holding his ribs in agony.

Finally able to catch his breath, he found himself on his feet, Jayne holding his shoulders, keeping him standing.

“You sound pretty bad, Doc.”

Simon nodded wearily, not trusting himself to speak.

“You two having a tea party down there?” scolded a voice from above.

Jayne glanced up. “He’s pretty bad off, Sarge. He’s sick. Don’t think he’ll be able to run. And they took his boots.”

“Hoist him up and let’s have a look at him. And hurry,” the voice responded.

A rope dropped down to dangle between them and Jayne grabbed it.

“Think you can climb up, Doc?”

Simon held his left hand in front of him. “They broke my fingers. I can’t grab it.”

Jayne shined his light down onto Simon’s hand, cursing quietly. They hadn’t broken all of his fingers, just the last three on his left. Giving the rope an angry yank, Jayne called upward to give him more play.

Taking the extra rope, Jayne began to tie it around Simon’s waist.

“Ribs!” Simon yelped quietly.

Jayne huffed in disgust, and quickly made a loop for Simon’s foot. “Step in, and wrap your arms around the rope as best ya can.”

Simon stepped on with one bare foot while Jayne steadied him, giving the rope another vigorous yank, and telling those above to haul him up.

He cleared the opening and hands hauled on his arms, pulling him out the rest of the way, and lowering him to the ground. He was wheezing by the time they dropped the rope back down and got Jayne out.

He was picked up again, Tracy supporting him on one side and the blond with the laughing eyes, Wash, on the other. Nearby lay the unconscious body of one of his guards.

“Let’s get a move on, people!”

Simon looked over at the voice and saw the man who he had recently done surgery on. “Hey, he’s not supposed to be up yet,” Simon wheezed, then coughed.

“Told you,” a feminine voice smugly called out to her commander. Zoe.

Beside him, Wash chuckled. “It’ll take more than a gaping chest wound to slow down Mal, Doc. The man’s too damn stubborn to die.”

“Too damn pretty, Wash,” responded Mal’s laughing voice, overhearing them. “I keep telling you, I’m just too damn pretty.”

Simon could feel Wash’s shoulders shake with a chuckle.

They barely let his feet touch the ground as they darted away, losing themselves among the trenches again. For the life of him, Simon couldn’t figure out how either side kept track of their men, lost as they were in this maze of dirt; like human-inhabited rabbit warrens.

Once thoroughly lost, they finally came to a bombed out building, and the squad was signaled to stop. Breathlessly, Simon dropped down to the ground, holding his ribs and gasping for air between choking coughs. A coat was draped over his shoulders, and a hand rubbed soothing circles against his back until his spasming lungs could be brought under control again. He looked up to find Zoe’s sympathetic dark eyes on him, where she’d taken Wash’s place.

“Ya okay, Doc?”

Simon nodded shakily, and Wash handed him a canteen of water. Simon nearly sucked it dry in one gulp before Zoe forced him to lower it and take smaller sips.

The man he’d operated on hunched down in front of him, giving him an appraising once over. “You look worse than I do, Doc.”

“Y-you had better c-care,” Simon shivered.

The man smiled in genuine amusement. “I did at that.” He stuck out his hand to Simon. “Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds. I’m right grateful for all ya done.”

Simon tentatively lifted his own right hand, feeling it grasped warmly, before huddling back on himself.

Reynolds frowned at him, then glanced at Zoe. “We’d best get those fingers wrapped, Zoe.” He turned away. “Jayne, see if you can find the doc some shoes. Socks, too.” Reynolds turned and glanced back at the young man. “In fact, a whole new outfit if you can manage it.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Mal. He is getting a bit ripe.”

If his nose wasn’t so stuffy, Simon might have noticed that for himself.

“Take Tracy with you.”

“Sure thing, Sarge!” Tracy acknowledged, a little too eagerly.

Simon shivered again, and Zoe directed him to slip his arms into the sleeves and zip up the jacket. Zoe had Tracy find some small sticks before he left, and she used them to brace his fingers, tying his broken fingers to them as straight as she could.

She fished into her pockets and pulled out a couple of packets of medicine. She opened them for him, then slipped them between his lips, afraid he would drop them in the dirt before he could manage them with his broken fingers, or shaking hands. She pressed the canteen into his hands again, and he washed down the pills.

“Sorry about all this, Doc. You did us a good turn and got treated like crap for it. Didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Simon blinked tiredly at her. “What happens now?”

Reynolds was back, hunkering down in front of him. “With a little of God’s good help, we’re getting you back to your own side.”

“Really?”

With a straight face, Reynolds replied, “Naw, Doc, we’ve decided to keep ya.”

Off the doctor’s wide-eyed look of horror, and desperate glance at Zoe, Reynolds barked out a laugh. “Just kidding. Get a little sleep, Doc. We’ll wake you when the supplies get here.”

* * * * * * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown:

It was time to send a new player onto the field. Someone reliable. Dependable. An old soldier.

The old one was careful. That’s how he had lasted so long. Careful and deserving of respect. He didn’t have the flamboyance of younger men but he knew how to get a job done; quietly and discreetly.

That’s what River needed now. Discretion and skill.

* * * * * * * end of Chapter 4 * * * * * * *