“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” –Ecclesiastes 4:12

PROLOGUE (Taking place 8-years post-BDM.)

Zoë closed her eyes. She was on a dusty planet. The day was bright outside of her clay home and the wind brought a breeze off the grasslands. Gazelles grazed along the distant highlands. She hung laundry on a clothesline just outside the back door. She could have a machine dried them, but the sunshine always seemed to leave a fresh kiss on the linens. The house was quiet and vacant and she enjoyed the peace of the afternoon. Planet-side always held a quaint, simplistic feel and though she was happy, her heart yearned for the days spent out in the black chasing ghosts with Captain Reynolds. “Mommy! Mommy!” The excited cries of her nearly-eight-year-old son broke the silence. He was dashing out of the grasslands, the tall blades slapping his face. “Hey, baby, what did you find?” “Look!” He showed her his left forearm which was bleeding. “I got bit!” The little boy seemed more pleased than concerned. ‘And why shouldn’t he?’ she thought. ‘It’s his world.’ But Zoë was concerned. She grabbed a washcloth from the clothesline, hoping to get a closer look at the wound. “Do you know what bit you, baby?” she asked with practiced calm. “This!” he smiled gleefully, pulling a snake from behind his back. Zoë smiled, recognizing the rubber snake joke. When the snake coiled and hissed at her, she jumped backward in surprise. Her son still smiled. “This is the one that got me, Mommy,” he said, triumphantly. “Can I keep him?” “No, baby, put him down.” The boy tossed the snake a few feet away and it slithered off into the grasslands. “Where’s he off to, Mommy?” “I expect he’s got family of his own to see to.” Zoë could tell by the colors of the snake that it wasn’t poisonous, so she picked up her boy and carried him to the kitchen where she could properly bandage the wound. As she cleaned it, she looked him over. He had her dark features and curly hair, but definitely his father’s laugh. Placing a clean bandage on the boy’s arm, she kissed his nose and released him back to the wild grass from whence he came. He was an explorer. He wanted to see the worlds – all of them, and all the space in between. Zoë looked skyward, reminding herself that it was the Reavers, not the unforgiving black, that took her husband from her. She stared vacantly at the floral decorations in the kitchen, her son’s finger painting on the fridge. There were no guns in this house. No guns and no dinosaurs. Nothing of the past, only the present. But she could not help but wonder if this was all she wanted for her future. The mid-afternoon knock on the door signaled the arrival of the morning post – five hours late as usual. Zoë signed for the oblong box, not surprised at all that Mal remembered her son’s birthday. She knew Mal felt guilty for leaving Jackson without a father. Since she’d left Serenity, he always sent her enough to get by, even if that meant he was going hungry some months. She’d long since given up on protesting. Occasionally he’d send detailed letters of his latest heist, allowing her to live vicariously, then humbly requesting that she burn the note before some lawman got hold of it. With a smile of excitement, she tore open the letter accompanying the box, wondering what adventure awaited her today. It was only the years of practice that allowed her to now read his chicken-scratch writing with ease. Dear Zoë, I hope this letter finds you well. If I timed it right, you should be getting it right around Jackson’s eighth birthday. There’s a snake in the box (don’t worry, not a real one), so I hope he still likes snakes. If not, just exchange it for something he does want. I’m sending a little extra cash this time because we’re setting down on Three Hills in a few days and I expect a home cooked meal from you. Cappy, our new merc, is working out well (aside from the name confusion). Kaylee and River are having quite a fight over his affections and it’s driving me nuts. The ship hasn’t been the same since Simon left last month. Being without a doctor, I’ve been trying to get jobs that don’t get us shot at too much, so mostly we’ve been flying to all the guild schools letting Inara do guest lectures. That won’t last long, though, because she’s pregnant with our second (but don’t tell her I told you or she’s like to kill me). Don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, since we haven’t seen a proper doctor yet. She’s busy child-proofing the ship again, and praying madly that this one will follow in her footsteps more than the last. Emma turns five next week. My little girl is a thing of wonder, I swear. She’s got all her mama’s beauty and grace, loves to keep her fingers clean, and last week she smashed her little violin to bits because she didn’t want to practice. I told Inara I ain’t buying her another one. That girl don’t take after me at all. I’m wondering if she’s really Simon’s and that’s why he left, because she takes a whole lot after him. Emma is the only one who can get River into the Infirmary without a tantrum. Those two sneak in there and turn the place into a science lab, wasting all the meds making strawberry scented nail polish. I told River I’m taking it out of her cut, and she doesn’t seem to care. But can you imagine? My little girl, a junior squint! I may have to start a college fund! I guess I’ve rambled on enough about my kid, and you’re going to meet her in a few days time, so you’ll see how amazing she is. In the event you’re looking for some contract work instead of taking charity all the time, I have a job proposition for you. It’s short, simple, easy-peasy, and you can surely bring Jackson along as the ship will be all child-proof and Emma would love a playmate. In fact, I’m considering opening a nursery in the cargo-bay, just to get a little cash on the side. We ain’t using those holds for smuggling lately, so we may as well put something in there. River’s a good baby-sitter, until it comes to bedtime. The stories she tells just scare the snot out of you. Can’t wait to see you, and I ain’t kidding about that home-cooked meal. I expect to see corn-fed, freshly slaughtered, center cut, rib-eye cooked medium-rare over a real flame. If you get that, I won’t be too picky about the sides. If not, I want hand-mashed, garlic potatoes, fresh-snapped green beans, and home-made cornbread. Don’t think you can cheat. I may live off of synthetic food-stock, but I remember what real food tastes like. And here I am blubbering on again, when I’m like to talk your ear off when I see you. I miss you, old friend. Your ex-Sergeant, ex-Captain, and eternal friend, Mal Zoë put down the letter and picked thoughtfully at a hangnail, the idea of returning to Serenity set before her eyes like a pile of glittering gold. Her quaint, placid little hut situated on the grasslands of Three Hills had never really been a home to her the way it was to Jackson. Anyone who knew her would look around and never believe she lived here. She had left Serenity with only the clothes on her back, not wanting the burdens of that past. But now, with the shining prospect of taking hold of her future … No more denying, no more pretending. With firm resolve, she strode to the back door, called Jackson in, and pocketed the money Mal had sent. Forget the rib-eye steak! She needed to buy a new gun. After eight years, her aim was bound to be rusty, and she refused to be out-of-practice when Mal arrived. No matter how easy-peasy the job, no matter what assurances Mal made, Zoë knew better. Taking Jackson by the hand, she led him to the local gunsmith – a place she had never taken him before. He looked uncertain as she handed him a firearm to try out, deciding that he would train with her. With practiced stoicism learned from the war, she focused her mind. No matter what, she would be prepared. She would keep him safe.

*~*

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