Firefly: "War Bonds"

Disclaimer: If I weren't just a poor college student and could finance the series myself, I would, but I can't. So all I can do is just play around in Joss Whedon's 'verse. Also, I don't know a lick of Chinese so I haven't bothered to put the translations because they're probably horribly wrong. If it were Japanese or Latin, well, that'd be another story...

Not a true episode of my second season of Firefly, but more like a coda to my episode eight, "Out From Shadows." The war stories and first meetings of Mal and Kyo, and Mal and Zoe. No real plot here, and it's shorter than the others. Just something fun.

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"A fight?" gasped Kaylee Tam. The young engineer poked her head into the gutted co-pilot's console of Serenity to stare down at Kyo Nagiama, the pilot. Through the massive tangles of multi-colored wires, and the occassional protruding mechanism, Kyo gave a slight smirk.

"Yup," nodded Kyo as he connected wires to a box. "A fight."

"Wow," exclaimed an awed Kaylee, pausing from her own work to lean against the edge of the console. "You and the Cap'n get along so well, I never would've figured a tussle to be how y'all met."

Kyo just laughed as he began to attach a reg monitor to the interior of the console. It wasn't easy to explain to people how a brawl could be the greatest icebreaker in the world to some folk. There didn't have to be any malice involved between people, in fact, Kyo often found it to be rather cathartic in a way--some people cried, others fought like hell. He and Mal were like those, and he suspected Jayne would be right along up with them.

"So," Kaylee asked mischievously, leaning closer in a conspiratorial fashion, "who won?"

*****

Long before Mal was known through the 'verse as Captain Malcolm Reynolds, or even before he was inspiring his fellow troops as Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, he was first known as Private Malcolm Reynolds--a young volunteer straight from Shadow. Long before Kyo Nagiama was a lone smuggler and occassional freelance transporter, and after he was nothing more than an experiment with the designation One, he was just Lieutenant Kyo Nagiama--a young volunteer straight from Angel. Both were just boys really, though Kyo moreso than Mal by some three years. Both were fresh out of basic, though Kyo had about a month more of practical experience. Both were itching to make a difference.

However, neither took well to being the small fish in a big ocean--especially in a rather unresponsive and hostile ocean.

It was just the way the wheel turned that Mal and Kyo would find themselves as the only new recruits on the Independent frigate Ironhide. Mal became a member of the Howlers--specifically in the group under the command of Sergeant Nick Fury. They were a tight-knit bunch who'd already seen scores of combat, and none of them felt the need to babysit a green kid. Kyo was recruited into the Rogues under the command of Major Jessica Starrstrider. They were the opposite of the Howlers--a squadron where pilots slipped in and out like the wind; shuffled to where they were needed most.

And so it was because of their situation that Mal and Kyo found themselves getting more plastered than they ever had in their lives--which for Kyo would be the first time ever. Phoenix Flashers were a speciality aboard nearly every Independent ship, and contained an obscene amount alcohol. Therefore, it wasn't long until Mal and Kyo could barely see straight--right along with skin feeling like it was on fire, and not being able to feel their tongues.

"Tha's why we're gonna win this war," slurred Mal loudly, swaying dangerously in his metal chair to the amusement of his fellow comrades. He squinted until his eyes were practically closed, trying to focus on the booth before him. "Shuperioror numbers! I me--I mean, jush look at everyone here! Gotta--there's gotta be a milli-billsand sholdier-ders here!"

"O-ho-kay, no more for the youngin'!" declared Private Lucas with a laugh. He reached out to sweep away the liquor within Mal's reach, but Mal just slapped at Lucas's hand with alarming speed.

Out from under the tops of his fluttering lids, Mal tried his best to glare at the somewhat stunned Lucas. "Ain't bein' a wise move t'steal a man's drink. 'Shpecially when he aims t'be drinkin' from it, dong-ma?"

"And the wise man knows when the drizzle's really a monsoon," returned Lucas, not backing down from Mal's look in the slightest.

"Are you sayin' I can't hold my liquor?" laughed an overly cheerful Mal before his posture acquired a deathly grave rigidity. His blue eyes suddenly found a sharp edge to their focus as his hard hands slapped the plastic table. Mal violently pushed himself away from it and upended his chair in the process. "Izzat what you're shayin', or am I jus' not be hearin' you right? 'Cause I'll show you what a--what a--"

"What a ju-da yang-dao tou you've got on your shoulders," called out a very drunk Kyo; his back to Mal and hunched over his own drink.

Silence fell over the sardinelike mess hall of the frigate, which was conveniently molded into something approximating a bar. In spite of the tense looks being shot towards him by his men, Sergeant Nick Fury simply sat at the back of his booth, chewing on his cigar. Major Jessica Starrstrider lowered her beer mug just enough to give Kyo a wary look out of the corner of her eyes. Neither commanding officers seemed inclined to restrain their men--at least, not just yet.

"Did--didja jus' say I've got a gi-gigagantic penish? Or didja say I've got one for my head?" asked a bemused, rather than angered Mal, who'd turned to stare down Kyo's back.

"Wha'ssa matter?" slurred Kyo, slapping his shot glass onto the table. "Can't lis'en none neither? Trigger-happy, dirt-lickin' tamade! Bet all that gunfire's popped your ears! Gunpowder's probably clogged your nose too!"

Nearly half the grunts in the room tensed at Kyo's remarks, but he paid them no mind as he twisted on his chair to look at Mal.

"Gorram space-outs prob'ly got your ruttin' brains sucked outta your ears!" retorted Mal angrily, striding with wobbly knees towards Kyo. This time it was the pilots in the mess hall that began to shift uncomfortably in their chairs. The tension was palpable between everyone in the cramped space. One false move--one poor glance--and the alcohol-soaked powder keg would ignite. Unfortunately, no one told Mal and Kyo that.

"Yeah? Well--well--space sucks like your momma!" shouted Kyo, complete with finger-waggling at Mal's face.

There was a pregnant pause, at which point Kyo took the opportunity to smirk triumphantly, while Mal furrowed his brow at Kyo's schoolboy barb. Maybe it was the alcohol, but suddenly Mal couldn't help but laugh at Kyo's statement. Not long after that did Kyo follow, and soon the tense situation found itself disarmed through drunken snickers and snorts. Mal and Kyo collapsed together; eyes streaming with uncontrolled mirth, and hands clasping at trembling shoulders.

Mal's laughter trailed off to a contented sigh; his eyes still wet with unshed tears. Kyo's laughter stopped not long after, but unlike Mal, he didn't move to wipe the tears from his eyes. That gave Mal the space he needed to fire off a quick jab across Kyo's jaw. Had it not been for alcohol numbing his senses and making him feel like he had cotton for brains, Kyo might've been able to block it. Instead he ended up tripping over his ankles, which upturned the table and drinks onto his fellow pilots.

It was a sucker-punch that would go down in the Independents' short-lived history as the punch that started the greatest brawl aboard a ship. Soldiers of all classes, ranks, shapes, sizes, genders, and skills found themselves dragged into the midst of it. Even after the security detail of Ironhide's crew entered the fray like a raging wildfire, it took hours to get it under control. And at the center of this bitty natrual disaster were the two youths who started it; never once losing a twinkle of sober mirth from their eyes, which went unnoticed amidst the chaos.

*****

"So, to answer your question, no one won," said Kyo with a fond smirk, who'd shifted positions from under the console to sitting with his back against it. Coming out of the reverie, he gestured at Kaylee with the end of his spanner. "And that's the honest truth, so don't be lettin' Mal tell you any different! If I told you the version he told Zoe, you'd think Mal was the genetically engineered super-soldier 'stead of me."

Kaylee laughed in the co-pilot's seat, which attracted the attention of Mal. He frowned at them first, and then at the incomplete job sitting behind them.

"I know, I know," said Kyo before Mal could. "Work then play, right?"

"Kyo was tellin' me 'bout the time y'all met," declared Kaylee cutely, giving Mal a brief giggle as she swiveled about in the chair. "You Browncoats surely knew how to throw a shindig, didn't'cha?"

"Oh, I don't know 'bout that, little Kaylee," said Mal, absently rubbing the spot on his side where he'd been stabbed by the late Atherton Wing. "Some folk just know the right parties to be invited to."

"Personally, I prefer the ones that don't end in violence or bloodshed," commented Simon Tam, who emerged just behind Mal. Kaylee's smile grew by another notch in the presence of her husband, and Kyo and Mal couldn't help but feel some slight inkling of jealousy--not that they would ever admit to such a feeling, especially where Simon was involved.

"Seems a little dull to me," remarked Kyo in a surly undertone that wouldn't have been out of place with Jayne.

"Yes, well, discreminating tastes aside, I was wondering if you're free for lunch?" inquired Simon politely.

"Oh, well, I dunno, Doc, I got me captainy things to be--"

"I'm a little busy myself with the console and the flyin', but it's real nice of you--"

"Hush up!" giggled Kaylee over Mal and Kyo's answers while playfully slapping Kyo's arm. "I'd love to, hun. Oh! That is if--"

"Go on," said Kyo with a mock suffering sigh as he slid under the console. "Reckon I can finish this up by my lonesome."

"Shiny! I'll make it up to you, Kyo, honest," promised a gleeful Kaylee, already on her way out of the flight deck.

"Uh huh," said a thoroughly unconvinced Kyo, who'd already returned to his tinkering.

"Don't I get any say on my boat no more?" Mal shouted down the corridor. "You got a job, you do it proper!"

"I will, Cap'n, I promise!" was Kaylee's muffled reply. "C'mere, Simon!"

"Tha-that ain't what I meant, and you know it!" said a truly horrified Mal. He backed away from the entrance of the flight deck and took a seat on the vacant co-pilot's chair. "I swear that girl's gotta learn some discretion one of these days. I can't be seein' that no more."

"Yeah, well, I don't think you've got a right to complain 'til you've actually been in their minds when they're..." trailed off Kyo uncomfortably.

"Y-you? But I thought you could--"

"I can, but River can't," said Kyo simply, making a sour face in response to Mal's overly horrified one. "Sometimes she complains 'bout it to me, other times she enjoys tormentin' me by showin' it. My girl has quite cruel streak when she's in the mood."

Mal gave a slight shudder at the visual, and he felt eternally grateful he wasn't a psychic. There were just some things he didn't need to know. With a sigh, he stretched out his legs and reclined against the co-pilot's chair. It'd been a while since Mal thought back on the past, but after Kaylee had brought it up, Mal couldn't help it. He'd been in many tussles in his time, but none had been as fun as the Ironhide's big burly brawl.

Smiling fondly, Mal remembered the morning after the brawl.

*****

Wasn't easy to puke the nausea out of one's system with a set of bruised ribs, but somehow Mal managed it. The fact that he had some experience in the matter from his youth on Shadow helped. What also helped, but in a negative aspect, was the pounding against the inside of his skull. Whether it was from his hangover or from a concussion, Mal didn't quite know.

With a painful groan, Mal settled himself against the stiff board that constituted his bed in the brig. Unfortunately for him, the brigs weren't designed with amenities like toilets, which meant the puke from last night pooled up in the corner.

"Ain't even courteous 'nough to leave a sobbie," mumbled Mal to himself, though he cast an accusing glare through the clear plexisteel door at the lowly ensign standing guard.

"Sobbie?" came a bleary voice in Mal's cell. He started at the noise, which only irritated his bubbling stomach further. Taking a quick look about in his closetlike cell, Mal discerned the voice's origin as the narrow vent that joined the cells. The voice rang faint familiar bells in the vacant halls of Mal's memory.

"Sobriety pill," Mal clarified and lolled his head back against the cot in thought. "Gives the body a boost in breakin' down alcohol traces while rehydratin' the body. Ask me, it's the gorram miracle pill."

"Ah, well that'd be nice 'bout now, I suspect," breathed the voice from the opposite cell--though Mal detected an uncertainty in the voice.

"You're the--the kid, ain't'cha?" asked Mal, still with labored breathing as he sweated out the effects of last night. "The one--the one I picked a fight with, right?"

"Yeah," snorted the voice weakly. "That'd be me. Guessin' you're the--the... What are you, exactly?"

"Private Reynolds. Malcolm Reynolds. Mal for short," introduced Mal. "You? Got yourself a name, fly boy?"

"Kyo. Lieutenant Kyo Nagiama," said the other person. "Hey, listen, 'bout the--the things I said, I was just--"

"I know," said Mal, cutting off Kyo's apology. "Sometimes you just need a good tussle."

"Yeah," said Kyo fondly.

"Thanks for--ah--for keepin' that marine with the metal stool from introducin' it to my backside," said Mal as he readjusted himself onto the cot. His ribs and the muscles in his thighs protested the motions, but the floor was just too hard. "Reckon from the way you fight, you coulda been in the army or special forces. Didn't need to be no pilot."

"No. No, I didn't," agreed Kyo, somewhat sadly to Mal. "And no need to thank me 'bout the marine. You stopped that giant hundan of a dirt-licker from smashin' open my brainpan with that meal tray of his. Figured I owed you somethin'."

"Hell, kid, you made even just for goin' along with my damn fool plan of startin' that brawl," chuckled Mal as he shielded his eyes from the harsh overhead lamps. "Course, I reckon Ox is gonna be a mite tetchy come the next time we fall in for drills. Next time I fall asleep in the bunks, I might find myself a whole mess of unseemlies as my wake up call."

"That was your own?" laughed Kyo, which was heavy on the reverb on account of the vent's echoes.

"Don't know 'bout bein' my own," replied Mal with a wry smile. "Ain't got me no one out here. Just a man like you or any other, tryin' to do what's right. 'Sides, them Howler boys don't seem overly friendly to me. Got a family of their own and I'm just an unwanted babe."

"Right. A man," sighed Kyo almost inaudibly, and there was a dull thud against the bulkhead. Mal imagined it to be Kyo's head bumping back against the partition. "Reckon things aren't so different with the Rogues--buncha unwanted orphans and wayward brats. Actually, hell, I figure I'm right where I belong."

"Didn't seem like that to me," remarked Mal, reaching into his sweat-stained shirt to remove his cross. "I got the inklin' you're a kid who ain't alone by choice. You're used to bein' a part of a close group. Hell, I reckon you came from a big passel of critters all like yourself. From how you got my back and known'd my childish plot, I'd bet you're the oldest--or, at least, the most responsible."

"Y-you got all that from a brawl?" asked Kyo incredulously.

"Sure," replied Mal cheerfully, giving the cross a fond kiss before replacing it under his shirt. "Ain't you ever heard of the writings of Seraph?"

"You do not truly know someone until you fight them," quoted Kyo through the ventillation. "Yeah, I read 'em. Didn't think it to be true so much, though."

"Well, it is, so I know you, and I happen to think mighty highly of you," declared Mal authoritatively. "Nice to know that I got someone like you in the air, like an angel on my back, that'll pick me up if I need it."

"Dunno much 'bout the angel part," said Kyo slowly, "but you call and I'll come flyin'. Assumin' they let us out of here sometime soon and don't ship us back home on account of our fussin'."

"They won't," Mal assured him, though he wasn't certain about that himself. "Two fine soldiers like us, hell, the Browncoats'll be beggin' to take us back in."

*****

"Well, they didn't beg so much as they shouted and forced us to clear out the septics for a month," remarked Kyo over the satisfying click of a panel locking into place. "There! Done."

"All right, so I was wrong 'bout that one," said Mal, grinning fondly down at Kyo. A decade after the fact, and especially after the events at Angel, some of that conversation seemed much clearer than before; especially the mystery of why Kyo was a pilot instead of a grunt. Secrecy, plain and simple. He would've attracted too much attention being a super-soldier and all. At least being a pilot made things more equal. "Wasn't wrong 'bout you, though."

*****

"Oh hell, we're all gonna die!" shouted Lucas, who was huddled against the corner of a crumbling building. Each quake of shells hitting the ground caused more debris to rain down from the almost nonexistent roof, and the tread of rollers didn't help things either.

"We're not gonna die!" returned Mal, just before he poked his automatic rifle out the window to lay down another wave of fire. Large caliber bullets were the reply, blowing large holes right through the walls where Mal's head would've been if he hadn't been crouching. "Well, we are if they bring down this buildin' around us."

"Nezzy, what's the situation?" asked Ox to the girl with prominent front teeth. She was huddled next to the body of their corporal and trying desperately to raise somebody on the radio.

"Well, last I checked we seemed to be in the middle of a gorram war!" snapped Nezzy irritably.

"Like we haven't noticed that!" said Ox angrily.

"Enough!" declared Mal as he reloaded his weapon. "This ain't helpin' any. Nezzy, give us a report. Any word on the Sarge? Any orders comin' through?"

"No word on the Sarge," said Nezzy tightly, looking around at the faces of her fellow privates. "El Alamo's gone. Can't raise any other units, but from what I can hear the Alliance has moved on to San Angeles. Santo's lost. We need to get out."

"Ain't no gettin' out!" laughed Lucas desperately, but then stopped when the whistle of an incoming shell sounded loudly in their ears. They all hit the floor moments before the round struck ground just in front of their cover. Dust, debris and glass burst through the crumbling windows, covering them thoroughly, and compromising the structural integrity of the ruins. "SEE!"

"We gotta move!" said Mal, dragging himself off the ground. "Nezzy, pick up the radio and let's go!"

Everyone ran straight out the hole at the back of the building. Mere seconds later, a shell struck home on their former shelter. Large chunks of mortar rained down upon them, but none of them stopped until Mal turned into the drug store.

"We can hold here," declared Mal, poking his head through the holographic window. "Debris's too thick 'round back for them to bring the rollers through, but ain't thick for the infantry to flank us. And it'll take some time for the rollers to clear a path straight for us."

"Great, so instead of bein' saved, we just borrowed some time," complained Lucas with a sneer.

"We're all on borrowed time, Lucas," said Mal simply. "Sooner or later, that mean ol', skull-faced collection agent, is gonna start collectin' on us, but I don't aim for that to be right here. I'm thinkin' of buyin' myself an extension."

"Gorram kid's crazy," stated Ox in disbelief. "There ain't no extension when we're cut off from the Sarge! Hell, I seen them Wolfhounds flyin' off. Evac's probably been ordered and we missed it on account of that zang yu tong-xing gettin' himself killed! We're alone, boy! Ain't got no one!"

"There's someone," said Mal faithfully, drawing out his cross and giving it a kiss. "There's always someone. See, we just gotta give out a call to our angels on high."

"Wouldn't you know it, I get myself stuck with a ruttin' Bible-thumper," groaned Lucas in frustration. "Face it kid, we're humped! That's an anti-aircraft they got out there, and there ain't no space for a Wolfhound to come in for a pick-up!"

"Nezzy, do us a favor and get on the line," Mal told her, completely ignoring Lucas's statement. "Give our position and our situation. Don't matter if all the Alliance knows it by now anyway. Lucas, Ox, you boys wanna quit? You know where the enemy is. I ain't 'bout to give up, though. Not when we got ourselves a chance."

"There ain't no chance!" said Ox, repeating Lucas's previous statement desperately. "Ironhide's probably long gone, or it's been taken out by the Alliance up in space. We're dead!"

"Ox, you can put shavin' cream on my hand and tickle my face; you can stick my hands in hot and cold water; you can draw a mustache over my gorram lip; you can do all of that when I'm asleep, and I won't hold no grudge, but save them ill feelings from the brawl for when we ain't got our lives on the line!" snapped Mal, leaning close towards the large soldier. "Lucas? I know we ain't get along much, but you wanna give yourself up? I won't look down on you none. This here's a big laxatin' with the drawers up situation for any of us. So, you can run just so long as you surrender your clips to us 'cause we'll be needin' 'em more'n you."

"Dammit, kid," exclaimed Lucas, who's cheeks were reddening in embarassment at being called a coward in so many words. "What's wrong with you? Ain't you ever heard of quittin'? Don't you know when you've been beat?"

"Not when we got ourselves angels," smirked Mal confidently. "Nezzy?"

"No good, Reynolds," said Nezzy with a solemn shake of her head from behind the counter. "Ironside looks to be preparing to rabbit. All units've pulled out."

"No, no, not all units! We're still here!" said Mal hurriedly as he rushed over to pick up the microphone. "This is Private Malcolm Reynolds! Four wayward babes are in some major trouble! They got themselves lost and they could surely use Momma's carriage right 'bout now. They're countin' on her, y'hear me? Don't be lettin' her down any!"

Gunshots whizzed past their heads, forcing everyone to kiss the dust covered ground. Ox popped up near the holographic window to give some return fire from his rifle, making his choice to stick by Mal for the time being.

"Last chance, Lucas," said Mal before he too returned fire. "If you don't got a white flag to wave, I'm sure you could use your drawers if they ain't brown too."

"Piss off, kid," snarled Lucas at the challenge. He rolled from his spot at the corner to fire off shots from his pistol through a real glass window. "I'll stick 'round if only to say 'I told you so' when your plan goes all to hell!"

"Someone'll come, won't they, Mal?" asked Nezzy worriedly. Up until the moment he'd joined, it had been Nezzy who was the youngster in the Howlers. For that reason alone, she was now feeling bad about stonewalling him like everyone else. Yet here he was, new, picked on, unwanted, but leading them on like they were family.

"Stakin' my life on it, aren't I?" said Mal smartly. He gave her a big, broad, confident grin that she couldn't help but find trustworthy.

Explosions off in the distance brought a cease-fire from both parties. All four Howlers looked at each other worriedly for a moment, fearing it to be the rollers finally breaking through. Mal waited patiently to the right of the holographic window as the noise grew louder and louder. Finally the building on the opposite side of the street exploded violently, bringing three rollers into sight of the four privates.

A wave of despondency crashed into each of their bodies for a moment. With the rollers there, hope of holding off the Alliance was definetely out of the question. Despite that, however, Mal was still not about to give up. As the cannons of the rollers trained themselves upon the drug store they were using for cover, Mal grabbed the back of Nezzy's collar and made a fast dash for the side door.

"Move!" Mal ordered, only to come to a screeching halt when they spotted purple-bellies beginning to make their way up the alley.

"Well, guess it's time for me to say it," said Lucas simply, though obviously heartbroken in his eyes.

Before Lucas could, however, the lead roller blew up just as its cannon began to flash. Everyone shielded themselves against the fireball and took a moment to wonder just what happened.

"Misfire?" asked a bemused Nezzy.

Her answer came as a Wolfhound strafed across and blew up the other two rollers. Mal took advantage of the Wolfhound's distraction and began to rain fire down upon the Alliance infantry. The others soon followed suit, suddenly quite reinvigorated by hope.

"Reckon it's time for me to be sayin' it," smirked Mal triumphantly.

"Somebody call for a ride?" came Kyo's voice over the radio Nezzy was carrying. The Cub, the narrow shuttle usually attached to the roof of the Wolfhound, descended into the alley way as the Wolfhound gave another pass for cover fire. Its underside hatch opened up and a drop ladder unfolded towards them.

"Get on! Move!" Mal ordered to everyone as he laid down cover fire. Lucas climbed up first, then Ox, and finally Nezzy. Halfway through Mal's climb, an Alliance soldier got off a lucky round with an RPG. It impacted off the wall facing Mal's back, and not only was his back momentarily engulfed in flames, but it also presented a good target for shrapnel. One of which bit deeply into the small of his back, just to the right of his spine. Paralyzing pain spasmed throughout his body, and he was forced to let go of the ladder.

Mal saw the horror on Nezzy's face, and he was sure she yelled something, but over the ringing in his ears it was hard to tell. Everything seemed to happen in such slow motion that he swore he could even see the bullets fly by. Time snapped like a rubber band back into the present when a steel grip latched itself around Mal's wrist, arresting his fall. Looking up, he spotted Kyo's torso hanging out of the hatch.

A bullet split through Kyo's forearm, and his grip went slack. Barely even a second after Kyo's right hand was forced to let go, his left snaked out in its place. Like he weighed no more than a little boy, Kyo pulled Mal up through the hatch before any other bullets could catch them. Mal didn't believe it could be possible, and chalked it up to a concussion from the RPG. After all, Kyo was thinner and an inch or two shorter than Mal. No way could he have that sort of strength.

"I don't believe it," exclaimed a breathless Lucas. "Damn kid was right."

*****

"Gonna keep lordin' that injury over me, aren't you?" sighed Kyo as he walked out from the flight deck and into the forward corridor. Under his breath he muttered to himself in a whiny, exaggerated voice, "I got a nerve cluster struck by shrapnel and had to get it moved, blah blah!"

Mal followed Kyo out of Serenity's flight deck and into the forward corridor with a smirk. Hex was in the midst of clearing off the table, though Simon and Kaylee were still lingering. Addressing Kyo's question with a shrug, he answered, "Seems like the thing to do. Me bein' a lowly dirt-lickin' farm boy on the front lines, and you bein' all comfy in the cockpit of your Wolfhound."

"Oh, ha ha," laughed Kyo sarcastically, passing the newlyweds without even a second glance. "If you hadn't noticed, the weapons pointed at me were a helluva lot larger than the ones aimed at you. You get shot, it's just a damn mosquito bite. I get shot, I become one with the 'verse in the most literal of senses."

"Whine, whine, whine," Mal waved off as he took a seat at the head of the table. "Amazed you ain't drunk by now."

"That was terrible," moaned Kyo in embarassment. He shook his head with a slight smile as Mal chuckled along with Hex, Simon and Kaylee. The smile found itself wiped from his lips when a flash of surprise and fear hit him square in the gut. Instinctively, he sought out the cause with his telepathic abilities and discerned it to be River.

"Kyo?" asked Mal, who'd come to notice the way he managed to prick up like a wolf at the scent of trouble.

"Trouble," he hissed, and set down the bowl he'd been preparing for River. Mal, without even realizing it, found himself prickling up just like Kyo. In a flash, both men sprinted back up the forward corridor and around the stairs leading to the cargo bay. Simon, Kaylee and Hex were hot on their heels, each trying to clarify the sort of trouble.

Inara had emerged from her shuttle just in time to see everyone rushing past her. She frowned in confusion and leaned against the railing. "M-Mal? Kaylee? What's wrong? Has something happened?"

Gunfire crackled in the air, along with the reverberation of the occassional richocet, and everyone ducked reflexively. Their bright yellow hovercraft, the Mule, whined into view wildly, and scraped against the side of Serenity's open door. Kyo and Mal rushed towards the door controls once the Mule skidded to a halt. Mal smacked the door controls while Kyo pulled his Peacemaker from its holster to provide cover fire. Simon and Hex ran towards the Mule just as River slid out of the driver's chair.

"River, are you all right?" asked Simon worriedly, immediately beginning to check her over for any wounds.

"She's fine, Doc, but you'd best check on Zoe," growled Jayne Cobb with a grunt of exertion as he proffered the dark-skinned second-in-command of Serenity.

"I'm fine," insisted Zoe, though the blood oozing from an open wound on her upper thigh told Simon otherwise. With the help of Jayne, they managed to free her from the damaged Mule.

"Just what in the sphincter of hell happened out there?" demanded a very angry Mal. Catching sight of the wounded Zoe, Mal's face twisted into one of confusion and concern. "Zoe, why're you shot? Jayne, why's Zoe shot? Correct me if I'm mistaken, but shootin' ain't 'xactly a common place in a market, now is it?"

"Wasn't me, Cap, I swear," said an offended Jayne as he began to unhook the shot up cargo crates. "Was just a simple mistunderstandin' 'tween folks."

"You and I got some very polarized ideas for what passes as 'simple,' Jayne," said Mal shortly, moving underneath Zoe's arm on the left side to support her.

"Thief stole the week's payroll from a merchant," said River distractedly; her eyes were almost unfocused as she played with her hair, but Kyo kept a supportive hand at the small of her back. "Thought it was Jayne, but wasn't."

"Jayne actually innocent of something?" asked Simon sarcastically as he checked on Zoe's thigh. "I think the 'verse might cave in on itself."

"It will," assured River with an eerie smile towards her brother, "but not because of Jayne's innocence."

"I'll get us into the black," said Kyo into the uncomfortable silence that usually settled after River's unsettling remarks. Unlike most of them, he was completely unfazed by it.

Mal nodded before directing his attention to everyone else. "Hex, Kaylee, get the Mule unloaded. Jayne, get the Mule hitched and locked down. Simon, tend to Zoe."

"Brings back a memory or two, doesn't it, sir?" remarked Zoe dryly as they limped through the aft door.

"A few," replied Mal with a fond smile.

*****

"C'mon, soldier, keep movin'!" ordered Mal loudly over the explosions of mortar shells and orbital bombardment. Day in and day out, Mal'd heard the complaints of his men about the insane humidity of Minos's rainforests. Well, things were certainly different today. Now it was the fires of hell burning the men alive, and the roar of the devil disheartening them. It was up to Mal and his faith to counter that.

"They--they're leavin' us! They're leavin' us, I can hear 'em!" said the woman who was limping along at his side. She'd caught a round straight through her left thigh and dropped her rifle out in the bush.

Mal looked up over the tall tree lines and saw two Wolfhounds climbing into the atmosphere off in the distance. Streaks of laser fire and anti-aircraft cannons lined the air like some perversion of fireworks, though Mal was intensely relieved to see the fighter-transports weave easily around them.

"Only two! Third mount's still waitin' on us! We're gonna make it, soldier!" promised Mal, just as they emerged through the forest and into the clearing. Both he and his dark-skinned companion stopped as they took in the color of the landscape. Bodies draped in the livery of the Browncoats clashed horribly with the mossy green of the grass. Fighting weren't supposed to spill out into regions like this, and so neither the Alliance nor the Independents were adequately suited for it--merecenaries, however, were a different story.

The real horror to Mal and the soldier was the burning, broken remains of the last Wolfhound. It was completely unusable, and once the fire was through feasting on its innards, practically unsalvagable as well.

"You were sayin'," breathed the woman, shooting him a baleful look from her large eyes. She spied his stripes and added, "Sir?"

"Well--ah--huh..." frowned Mal, who was saddened, but not defeated at this discovery. "C'mon, soldier, ain't gonna do to be standin' 'round when the Alliance comes for a peak."

Mal dragged them along through the brush for a spell, until the gunfire was just background noise like the sound of birds. They came across a small brook running easterly through the jungle. He set the girl down against a boulder so that he could tend to her wound. As he fumbled through his pack, he noted the patch on the sleeve of his coat. Unless they were particularly lucky, this might be the end of the Howlers.

"Sit here a spell," he told her as he made his way over to the clear stream. From a pouch on his belt, he extracted a small hand-held device with a tiny scoop. He filled the scoop until it was full, and depressed the shoulder button of the device. The screen immediately projected the water as pure, so Mal began to soak some cloths to clean the wound.

Going on seven months he'd been fighting, and he'd already been made sergeant. Fury'd long since been promoted to captain, and the Howlers had expanded from a group to a company. Mal had only recently come into command of his own platoon, with Lucas of all people as his lieutenant. Now they were probably all dead. Tears burned against the backs of his eyes, and he took his time soaking and wringing the cloth; more than was necessary. He prayed that wasn't the case, but he'd seen too many of his own cut down to think otherwise.

"They stopped shootin'," said the woman, who had her sidearm out and ready. Mal blinked furiously and gave the cloth a final squeeze; he honestly hadn't noticed.

"Must've got the wounded," said Mal, wincing at the thought as he began to clean at her wound. Even if she weren't a part of his group, he'd be damned if another soldier died under his command this day.

"Gorram, zhen xian-xue du-she men," spat the woman angrily, cocking her pistol while she made to stand.

"Whoa, little one," laughed Mal, applying force onto her wound to make her sit. "Gonna run out to take on the Alliance, you're gonna need more'n that bitty dust-shooter. There. Got the wound cleaned the best I can manage and set a temporary weave on it. Means we'll be delayin' the amputation of that leg of yours. Good news all around."

"S-shen-me?" asked the woman in confusion. "I thought--I thought it was clean? It went right through..."

"Was," agreed Mal with a short nod, "'til we ran through that forest full of rottin' meat and bugs and other unsavory things what go bump in the night. Probably got yourself a nice, little plague factory in production right there. Lookin' on the bright side of things, I ain't got a scratch."

"Rejoice, rejoice," deadpanned the woman, and Mal felt himself smiling.

"Well," said Mal, moving to take a seat next to her, and in the process he spied her tag, "Private Zoe, let's think 'bout what we do got. We got our packs, which means we got enough rations for three or four days, and we got this here map I took off a cap'n, which'll be nice for the walk home."

"What?" asked Zoe in disbelief, complete with a stare like Mal'd grown a second head.

"He's dead, Zoe. He won't be needin' it," replied Mal, producing the purple cyllinder from a pocket on his vest. He twisted the top and bottom, and then spread it apart like a scroll. They peered at the stiff, unrolled digital paper with a glowing display overlaid through the fiber optics.

"No, Sergeant Reynolds," she said after spying his own tag. "That ain't what I meant. What d'you mean we're walkin' home, sir? Forgive me for sayin', sir, but did you take a bullet to the brain while I wasn't lookin'? Or have you come down with the fever? Gotta be two-hundred kliks from here to Silva, at least."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with my brain," said Mal defensively, but his eyes sparkled in good-humor. "It's all there--or as much as people say there is. 'Sides, ain't but a hundred kliks to this village here, where it seems to me we got some artillery outpost. Hell, last bit ain't even jungle."

"That's still not exactly an evenin' stroll, sir," Zoe pointed out with a strong shake of her head. "I won't get far with this leg of mine neither--"

"Either this or surrenderin', Private," said Mal sternly, letting the map zip close. "And that means lettin' the purple-bellies drag us to Arkham for the rest of our natural lives. Not sure 'bout you, Zoe--can I call you Zoe?--but that ain't for me. Don't worry 'bout that leg of yours neither. Ain't anyone explain to you our little motto here? When you can't walk you crawl, and when you can't do that you find someone to carry you. Seein' as how a slug'll probably beat you crawlin', I guess it's up to me to carry you."

And just like that, Mal stood up from his position and began to fashion a makeshift crutch from a treebranch. Zoe gaped in open disbelief at the man. It wasn't so much the fact that he wouldn't quit--many people had that quality, her father included--it was just the presence of him. To her, it seemed like he was a man who couldn't even comprehend the word "quit" because he believed in something--he believed in it so much, it was like he'd seen the future.

Her eyes snapped to attention when Mal turned around to offer the crude crutch; just a simple branch that looked like a "Y" with an elongated tail. He smiled down at her in a way that said "Everything'll be fine" and she believed him.

*****

"Well, it's clean," reported Simon, who was peering intently at the wound after cutting a slit through her pant leg. His eyes lingered over a scar not far from the bullet hole for a moment, and he felt something of a sympathetic pang from the scar left behind by Jubal Early. "The bullet went right through and missed any major arteries. I'll give you a stim-shot to promote cellular regeneration, sew it up, and slap on a weave. Should be back to normal in a few weeks."

"Nice to hear, Doc," said Zoe gratefully, leaning her head back against the headrest of the operating chair. "Glad to be hearin' good news 'bout gettin' shot through the leg."

"Is that other one from the time you and Mal met?" asked Simon idly as he fetched the required implements from a drawer.

"Sure is," nodded Zoe, raising her head and catching sight of Inara standing against the door to the infirmary. The two women shared a smile in greeting, and Inara glided into the bluish room completely unnoticed by Simon.

"It--ah--looks like it was infected for some time. I mean, Kyo said you were close to losing it, but I had no idea until..." Simon trailed off with a hopeless shrug before turning around. "AH!" he exclaimed in alarm at the unexpected sight of the Companion. The corner of Zoe's lips turned upwards into a smile as she'd been expecting that, while Inara merely closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't--"

"My fault entirely," declared Inara over Simon's apologies. "I should have announced myself instead of walking in. It's just that Mal is up on the flight deck with River and Kyo, and Jayne, Hex and Kaylee are busy in the cargo hold. I once again find myself without much to do on this ship in the face of a crisis."

"I could use the company," assured Zoe with an honest smile, which Inara returned gratefully. "Captain ever got around to tellin' you how we met?"

"He did," smiled Inara, pulling up a stool to sit beside Zoe. "Quite the tale of thrilling heroics on his part."

"I admit," said Simon distractedly, administering a local anesthesia around the wound before injecting the stim-shot into Zoe's neck, "that I'm somewhat skeptical after what happened after. Not about the one-hundred kliks, but about everything during."

"Oh it happened," admitted Zoe, eyeing the Doctor sternly to tell him so.

*****

It was a bright yellow sunset when Mal and Zoe rested against the back of a lone tree in the midst of a field. Mal's body was burning with ache and exhaustion, but all he needed to do was spy her wound to put all the pain he was feeling into perspective. She hadn't complained once during this crazy idea of his--not since the beginning--and so he wasn't going to even start entertaing the notion of complaining or quitting.

Of course, everyone had a breaking point. There was only so much pain one could go through before they slammed straight into that wall, or felt the floor come apart from beneath them. For Zoe, this was that point. The Sarge had done the best he could, but she could see the fatigue that shone through his blue eyes. She didn't know him, and she couldn't ask him to die for her. Not here. Not now.

"I'm not gonna make it, Sarge," gasped Zoe breathlessly.

"The hell you ain't," said Mal, who was too focused on double-checking his map to notice Zoe had slipped her sidearm out again.

"Leg's a lost cause," stated Zoe. "Can't walk no more. Best leave and get on with yourself."

"The hell I am," replied Mal, frowning at the glowing map distractedly.

"Y-you're gonna get yourself killed for no reason, sir," said Zoe, staring down at her reflection in the surface of her gun. "I-I'm not apart of your company, sir. You don't owe me anythin'. I'm dead anyways."

"Hell you are," muttered Mal under his breath.

"Go to hell, sir," deadpanned Zoe, raising her pistol to her temple and cocking the hammer. That certainly got Mal's attention, and he stared at Zoe in disbelief.

"Zoe, what in the tong-kuai ge-ge-xiao de si-wang are you playin' at?" asked a dumbfounded Mal, simultaneously raising his rifle and aiming it straight at her other temple.

"Wha-what're you doin'?" was a stunned Zoe's reply; her eyes focusing intently on the rifle being aimed at her.

"Drop the gun, Zoe!" commanded Mal, shifting in his position to be more comfortable as he aimed.

"Ha-have your brains gone missin'? You gonna kill me to stop me from shootin' myself, sir?" declared a now angry Zoe; her grip tightening around her pistol.

"Put it down!" repeated Mal, stressing each word, getting just as angry and irritated as Zoe.

"Really thinkin' you ain't got a brain to be reasonin' with in there, sir! I'm tryin' to save you from dyin' in this stupid jungle, and now you're goinna kill me?" shouted Zoe. "What the hell?"

"Aw get humped, Zoe," retorted Mal with narrowed eyes. "I ain't hauled your sorry ass halfway 'cross God's good 'verse just so you can grow all cowardly on me! You ain't givin' up! I don't have me no quitters under my command!"

"Thinkin' that's the point, sir! I ain't under your command; I ain't a part of your company! So I can just go ahead and check-out if I want to, and there ain't a damn thing in the 'verse you can do to stop me!"

"This here gun in my hands says different," returned Mal tightly. "Now, the Lord don't look kindly 'pon quitters any more'n me, only difference is I just get to kill you; He'll just keep you hangin' in a place that ain't so pleasant."

"Better'n here!" snapped Zoe, so overcome with rage that she was near to tears.

"Can't say it 'til you've seen it all!" shouted Mal, bringing the barrel of his rifle around to point straight at Zoe's nose. "I don't rightly know what sorta life you've led up 'til now that'd justify you even considerin' this, but I aim to stop you at all costs! Gotta have someone anxious to see you 'gain sometime soon; folks? Lover? Husband? Kids? Anythin'? Even if that ain't so, you got people who need you in the here and now! Namely the Independents and me."

"You?" asked Zoe, deciding to call Mal on his lie. "What d'you need me for, sir? I'm dead weight you cut loose! You'd be fine out here on your own."

"Hell, girl, far as I know not a man from my platoon's left breathin'," said Mal somberly, but his eyes never wavered from hers. "Think that's the sorta thing you can carry light as air? Lemme tell you it ain't. You ain't one of mine, yeah, I know, but you're a gorram Browncoat and that makes you kin to me, dong-ma? I save you, I can say I done my duty. I see us through this, by the grace of God, that's one less weight I gotta carry. See, Zoe? Seven months I spent here, and I can't walk no more. It's--it's too much, and God's carryin' some, but it ain't enough. I need--I need me someone to help carry me, same as you."

Zoe's hand trembled as she continued to stare down Mal. A silent battle of wills played out in their minds with neither moving to lower their weapons. She saw it there, in the steel of his eyes; a chink in his armor right in his blind spot. He was a man built on faith, and he'd never had it tested like this before. The things he must've done, the people he must've lost, Zoe couldn't even imagine it as she'd been a soldier for only two months. That was the danger in putting all of someone's hopes into just one thing like her father had done. It made a person unbelievably strong, but also incredibly vulnerable.

She knew, then, that Mal wasn't lying. He needed someone not just to help him carry the burden, but to watch his back; to be there for him when he stumbled, and in return Zoe knew he'd be there for her. A pure, honest, noble, decent sort of man like Mal was hard to come by in the 'verse--all her life of visiting worlds on her parents' ship and she'd barely seen evidence of it. She'd protect that spark with her life if need be.

Mal saw the shift in her eyes and slowly began to lower his weapon. Zoe uncocked her pistol and did the same.

"Zoe, I--I shouldn't've pointed my gun at you," apologized Mal quietly, propping it against the tree.

"Probably not the wisest course of action, sir," agreed Zoe with her dry wit that made Mal smile. "I won't point my piece towards my person no more neither, sir. Always keep her aimed ahead."

"Not a bad idea," chuckled Mal, pulling his cross out from his shirt to kiss. Never had he been pushed that far in all his years on Shadow, or in all his months in the war, but then he'd never hiked a hundred kliks carrying someone across enemy territory before with almost no breaks. "You know, I might outrank you, but considerin' the situation, wouldn't take no offense if you called me 'Mal.'"

Zoe paused for a moment and thought it over. "Considerin' the situation, I think it's best if I kept to 'sir,' sir." With newfound grit and determination, Zoe got to her feet and reached her hand down to Mal. He gave her a wry smile of understanding before accepting her hand.

The sky was a deep, robust orange by the time Mal and Zoe came upon the outpost. Mal knelt down while Zoe propped herself up against another tree in the shade. The outpost was below them in a clearing surrounded by a rim of rainforest. Mal couldn't help but smile as he kissed his cross yet again. Salvation was at hand, minus a few problems which he felt to be rather inconsequential at this point. They were going to be all right.

Out from his bag, Mal produced a high-powered scope to peer through, and he focused it upon the outpost.

"It's manned," reported Mal with a large smile. "Definetely our artillery units. They got tanks, rollers, bunkers; every damn thing."

"They don't got a Wolfhound, sir," said Zoe reasonably.

"Well, no, but they probably got themselves a radio to call one," shrugged Mal, lowering the scope. "In any case, I'm sure they've got a medic to tend to you 'til they can fly us out. Problem is, only way we got to signal 'em is to pop off shots, or scream really loud. Course, that won't just give our position to our friendlies, but any gorram mercs lurkin' in the bush. Probably get ourselves a nice, little sniper kiss right between our foreheads. I'm thinkin' we're gonna have to go to them."

"Sir, about that problem with your brain bein' missin'?" remarked Zoe, but Mal could catch the fondness in it now.

"After dark," said Mal like that was their big problem.

"No, sir, I meant my leg," clarified Zoe, gesturing down at her thigh, which was beginning to smell some. "Dark or not, they're gonna see us when the sun comes up and we haven't gone more'n twenty yards."

"Huh," exclaimed Mal, leaning back against the shadows to look her over. "That is a problem."

"Sir?" asked Zoe, who was feeling very uncomfortable in the way Mal was looking her over.

"Just doin' the math, Zoe," said Mal softly, looking back out towards the outpost. "Just doin' the math."

Nightfall was dark and quiet; an eerie type that Mal had never known before on Shadow. No moons to be seen, no planets; not even the silhouette of one. Shelling and atmospheric bombardment had given the sky an odd haze that dulled most of the stars in the sky. It was as if they were truly alone in the 'verse, and that sat poorly with Mal. Of course, there were other things sitting poorly with him at the moment.

"Girl could get used to this," remarked Zoe in a whisper, and he could just imagine the smile on her face. Mal groaned and hooked his arms underneath Zoe's legs, while she draped her arms around his shoulders.

"Shut it," hissed Mal as he made his way down the slope with Zoe on his back.

"Yes, sir, this here's the only way to travel," said a snickering Zoe.

"I'm thinkin' I did the math wrong," groaned Mal just as his foot hit a slippery patch of grass. A strange tingle shot up Mal's spine when he slipped, but he shrugged it off as he readjusted his grip on Zoe.

*****

"Anything out there, Sergeant?" asked Captain Monty Reynolds of the 502 Artillery Company. The big Sasquatch of a man stroked his massively thick soup-catcher in contemplation, while eyes scanned the darkness.

"No, sir," reported the Sergeant, who was leaning out of the open hatch of the roller that towered behind Monty. "Heat scope shows a uniform pattern. Night scope is a wash. Nothing but fuzzy-wuzzies out on radar."

"Well, keep on it. You know how clever those bastard mercs can be," said Monty gruffly, wishing they had themselves a bit of light to see. His father used to always tell him: You want to find someone, use your eyes. Unfortunately, that would advertise their own position to just about every hostile and friendly in the bush.

"Yes, sir, Captain Reynolds," replied the Sergeant.

Out in the ghostly quiet of the rainforest Monty thought he heard voices other than his own men. He narrowed his eyes and took two steps towards the darkness, away from his company which he could barely see even though they were not five feet from him. His bearlike paw rested on the grip of the sidearm strapped to his hip. Something bad was coming that made the prominent hairs on his body stand on end.

"Shhh!" Monty heard, along with something like a thud.

"Wasn't me!" was another soft whisper, almost like a whine. There was the sound of something grating against tightly woven, nylon fabric, followed by the heavy tred of bootfalls on grass like someone trying to get their balance. "Aaaahhhh!"

"Sarge, what the hell?"

"I don't ruttin' know! I gorram stood on someone! Who's there?"

"Starshell! STARSHELL!" bellowed Monty as he withdrew his pistol.

"Firing!" warned the Sergeant.

The main cannon of the roller shot a round straight up into the air, casting a dull yellow glow on everything in the surrounding area. What Monty saw he would have a hard time believing for the rest of his natural life. Standing just in front of the edge of the forest looked to be one Browncoat piggybacking on the other. Around them, however, was a whole company of mercenaries crawling along the grass. There was that moment of the surreal when it seemed like all your senses had gone up and turned over, but the explosion of cannon fire certainly snapped one's focus back into place.

Mal took off like a rabbit the moment shells started to the pound the ground around him. Quite suddenly the static feeling made sense to him as he spotted the highly illegal, and very unstable blinder clutched in one of the mercs' hands, but that wasn't helping his situation any. Not when his own army was acting like they were going to kill him.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" shouted Zoe right smack against his ear.

"NOT AT US! RU-HUA LUO DE DI-YU, WE'RE BROWNCOATS!" roared Mal, keeping his head down and his feet moving.

They didn't very far past the mercenaries before Mal's world exploded into one of pain. He wasn't sure what came first, only that his ankle, arm and shoulder felt like they got stung by some large bugs. It was the ankle that dropped him, but Zoe throwing her weight back away from him didn't help any. Then again, he didn't know she'd been shot up just like he had.

The last thing Mal saw before the pain and fatigue overwhelmed him was Zoe's vacant expression. He faded into black with a silent prayer to the Lord on his parched lips.

"Oh hell, sir, I think--" said the Sergeant weakly.

"Who the gorram hell taught you boys how to shoot?" Monty criticized sharply. "Driver, start her up! COVERING FIRE!"

Monty hitched a ride onto the lead tank, using its armor for cover against the mercenaries. The roller parked itself between the mercenaries and the artilleries so that Monty and the Sergeant could climb down for a better look. Monty knelt over the bodies as richochet and shrapnel bounced all around.

"Private Zoe Alleyne of the eighty-first," said Monty, checking her shoulder patch and tags. He then moved to the man lying next to her. "Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds--huh, good name--one of Fury's men."

"Howler?" asked the Sergeant. "Would've thought this more a stunt for the Balls and Bayonets under Orbin."

"Yeah, I thought only they'd be stupid enough to walk through the gorram minefield we set up," agreed Monty gruffly. "All right, get 'em out of here! Get the medic on standby and radio in for emergency evac!"

*****

"I still remember, just as the Wolfhounds were pullin' in and they were shootin' us full of morphine, the Captain turned to me and told me 'This ain't our time to die,'" smiled Zoe fondly, just as Simon finished up with his procedure. "That was the Captain, all right. Always capable of inspirin' loyalties."

"And full of crazy ideas," added Inara just as fondly from her spot at Zoe's left.

"Seems to me I ain't the only one with crazy schemes aboard this ship," remarked Mal from the entrance to the infirmary. He smiled at Zoe and Inara before taking a step into the room. "Kyo just got off the Cortex. Nothin' reported on any newswaves, but then River figured as much. Seems that merchant's been short-changin' the Alliance on his annual taxes with his payroll; reportin' less than he actually earned. Ain't the sorta fella who'd be seekin' help from the police."

"Praise Buddha for small miracles," said Inara wryly. She gave Zoe's hand a gentle squeeze in farewell, and then proceeded to rise gracefully off the stool.

"Maybe next port we check into, I'm thinkin' we see 'bout a way to fix Jayne's face so as not to arise anymore unwanted suspicion," suggested Mal half-heartedly as he folded his arms across his chest and stepped aside to let Inara pass.

"I'm not sure there's a skilled enough surgeon in the 'verse for that," commented Simon from the sink.

"Or enough money," added Inara while she turned the corner.

"Keep her off that leg for the next week or two," Simon told Mal, which he thought was more out of habit than anything else. Getting shot was something practically everyone on the ship had experienced. Mal gave a nod in understanding all the same, and Simon gave one last look to his patient, who seemed very irritated to be discussed like she wasn't in the room. "I mean that. There's a smoother for any pain you might experience, and let me know if there's any complications."

"I will," promised Zoe, and with his duty done, Simon left the infirmary to seek out Kaylee.

"Hasn't this been just a cheerful day?" came Kyo's voice through the passenger deck. Zoe spotted him walking around from the aft stairs, and followed him with her eyes until he filled up the doorway of the infirmary. "Leg still attached, I see?"

"Still," said Zoe dryly, but was unable to suppress the smile on her face that mirrored Mal's and Kyo's. Apparently all three had been taking a stroll down memory lane this day.

"God, I remember how much of a mess you looked when I checked in on Mal," reminisced Kyo as he leaned against the frame. "Kinda like a...a...mechanical mummy." Zoe tried to scowl over Kyo and Mal's snickers.

"That was it, wasn't it?" declared Mal wistfully. "We were lyin' in the medbay of the Washington when you came in to check on me, and you also told me I'd been reassigned to the Balls and Bayonets with Zoe."

"Well, brass didn't have much choice with the two of you being all laid up for such a long time," shrugged Kyo. "We did have a war to fight, you know? Not everyone could just lay 'round like a vegetable."

"I was eatin' through a tube!" protested Mal indignantly.

"Were you really that lazy to chew?" ribbed Kyo, and they all broke down into laughter.

The laughter died down, but the mirth was still dancing in their eyes. They'd lost many in the war, and many after, but they still had each other. Mal took a look at Kyo and Zoe, and he couldn't help but wonder if he would've made it through the war without them--not just in the physical sense either. Would his faith in the Lord have run out sooner than Serenity if he didn't have people like them to help carry him? Mal had no answer.

What he did know, however, was that some bonds just couldn't be broken. Not when they'd been forged from living on the edge of a knife; not when they had each other's lives in their hands nearly every day; not when each of them carried dark secrets of hard life or death decisions made by the other, and they could trust each other with that. Didn't matter so much to Mal if they lost the war--not if he could walk away with that still intact.

"Get some sleep, Private. You've earned it," said Mal thickly before he and Kyo left the infirmary.

"We all have, sir," returned Zoe softly.

------

Author's Notes, Justifications, and...well...Excuses:

It felt incredibly strange to write this without a real plot to tie it all together. I could've done it like Out of Gas, but then I had no idea how, and this was never meant to be an episode anyway. I toyed with the idea of using Tracey as the narrator for this, but decided against it. I thought I had something with using Saffron and Monty from their married period, but then I remembered that Monty had apparently never mentioned Mal. That really would've been perfect to set up episode nine, but oh well. In the end, I just got lazy and slapped something together to help connect the two flashbacks.

Seraph and the quote does come from The Matrix Reloaded. One of the only good quotes to really come from that movie.

Rogue Squadron, of course, is courtesy of Star Wars. And Jessica Starrstrider's name is a sort of play on Luke Skywalker's.

Fury and the Howlers come from Marvel Comics's Sgt. Fury and his Howling Commandos. Who would later become Col. Nick Fury, leader of S.H.I.E.L.D. There's no reason why I had Mal start off in the different company except that I just did.

Mal and Zoe's story is practically word-for-word from Garth Ennis's Preacher. The issue in question being "The Land of Bad Things" found in the Preacher: Salvation graphic novel. I had to alter it some. For one thing, that's a Vietnam story...which explains why they're suddenly fighting in a rainforest and not a bombed out city or desert or something. For another thing, that story comes at the end of Texas and Space's tour, while this is obviously a starting point for Mal and Zoe. But I thought it was such a "Mal thing" to do that I had to use it.

Also, it's sort of my explanation as to why Mal and Zoe got together. I think I'm referencing a Seinfeld episode when I say "You can't have sex with someone you respect." She just respects him too much for those sorts of thoughts to be even possible. Or, well, that's my theory based on my origin.

Arkham is a reference to Arkham Asylum found in Batman comics.

Honestly, I didn't know what Monty's last name was until I started to write this story. I was baffled when I found it to be Reynolds on a variety of sources. Didn't make them related because their reunion in Trash didn't look to be like relatives. They acted like war buddies and nothing more, so I stuck to that. Besides, Reynolds isn't quite an uncommon name.