Crosses and Naughts

Author: Thea

Disclaimer:  Not mine. So very much not mine. Other people who are far more clever than I own them.  I'm just borrowing.

Recipient: Sabine

Notes and warnings:  Request was Mal/Aeryn. NC-17 for sex, some choice language and a lot of shooting.   Many, many thanks to Crankygrrl  for beta and encouragement and even more encouragement.  All mistakes are adamantly my own.

Summary:  Crossed paths and brief moments of comfort.

He couldn't duck, trussed up like a Christmas goose, hands bound behind his back as one of Riis' shifty eyed thugs slammed a meaty fist into his gut.

"How's this a fair fight?" Mal chided, spitting blood, and lashing out at one of the more myopic thugs who came in to close, missing sight of Mal's knee, cocked and ready to strike.  The guard flew back with a grunt, and Mal choked as a sharp elbow drove into his side, narrowly missing his ribs.

"She kissed me," he protested.

"Riis don't care," said the gang's initial aggressor, the one who'd dragged Mal from the bar to the abandoned luxury class freighter where Farel Riis was holding court on this particular U-Day. 

"Tie him up." Riis' booming drawl cut through the ringing in Mal's ears. 

Yanked backwards on both sides, Mal struggled as they looped rope around his feet, forcing him to his knees and jerking his bonds tight.

"Well, well, well, Malcolm Reynolds." Riis shook his head and swaggered as the crowd parted for him.

"Thought you could get away with such poor behavior, in my bar, in my employment, on a day like today?" Riis shook his head, beady black eyes focused on Mal. He tsked and rubbed the top of his gun.  Behind Mal, a dark haired woman stood idle, hand resting lightly on her gun butt, thumb hooked into her belt. 

"Thought you were smarter than this Reynolds," Riis continued to click his tongue in annoyance like an old-fashioned school marm. 

"Thought wrong," Mal laughed, trying not to swallow the blood pooling in his mouth.  He ran his tongue around his teeth. None seemed all that loose, but the coppery wash was making him gag.

"I think you been more trouble then you're worth," Riis nodded, sage and decisive. "I think maybe you'll make a mighty fine example for those who got it in their heads to take advantage of an honest businessman like myself."

Mal missed the good old days when death meant bombs dropped, a burning ship, a clean shot between the eyes, maybe even a little torturous foreplay to set the mood.  These days, every petty warlord with a hard on for reputation and gun running had to talk and talk and talk until the cackling crack of his or her voice drove Mal to say something a might regrettable, hastening the likelihood of his own messy death.

"What do you think about that, boys?" Riis looked back at two of the men framing the female merc. Clad in messy Alliance uniforms, collars loose, cheeks red with the aftereffects of too much booze, the two beefy swollen men glared bleerily at Mal.

"See, you just didn't know when to quit, did you Reynolds?"  Riis hawked a wad of tobacco to the side where it landed against a bare strip of metal flooring with a sickening splat.  He turned back to Mal. 

"Wasn't enough that you stole from me, started a fight in my bar, but to corrupt my niece as well?  I shoulda killed you where you stood, but that seemed a little too generous."

"I didn't do much corrupting," Mal slurred, his swollen lip impairing his speech. "All I did was offer her a little cash to spill some drinks."  The fact that she'd leaned over the bar and kissed him, before knocking a tray of antique glasses to the floor hadn't been his fault.  Neither had her choice of profession, choice being a pretty liberal term considering Riis had forced her into the business when she was 12 years old.

"You embarrassed me, stole from me, tried to swindle me, and involved my family.  I really can't imagine why I didn't let Chester shoot you in the bar."

"The goodness of your heart?" Mal forced a laugh. "Too cheap to pay for someone to clean up the blood?"

Riis ignored Mal.  He threw out his arms, gesturing at the half circle of black clad guards as if seeking guidance, or leveling blame, and then turned back to the captive.

"I trusted you, didn't shoot you when you first came to our town, didn't have anyone else shoot you and you betray us so blatantly, so remorselessly. Can't understand why we didn't kill you the day you arrived." 

Truthfully, Mal didn't know either. He tried to shrug his shoulders, grimacing as the rope chafed his wrists.  Riis had found a theme and didn't seem much anxious to let it be.

"So now, you'll die here."

Mumbled agreements and encouragement rolled through the room as Riis' followers sucked up to their fearless leader. Surrounded by hard-eyed guards with sizeable weapons, Mal knew that he should be paying attention to Farel Riis, but the big man's blustering threats were just so much wasted air. Riis was intent on making an example of him here among all of his fighting, festering toadies, stretching out the moments just for spite. 

"You abused the hospitality of our fine establishment, you abused my trust, and you had the unmitigated gall to rob me.  Me! And you didn't pay for the services of Mirelle.  Her kisses ain't free!"  Riis pounded his chest like a monkey in an ancient zoo.

"She said she was givin' me a discount," Mal said, grinning bloody teeth at his tormentor.

The gasbag was gonna kill him one way or another, and Mal didn't care to pass his last moments listening to a torment of tautology.  He should've been on alert for an opening, scanning the crowd for a way out, but frankly, it'd been a bad couple of years and he was tired of outs. 

He was, in fact, just plain tired.

So instead of listening, focused and intent, as Riis recounted his sins to the assembled audience, Mal was spending his last moments pretending his shoulders weren't coming out of his socket and that his knees didn't hurt, thinking about women, and stolen moments. The dark haired mercenary with the grey gaze eyed him disinterestedly, and he decided that even she was welcome to join his mental meanderings. He'd never minded a little thrill between the sheets. Riis didn't often employ women, but the flat menace in the merc's eyes gave Mal a pretty good clue as to what had inspired the verbose warlord. Mal reconsidered her inclusion in his parade, shrugged and decided she'd make a fine complement to the softer sides of femininity he'd been reminiscing about.

Farel Riis big belly hung over his low slung gunbelt, bumping his equally big gun.  Glaring down at Mal, he hooked his thumbs into the belt, framing the garish old fashioned dinner plate buckle. He spat to the side again and then raised a bushy eyebrow and nodded.  The distinctive slip click of guns leaving holsters echoed through the room.  Riis employed a collection of persons with very big guns, and right now a goodly portion of those guns were aimed at Malcolm Reynolds.

"Don't take kindly to that sorta insult," Riis said, shaking his head.  "Don't take kindly to it at all." He stretched the last two words out until their sibilant hiss raised all the hair on the back of Mal's neck. If he wasn't so gorram fatigued, he might have been able to rouse himself to give a damn. Mal returned to the women in his head.

"You were warned, Reynolds," Riis took a deep breath and bared tobacco stained teeth. "Consider this your second chance.  Prepare to meet your maker."

He smiled, feral and ugly, and Mal looked up under his eyelashes, waiting for the order to fire, but instead, Riis just launched into another tirade on disrespect, and examples being made.  As the grey-eyed mercenary coldly refused to strip down for him in his head, Mal sighed, rolling his eyes in disgust. "Oh, just put me outta my gorram misery, Riis, Or are you plannin' on boring me death?" he muttered.

He'd never been a man intent on hastening his own death, but this was intolerable.  And then he heard the snort coming from the direction of the guards.  It was a sort of… feminine… snort, and Mal's gaze shifted up to the side.

There was no trace of a smile on the woman's strong features, no hint of any sort of humor, but Mal knew what he'd heard.  All right, he thought, least I'm gonna die with a smile on my face, if not with honor. But after Serenity Valley, he hadn't earmarked himself for that kind of death anyway.

"Any last words?" Riis drawled, fondling the butt of his gun, and Mal realized that the speech had finally drawn to a close.

"Some things are worse than death, Riis and at least I won't have to listen to you bellyache anymore," he said, practically relieved, knowing this was true, having seen and lived so many of those things.  He smiled wide and ready.

"String him up boys!" Riis ordered, and the thugs, confused, tried to holster their weapons and simultaneously reach for Mal.

Farel Riis's neck exploded.

Mal rocked back as far as he could, the ropes rubbing his skin raw, fumbled for balance, sure he was seeing things, but the blood, bright and spraying, covered the floor like tempera paint.  Riis choked and gurgled, mouth gaping, his big, beefy form flopping forward like an overgrown fish in a tiny pond.  The dark haired woman had her gun down by her side before any one else moved.  Then the room exploded into confusion.

Blood ran down Mal's forehead and he wriggled his arms back and forth working the ropes that held him, ducking, throat constricting at the hot smell of blood and death.  He tried to arch back on his knees and a felt the sizzling zing of a bullet next to his cheek. 

He heard a muttered, "Frell. Fuck," and angled to the side in time to see the woman nail another guard between the eyes with a shot. She elbowed the guard beside her in the temple with enough force to cause an audible crack, and gunfire sounded around them as Riis' court devolved into the brawling, scratching mob that they truly were.  Didn't take more than a second for someone to see that the king was dead, long live the next son of a bitch who could claw his way to the top. The hangar was in chaos, bullets and light, the scent of blood glowing copper bright, shouts and screams as assassination paved the way for a new coronation.

One of the few guards to keep his cool spotted Mal in the midst of the commotion, and eyes narrowing, raised his gun arm.  His head popped like a cherry and the guard toppled forward.

"Grab that," the woman yelled to him, kicking the downed guard's shotgun over to Mal, and ducking down as a bullet lanced her arm.  She growled, and took out the shooter, dropping to one knee, then rolled over her back onto her feet through the swath of Riis's darkening blood.  The black stickiness smearing across the metal floor somehow kicked Mal into gear. 

"With what?" he bellowed back, "My teeth?"

She was behind him, breath hot in his ear, breasts soft against his back. A rip and a tug preceded bright pain as his shoulder slid to the edge of its socket, and then his hands were free.

"Not with your teeth," she said low and fierce, shooting over his head and hitting a guy in the corner two fisting a pair of stylized dueling pistols.

"Go," she growled again. He went.

The corridors were narrow and damp, walls covered with a thin slime of lichen growing in the darkness, black like pitch.  He could hear her boots pounding in front of him, her breath steady and he followed the noise, struggling to run straight, to avoid the slick walls, to not stumble, gasp and wheeze.  All he knew for certain was that they weren't running towards the exit. When she rounded a corner, sliding and skidding into a patch of dim light, he lost his balance, careened into her, slamming them both into the filthy wall.

She swore, vicious if incomprehensible, elbowing him in the gut to get him off her, unreasonably infuriated.  He couldn't tell what she was saying, but her frame of mind was glassily clear.

"Sorry," he wheezed back, equally mad, "You stopped short.  What the hell else didja expect me to do?"

She didn't reply, fixed instead on the grey, watery light stealing out from the doors at the end of the hall. 

"Ships," she breathed.

A bay full of ships, to be exact.  Sleek little speeders and clunky cargo transports and in the corner a modified Firefly class, sheened and shiny enough to make his throat constrict.  It was manna from heaven.

It was a way out of this hellhole.

The first ship she tried to open cried out in alarm, klaxon's blazing.   "Shit," Mal hollered, pointing. "Try that one!"

"Sensors, failsafes," she muttered, moving on as quickly as possible.  Then she stopped, fixing him with that flat unbrooking gaze.  "You are not going with me."

"Like hell I'm not!"

"No!"  She turned back to a clean-lined little racer, and he grabbed her arm.  He was on the ground before he knew it, wearing an imprint of the side of her fist.

Spitting out blood, Mal snarled.

"You saved my life, and now you're just gonna leave me here?"

He was incredulous, and very, very pissed.

She didn't respond, sure as hell didn't look sorry.

"Jien tah-duh gway!" He wanted stamp his foot, throw the shotgun at her, but he only had seconds to spare and she didn't look much like someone willing to balance pros and cons, so he switched gears faster than a cattle train on a passenger track.

"I can pay you."

She whirled back around, glaring and disgusted. "You don't have any currency, and thanks to that disaster, I can't access the currency I have."

"So, you're just as stuck as I am!"  He was yelling over the alarms, and was almost ashamed of the glee in his voice.

"I'll sell the ship at the next port."

She was smarter than he'd given her credit for.

"I can help you, I got contacts all over.  I can get currency."

The lies kept on coming, but that didn't matter if she believed him.  If she was willing to run from the mess in Riis' kangaroo court, she wasn't really part of that world.  She might actually need his help, could be persuaded to return the favor.

She didn't even bother to verbally acknowledge that last foray, just leveled her gun hand at him.  Point taken. So he tried desperation.

"I ain't got a way out if you don't take me.  I can't pilot any ‘a these ships!"

She looked at him, hard and unsympathetic, angled jaw set.

"Please."

It  didn't feel like the pleading, the begging that it was, or maybe his pride was just so far gone that he couldn't even recognize the signs anymore.

But she didn't say no.

The fourth ship stayed quiet as they opened her up, cross wiring the keypad and blowing the circuits to the lock. The silence was a welcome counterpoint to the blare of sirens filling up the docking bay behind them.  She was a small, battered cargo ship, retrograde but familiar. 

"Smuggler friendly," Mal offered. "Which means fast."  

The woman hustled inside.

"Fast means wanted," she said over her shoulder as she mounted the laddery stairs, "but no alarm.  Worth the risk."

Mal jerked his head back at the odor as he followed her into the cockpit.  The ship was a small runner, a simple design - engine, cockpit, makeshift facilities and a flat slab in the hold that could serve as bench or bed. Storage was likely built into the walls.  A real small time operation, but he'd known men to cram 20 or 30 people into the tiny hold, charging them for transport to a new world.  By the reek emanating from the walls of the ship, she very well could have served the same purpose not too long ago. A round hatch sat square in the middle of the two-seater cockpit, and they had to wade through garbage to get to the seats.

"Someone's been livin' in here."  He covered his mouth, wincing at the smell, stale sweat and ripe garbage, gripping the shotgun more firmly.

She elbowed him in the back.  "Move," she demanded urgently.  "We need to leave before they remember to lock down the ships."

She slid into the pilot's chair and scanned the consoles, pressing buttons with a controlled freneticism.

"Damn, it smells really bad in here," he tried to breathe through his fingers, and squatted down, jerking up the hatch cover and kicking the garbage out the hole, hoping nothing caught on the parts of the engine that wrapped underneath.

A sudden thought occurred as the ship failed to roar to life."You know how to fly this thing?" The question came out more shrilly than he'd intended.

She shook her head, sharp. "Not exactly.” 

He let go of the hatch cover, letting it crash closed, a sonic sounding boom in the tiny, cramped space. 

"Not exactly?"

His eyes widened as she slammed her palm down onto a button and the ship roared to life.  She started touching different buttons and switches, muttering a listing litany in a language he couldn't understand.  The ship bucked and shook, lights flashing on and off inside the cockpit, but didn't explode.  He considered that a good sign, and then the ship rolled forward as the mercenary grabbed what Mal fervently hoped was steering. The nose started to swing around.

"Bay doors," he yelled over the roar of engine preparing for atmo.  He knew that sound.

She turned the nose until they were facing the hangar doors. 

"Hold on," she yelled, and hit a button.

Something thumped, and the ship shuddered. 

"Frell!" she barked, and pressed something else.  The bay doors disintegrated into a thousand pieces of metal pieces and the ship staggered out of the hole.  Mal whooped in spite of himself.

She took them out the doors into the light, straight and true and far faster than he was happy with, all things considered.  Small trees raced up towards, only to be mowed down, and as he shut his eyes and prepared to die in a fiery crash and the hands of a mad mercenary, his stomach dropped as his center shifted and they were up, up screaming through the atmosphere.

When they broke free of the planet's gravity, steering into the vast sea of stars, Mal felt the tingling giddiness of relief shake through his body. He sat down with a slow, uncontained slide, suddenly dazed.  The woman was intent on the controls, accounting for any potential missteps she might make as she learned the unfamiliar ship.  She ignored at him, and he slumped on the floor by the co-pilot's seat, tilting his head back against the curved cushioning, and slid, inexplicably into sleep.

Mal rooted through the cupboards on the edge of the cockpit, looking for anything useful the former occupants might have left behind - food, water, medical supplies, cheap hooch.  So far all he'd found was the random crap that a lone traveler would accumulate over a long journey, and piles of discarded junk - rotting garbage and filthy clothes. His eyes were gummy from the heavy nap, and he shook his head to clear out the cobwebs, tossing random items into a pile – old socks, news vids, meat jerky that looked old enough to have come from Earth that was.

“Hwoon dahn,” he muttered, and slid his arm further into the small, dark hole. He'd give a body part for a drink right about now.  When his hand clasped around the flat bottle, knuckles knocking against the smooth glass feel of another, he was almost afraid to look, but he withdrew the flask carefully and a grin split his face.

"Damn." He was reverent, uncorking the bottle and sniffing deeply. "Whiskey."

"Give it here."

It was an order.  He hadn't realized she'd been paying attention to his activities.

"I found it."  Mal protested.

She gritted her teeth. "Give it to me," she repeated.

He slapped the bottle into her hand, remembering the speed with which she'd dispatched the various guards, and then gaped as she rolled up her sleeve.  He'd forgotten that she'd been injured.  She hadn't paid the wound any mind before, but her shirt was dark, cakey with dried blood and it cracked as she rolled it past her elbow to uncover her bicep. The bullet had ripped a deep gouge out of her pale skin, and Mal thought he could see muscle, maybe a hint of bone.

"Hwoon dahn," he breathed again. "That must've hurt like a sonofabitch."

She twisted off the bottle top, and poured the whiskey onto the wound.  Her mouth drew tight and grim, but she didn't scream.  Mal's stomach rolled, and bile rose in the back of his throat.

"I, uh, let me see if I can find you somethin' for that," he turned away, moving through the cramped ship into the back.  The look on the woman's face as the alcohol washed her wound had scared him more than her ability with firepower.

He returned with a handful of sheeting, and a jug of water.  She tore the sheeting into strips, and poured the whiskey onto a line of cloth before wrapping it over the wound.

"That sterile?"

She pulled the cloth with her teeth, gripping the other end with her fingertips, tightening the bandages on her wounded arm.  Field triage.  He'd seen it before.  Her efficiency reminded him unexpectedly of Zoe, and he shoved her memory back into its case, holding it deep.  No time for that now.  She didn't ask for help, and Mal didn't offer.

"You a soldier?"

"Yes." She paused.  "No. Not now."

He didn't believe her.  She moved like a soldier, swift and competent, no hesitation in her actions. But she was a damn sight faster than any of the soldiers still left from the Independence, and the Alliance had certainly never trained anyone who could kill as quickly as she did.  Her effortlessness was more than a little unsettling.

"You were." It wasn't really a question,  "Did you fight for us or for the Alliance?"  All this time, all these years, and he still needed to know.  Still couldn't stomach close quarters with someone who'd supported those bastards. 

Except for her, and that'd been different. She'd never been part a war not of her own making, used different weapons in battle and he missed the scent of her hair, the curve of her breast, her dubious profession, her body almost as beautiful as his ship, but not prettier than his freedom.

The woman stayed silent.

"You work for the Alliance?" he repeated the question, giving it a harder thrust.

"No."  Okay, not real talkative.  He could appreciate that. 

"You gotta name?" He persisted, suddenly aware of being trapped in space with a gun for hire that  he knew nothing about.  Sure, she'd saved his life originally, but he wasn't even sure she'd done that on purpose. More likely, she'd seen an opportunity and taken it.  He wanted to even his odds a little.

Another full silence, a hitch of breath and a pause.  "Aeryn," she said finally, voice weary.  She swallowed, saying it again softly. "Aeryn Sun."

"Malcolm Reynolds. Pleased to meet you, ma'am.  Thank you for savin' my life."

He stuck his hand out to shake, and she raised an eyebrow, tying off the makeshift bandage. Mal dropped his hand, watching as she neatened her work, getting the fabric out of her way and pulling her sleeve down over it.

He gripped the back of the empty chair.  "You got a plan, Ms. Sun, or you just flyin' blind here?"

She was careful with her words, but the edgy joyless smile teased the corner of her mouth again.  "My employment seems to be at an end.  Out here, currency buys information, and I need information." Her tone was as dry as good rice wine.  Mal chuckled, despite the perversity of it, but got no answering mirth back from her.

"That poses something of a problem.  I'm,” she paused again, “contemplating the best course of action.”

He laughed aloud, bitter but honestly amused.  "Then we got somethin' else in common. I can contemplate with the best of ‘em."

She raised her eyebrow again, and he decided he was gonna hate that look.

“Merc jobs are a dime a dozen,” he said.  “We hit the next planet, and you can sign on with another piece of shuh ma nyaow like Riis.  You're little currency problem will be over, shiny as all get out.”

She swallowed, narrowing her eyes at him and blinking like she didn't quite understand, but she seemed to reach some sort of internal conclusion.  “I do not know these systems as well as I would like.”  Her words were measured and careful.  “I need some guidance, navigational data and star charts.” She licked her lips. “You appear to need some sort of guardian.”

He bristled at that.  “Been takin' care of myself for a helluva long time lady.”

She snorted at that.  “Riis caught you in the act.  A man who, while powerful and clearly threatening, could barely find his eema with both hands unless one of his guards gave him a map.  You're either too stupid to successfully pull off the scam you'd set in motion, or you wanted to get caught.”

“I ain't stupid, and I'm not the one who was recently playin' hit man for a thief and a murderer.”

She looked at him coldly, unimpressed with the taunt. “Believe me when I say I've done far worse in my time.”

He did.  He very much believed her, but these niggling thoughts in the back of his mind were telling him to make a deal with this woman, to make her take him on.  A partnership could be profitable, and at the very least, she could protect him while he figured out what to do next.

He took a deep breath, his decision made.

"There's a place, somewhere we can go."

“We're going to the closest populated planet,” she said, adjusting the thrusters.  “I'm selling the ship, and we can say our good-byes.”

He didn't let her determination deter him.

“I got a proposition for you, Aeryn,” she winced imperceptibly when he said her name.  “You take me all the way to Hecuba's Moon, and I'll pay you good money.” He cleared his throat, whispering the words again in his head.  Hecuba. It was a risk, but worth it.  All or nothin'.  He continued, driving his point home.  “I get where I wanna be, and you get paid. No need to sell the ship, can still use it for whatever it is you're doin' out here, and I get where I wanna be.  We both win.”

“No one wins,” she said, turning back to the controls.  “No one ever wins. We just put off death for that much longer.”

“Well, that's somethin',” he said, tilting his head and coming to a conclusion. Considering that a few hours ago, he was looking death in the face, however sarcastic and smart mouthed he'd been, gaining this much more of a lease, a gift from the ‘verse, was indeed something.

“No,” she said softly, “It's not.”

He watched her for a moment, her fingers moving quickly over the controls, focus sharp and spine straight, pain a language in her shoulders, then shifted his gaze, feeling the sharp, taut lines of her body stealing away all the joy of his decision.

“You're certain about this?"  Suspicion rode full and thick in her smoky voice as she programmed in the coordinates to Hecuba's Moon.  He didn't know what exactly had convinced her, but the breathless relief he felt upon her asking for the location made him lightheaded and giddy.

"Yeah,” he affirmed. “We're on the edge of the system, but it's the closest place where I can guarantee friendly faces. I'm sure.  It's a good decision.  A good plan." He was certain, at least about the coordinates. He had repeated them over and over again to himself every day for the past four years, just to make sure.  He never planned to use them, but they were a comfort, a constant, a warm gun and a sweet spot and coffee at sunrise in the cool gleam of a planetary summer.

"Trust me."

Her shoulders tightened.

“Trust you?”

“Yeah,” he retaliated.  “Who else you got to trust?  I know this sector, got a plan to keep us alive for a few more days, and I haven't tried to hurt you, so yeah, I think trust ain't too much to ask.”

“It is everything to ask,” she said, shoulders tensed, tone gravelly and grim.  “I should have left you behind for Riis' successor to deal with.”

Anger churned in his throat at her unwillingness to even try and give him some ground.  Mal didn't expect miracles, but he hadn't harmed this woman, had done everything she'd asked even when it was against his better judgement.  He hadn't been the one takin' money from a cold-blooded, family pimping killer.  Okay, so he had been, but it wasn't the same. He shook his head, clearing the distinctions he was struggling to make.

“Well, why didn't you?” he barked back. “If you ain't willin' to help, you might as well have left my sorry ass back in that hangar.  Coulda at least stowed away in one of the ships.”

He slammed the whiskey bottle down on the console and the amber liquid sloshes in the bottle.

“So,” he pressed. “Why didn't you?  Why dintcha kill me in the first place?  Why dintcha leave me behind?”

Her jaw was hard, the line of her mouth so still and set that glass would've scratched on her pale, smooth skin.  He didn't think she'd answer, but her voice when she finally did speak was so icy, so toneless he wished he'd just shut the hell up and left well enough alone.

“You reminded me of someone.”

It was the only explanation she offered, didn't elaborate, instead adjusting the set of her gun in its thigh holster in an unsubtle reminder of the way power sat between them. He felt an itchy urge to protest, to wave the shotgun at her and stick out his tongue, but she had the clear advantage.  She could pilot the ship without steering them into a star or an immovable object.  And he wouldn't lay any bets on who'd win at a fast draw.  There didn't seem much point to such an exercise. He knew his way around a weapon, but she'd killed with a speed an efficiency he knew he couldn't match.

"It's going to take several days, I think," she said grimly, finally offering some useful information. "And we'll be stretching the fuel reserves to their limits."

"It'll be worth it," he promised rashly, suddenly buoyed by this new opportunity, by the small set of words she'd offered, the insight into her humanity. He couldn't, wouldn't have planned this new track his

life had slid onto. Had left all that behind four years ago with Zoe's damp, serious face and the feel of his ship under his hands for the final time. With the Alliance's cuffs on his wrists.

"Got folks at that end who'll be happy to help." 

Okay, that was stretching the truth a bit, but he really didn't have anyplace else to go. Too many enemies, too many dubious acquaintances stretching from one end of the ‘verse to another. But it felt so damn good to say it, to think home, safety, trust in equal measures.  In Serenity's heyday, the Alliance hot on their heels, scams and transport and piracy fresh and exhilarating under their belts and in their bays, there'd been plenty of ports in the storm. Folks had been willing to offer some shelter, some sustenance. Not now, not any more. 

But maybe this new tentative alliance would help to change all that.  Mal felt it in his gut, that warm burning he hadn't felt in far too long. He was in the right sector of the ‘verse to become reacquainted with his past, and maybe, after all this time, he'd be capable of makin' the right sort of amends.

He sat down in the co-pilot's chair, body easing back into the sprung seat, and uncorked the whiskey.  A death defying escape, the prospect of old friends, and the fact that he hadn't yet gotten shot by his new friend here deserved a toast.  He pondered briefly what it was about his fair self that drove women to develop an urge to shoot him, and raised the bottle. "Cheers."

She barely bothered with a frosty glare, her hand straying to rest on the gun strapped to her thigh. The gun she hadn't actually used but maybe she took some solace in it.  Wouldn't be the first time, he thought.  A good weapon offered a man - or a woman, he acknowledged - a host of options otherwise unavailable:  death, for others, for oneself, power, protection, a good night's sleep; a measuring balance in an unfortunate encounter. A gun could offer more constancy than a warm body in a soft bed, and more comfort than too much drink.  He tipped the whiskey back into his mouth, easing into the burn and followed his train of thought.  

Silence stretched heavy in the room as Aeryn Sun sat still and focused, not paying him any mind.  Mal continued to drink, relishing the buzz as it bubbled through his bloodstream, happy for the whiskey at this moment. Kept a man from thinking too hard about lost loves and lost friends, about bad choices made for good reasons. Kept him from thinking too hard about his mortality, and about sending others to meet their ends.   Guns and liquor, a smuggler's only true companions.

 Aeryn still didn't acknowledge him, even when he put his feet up on the console, knowing it would irritate.  With the help of his sidekick here, he was feeling the need to push back at something, make up for some of the time the 'verse had spent pushing on him, and this stone still woman was the only potential candidate.

"You plannin' on shooting me any time soon?"  It seemed, now that the dust had cleared a little and they were on an actual planned vector to Hec, like a reasonable thing to ask. 

"Not unless necessary," she replied, terse and sarcastic.

"Okay, good to know.” Mal nodded, his head a little more bobbly than he'd anticipated. “I, uh, in the past, there've been people, well women mostly, but other people too who had a mind to shoot me."  His mouth felt fuzzy so he took another long swig of the whiskey.  The front part of the burn hit his nose, and his eyes watered.

"There were people ready to shoot you a few arns ago," she said absently.

"Arn?"

"Hour."  She pursed her mouth, annoyed.  "Is this a regular occurrence?  People like Riis wanting you dead?  Enlisting the help of strangers?"

"Not ... well, lately.  The last few years ain't been all that profitable.  Sure I've had a few run-ins, but Riis was an exception."

She made an absent dismissive noise in her throat, disbelief, and Mal felt anger rise up like bile, quick and slithery and uncontrollable. He slammed his feet down on the floor and grabbed the arm of the pilot's chair, spinning her towards him and moving into her space, fingers curling around her thin wrist.  Her eyes were wide and grey, narrowed now in matched rage and surprise.

"Look lady," he snarled, "This day has been one miserable mess, pilin' on top of a serious of miserable days, weeks and years.  Good people have been screwed over for years because of scum like Riis, because of petty minded bureaucrats like the Alliance who want everyone just alike, everyone followin' in their little paths, controlled and measured and marked. There are bad people out there, men who make their living trying to hurt other people. This ship probably smuggled immigrants. People who gave everything they'd ever saved to be crammed into this miserable hull, to not breathe or eat or shit for days so that they could maybe, if they survived, start a new life, hardscrabble out of the dirt, with all their money going to someone like Riis who coulda flown 'em anywhere in the 'verse for free. I ain't never done that sorta thing.  I've always done what I had to do, fought for the things I believed in, and I'm in somethin' of a rut right now, but that don't give you cause to act like I'm nothing."

He could hear himself babbling, could hear the string of words and phrases which didn't track, didn't make sense. They ouldn't possibly begin to convey what he meant,  how lost he'd gotten, how far he'd strayed from the man he thought he was… The air left his lungs as he flew back into the seat, cracking his head against the metal siding of the small cockpit, and the next thing he knew, a knee was hard in his groin and strong fingers encircled his throat, cutting off his air.

"Do not touch me without my permission ever again." She enunciated the syllables careful, cutting them off with clean precision.  "You're failings, you're problems are not mine.  This brief arrangement will benefit us both, temporarily, but that does not give you leave to touch me or to threaten me."

Blood beat in his ears as he gasped for breath, trying to press himself back into the chair as the rigid bone of her knee edged closer and closer to his testicles.

"I can kill you, and space you without losing anything but a little time," she said. "You may want to remember that."

She released him and returned to the chair, fluid and gracefully efficient.

Took a good 10 minutes before he felt like his voice would work again. When it did he had enough sense to make amends.

"Sorry," he said, humble.  "Don't know what came over me."

She huffed, and there was a trace of amusement in the slight lift of her shoulders. "Humans," she muttered. "Do not have a strong sense of when to speak, and when to shut the frell up."

"Whatdya mean humans?"  His voice wavered between suspicion and nervous shrillness, but she just shrugged again.

"Did you find any food?" The question was calm, like she hadn't been crushing his windpipe minutes ago.

"No," he sighed. "Nothin' edible."

Strangely, it felt like they'd cleared the air.  A little pointless ranting, another near death experience, and he and his new psychotic partner were off to a rollicking start.  It almost made him weep with the nostalgia of the moment - mid-flight with a competent pilot and a lunatic mercenary and a tight lipped second, 'cept now they were all rolled up into a stranger who didn't have much use for him outside of his flapping offers of currency. Still the moment held, and he thought about smiling, thought about offering up a moment to share, but his stomach rumbled and his mood slogged back down to grounded.  He fished for the whiskey bottle and resumed his drunk.

Hands reached out, gloved and malicious as River screamed and screamed.  He stood by, hands hooked in his suspenders, watching as they took the girl, strapping her down to a table, holding her brother back as he kicked and fought against his captors, crying out for the girl. The rest of his crew lay dead, blood spreading in bright pools, matting in Zoe's thick hair. All the while,  Mal stood silent, watching as thin knives cut into the pale skin of River's forehead, as  blood ran down her temples and her screams turned to whimpery protests.

He woke, groggy and cotton mouthed, heart hammering as a boot thudded into his shin.

"Wha, wha," he sat up with a slow start, blinking for clarity as pain radiated up his leg.

"You were making noise. Go sleep in the back." 

He screwed up his face, trying to shake the images from his mind.  Nightmares were rare, and he didn't have serious regrets about the decisions he'd made. Well, he'd learned to live with the aftermath of those decisions as best he could. His neck hurt, so did his throat and his abdomen.  He pushed himself out of the chair, trying to stretch, but the cramped cockpit didn't leave much room for alleviating the tight muscles, or the bruises and aches.  He rubbed his neck, swallowed heavily.

"I think you broke somethin'."

"You'll be fine."

She rolled her shoulders, subtly cracking her own neck.  Her face was drawn, weary.

"Aside from tryin' to maim me, you gotten up from that seat since we took off?"

She shook her head.  "I'm fine."

He was hesitant, but if she got tired or sloppy…

"I can stand watch for a little while.  You could lay down."

She shrugged, and tilted her head, questioning.  Her response was kinder than he'd expected. "I was a soldier.  I was trained to remain constant, remain watchful. My training hasn't… failed me completely."

"I didn't mean…" He wasn't sure why he was getting defensive but she steadied him with a look.

"I know. It's fine.  I am capable of flying for far longer than this.  If I get too tired, or too distracted, I will tell you."

He wasn't going to get much more than that from her, but he believed her.  And she wasn't Wash, smart and flippant and educated, foolish about flying, overly confidant.  She was something, someone new.  He shifted his mind open and tried to accommodate for the difference.  They weren't running supplies, smuggling bullion.  They were temporary allies, heading in a direction in order for them to then separate. 

Still, she was human, she'd need to get up eventually, use the facilities, and it'd be good to do another search, see if they could find some water.  Aside from the ashy circles under her eyes, and the weariness in her frame, she did seem fine.  She didn't wiggle, wasn't restless.  He'd spent his fair share of time on watch, and certainly never been as stoic.

"Who'd you serve under?" he asked, approaching the topic from a new angle, curious now.

"I've never fought in your wars," she sighed, still cryptic.

"Too disciplined for Alliance," he mused, "Hell, too disciplined for us. Too good at actually hittin' what you aim at."

That actually provoked a response.  "You were a soldier?"  The surprise in her voice would have been insulting if they'd been introduced in less humbling circumstances.

"Sergeant," he said, almost embarrassed at the pride he could hear in his own voice.  "Fought for the Independence."

"Which lost?" It was a question.

"Where've you been for the past 10 years lady?  The AngloSino Alliance has been going strong since Serenity Valley, with nary a threat to their supremacy."

The words tasted like acid and bark, and he wished he still had the wherewithal to care, to still be fighting instead of scrambling and scrapping to save his own life.  But, now, going to Hec's Moon, maybe he could start over.  "Yeah," he sighed, "which lost."

"A rebellion against oppressors." She held the thought for a moment and then looked at him squarely, her eyes wide and dark and dazzling.  He hadn't realized before, despite her inclusion in his pre-death fantasies, that she was beautiful.

"My training," she said, "was thorough, and geared towards eradicating rebellions, ending threats to peace and the supremacy of those I fought for.  I undoubtedly destroyed many factions like your Independence.  I have razed cities, and cultures, and carriers.  A rebellion is not hard to put down with superior force."

It should have sickened him, but strangely, the soft, flat tone and the wide honest gaze pulled him in.  "So, why aren't you still out there, dominating the lesser factions."

She moistened her mouth, and he felt a catch in his belly, a brief flare that surprised him, a sure startle. 

"Something happened," she fumbled," Someone… I changed my mind. I got lost, and then I became someone else. For a time." The spark in her gaze dimmed and he wanted to shake her, beg to have that dazzle back.  "Some things you can't go back to."

She stood as he looked at her, flabbergasted.  She pressed a button on the ceiling a two orange lights flash on the console.

"Proximity alerts."

He nodded.

"If you can sit here, and not touch anything for an arn, an hour, everything should be fine."

He nodded again, dumbly, and she brushed by him as she moved into the hold of the ship.

The prox alerts screamed like they were going off inside of his head, their wheya wheya noise jittering his nerves.

"How do I shut them down?" he yelled, afraid to randomly start hitting things.

 She had indeed returned in exactly an hour, or close as he could tell, and now she was flat on the ground, her smaller frame able to wiggle further into the storage unit to search for food or water. Her knees were tucked up under her, and the leather of her pants stretched tautly over her ass.  He turned quickly back to the flashing panels, shaking his head.

"Hit the button on the side," she yelled, voice muffled as she wiggled out of the storage unit.  He followed her direction. The noise got louder.  "Your other side!!"

The noise dimmed and a holo image flashed up.

"Reavers."  His jitters solidified into icy fear at the shape and movement of the ship on the screen.  "This close to systems?"

She shoved herself free of the cupboard with a grunt.

"We have to shut everything down!" He bellowed. "Now."

She listened to the tone of his voice, and moved quickly, hitting buttons while he stood too close behind her, ineffectual and angry and scared, more scared than he had been looking down the barrel of Riis gun.

The Reaver's ship dwarfed their tiny vessel on the holo screen, darting and weaving like a dog nosing for a scent.

Aeryn powered down the engines powered and the lights flickered, once, twice and then the screen was gone. All of the noise and whining bleedback shrank, dissipating to leave only the sound of ragged panting in the dark.  He was close enough to her that he could feel the slight shift of her body as she breathed, steadying herself.  Her arm brushed against his chest, and he put out his hand, fingers against her back, feeling the smooth cool silk of her skin.  She tensed at his touch, frame instantly rigid, but she didn't move away.

The ship drifted lazily without the force of the engines, tilting in the vacuum and her body pushed against his hand as she braced herself with the control panel, her knee against his.  His heart beat against her arm as he fought to reign in his fear, to keep the adrenaline in check, and then five minutes after the alarms had started, a tiny chirp from the panel caught her attention, and she moved away from him.

"The other vessel has moved on.  We'll wait for another half arn, and then power back up."

His chest and lungs ached like they'd been used as a wet washcloth, his breath thick and wet with the aftermath of panic and silence.  He sank back into the pilot's seat, and when she stretched up, switching on the basics of atmo and light, her shirt slid up exposing the clean line of her back.  He felt like an old-fashioned balled-chamber revolver, triggered and ready, sharply focused on the femaleness of the woman inches away from him.  Sex and violence, competence and fear, and out here on the edge, those instincts, those reactions were never all that far from the surface, but now Mal was dazed, crosswired like the fucked up alarm she'd blown when the stole the ship.

He cleared his throat.

"You find anything else under there?"

"More whiskey.  Possibly enough to turn a profit."  She shrugged slim shoulders, monitored the slow, stealthy start up of the ship and he decided that sitting this close to her was rocking his equilibrium, makin' him lose his mind.  His stomach growled, hunger making him loose and edgy.  That had to be part of it.  Couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.  Probably right before Riis' goons had grabbed him. Mal hitched himself up, quickly switched seats.

"We may have a problem," she said, focused as she nudged the small ship back to life. 

" Another one?"

"Powering up takes more fuel than straight flying. I can't promise we'll have enough to reach the coordinates."

Of course.  Why would just getting to the destination be that easy?

"Solutions?"

She worried the engine light with her thumb. "There is a maneuver that will give us some speed without eating the extra fuel we'll need to break atmosphere if the moon is not completely isolated."

"But?"  There was always a but.

"There is a possibility that it will generate too much speed and momentum, that the atmosphere of a moon will not be enough to slow the descent of the ship."

So they either risked burning up on entry or plummeting into the good red earth of the colony.  It really was just like old times.

"I guess we decide when we get there," he said finally. 

 This, finally, made her laugh, short and sharp and acrid. "Yes. I guess we will."

Aeryn outlined a simple schedule for the rest of the journey. Four hours on, one off for her.  He tried to protest, prove his competence.

But she gave him a withering look.

"I'd rather be awake and aware in an unfamiliar ship, but we don't have any food or water. I'll take the rest breaks when necessary to make sure we get to this moon safely."

She went over the controls and the sensor relays with him.

"If the proximity alarms go off again, I will respond.  I'm trained for that.  But if I'm resting, and you start to have doubts, if something seems wrong or off, wake me."

"Can do."

He repeated the list of controls, telling her what each one does, and then they both settled in. 

An hour ago, Aeryn had turned off the heat and light in the hull to try and conserve their fuel, lowering the temperature in the cockpit and closing the doorway, sealing them together in the small room.

He had snagged a grimy blanket from the back, and wrapped it around himself like a cloak.  She didn't appear much affected by the chilly air.

She didn't start conversations, so when she asked, "Why were you working for Riis?" in that honey bourbon voice, he was too startled not to reply.

"How…? I…uh." He sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, cleared his throat. "Was out of the public eye for awhile. And I needed a job. Ended up helping some other people, which then put me in Riis' employ."

"You were incarcerated." She didn't sound surprised.

"I, we had helped some people that the Alliance didn't helped.  Sent bounty hunters after us, soldiers.  Became too dangerous, and I wanted to give the folks back, didn't like the threat to the rest of my crew." 

He paused, worrying the scratchy wool of the blanket.  He'd wake up in prison, thinking of that look on Kayleee's face, the disappointment writ so large in him, in his exhausted willingness to sacrifice Simon and River. Mal shook it off.  Those days were long gone. 

"Eventually they caught up to us, arrested me for helpin'.  Made sure my crew got away, but…" He licked his lips. "Bastards confiscated my ship, put me in jail.  When I got out, I didn't have a lotta options. I'd made a few… enemies… before the Alliance arrested me. So, thought I'd piss off the Alliance if I could. Make things a little rougher for 'em, on the outskirts Worked for a few less than above board gentleman, and then Riis' hired me to organize the exchange of some firearms."

"He has contacts within the Alliance." The words are flat, unimpressed.

"I didn't know, didn't wanna know maybe. So when I found out, I wanted to even the score a little, maybe make sure the weapons went to someone more deserving."

"You started a fight, ruined some sort of holiday celebration?"

He grinned at the memory, the breaking glass, the shattered window that Riis had imported from Persephone, the cracked piano keys.  It'd been a helluva U-Day fight. "Want me to tell this story, or would you like to go ahead?"

She hrrmphed, but didn't interrupt.

He'd been as shocked as anyone when instead of just firing his ass, or throwing him in jail for a night, Riis had decided to make an example of him.

"The man I started the fight with was Alliance, a buddy of Riis. He had his men drag me back to the freighter, pound on me some."

She nodded.

"And then he decided to make an example of me in front of his Alliance buddies.  A whole collection of 'em there, bent as all get out, corrupt, and drunk on cheap U-Day liquor.  Told Riis to make me an example, and he decided to string me up to show his  'loyalty'."  Disgust filled Mal's his mouth.  "I knew Riis was a criminal, but I'da never taken work with him if I'd known he was in the Alliance's pocket as well."

She rubbed the steering with the flat of her fingertips, thinking about this.  "These people who you say will help you, why didn't you go to them when you were released."

"Didn't wanna bring this down on 'em.  They were safe, and I thought I could get by on my own, without any help.  I dunno.  Things change."  He knew he sounded bitter and reaching, wasn't sure he cared anymore.  

She didn't ask anything more after that.

An hour away from Hecuba's Moon, the alert sounded.

Aeryn sat up from her position slumped in the chair.  Hours of silence had wrapped around them, and he was cold and stiff and tired.

“Fuel reserves are almost empty. I'm shutting off the rest of the support systems and the controls we don't absolutely need.”

“Kinda wish you hadn't told me that,” he said, wry but unsurprised

“Scanners say that there's a smaller moon near Hecuba.  If it's large enough, we can use its gravity.”

The room got measurably colder.  Mal reached for the bottle of whiskey wedged onto the panel beside his gun.  He took a healthy swig, grateful for the warmth and passed over the bottle.  She took it, knocking back a healthy swallow.

“Well, if we die, it was nice to meet you Ms. Sun.”

She chuckled, the sound rich and warm.

The small pale moon rose up in front of them like a beacon, and she flicked the thrusters.

“Hang on,” she ordered, life filling her voice, fingers wrapped around steering.  The ship accelerated forward, and Mal could see Hecuba behind the smaller moon, a tiny planet, misnamed years ago, her hazy glow lighting him up inside.  Aeryn took the ship towards the first moon at full throttle, racing like she was going to crash into it full force and at the last second she angled, sending the ship around the sphere with a skill and speed that made him holler. He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the chair.

His stomach dropped, flipped and he felt the ship catch, hover and then launch itself forward as the gravity caught and threw them towards Hecuba like a large rock in a good slingshot. Barrelling forward like a fastball, she bumped up the thrust and slammed up acceleration.  The small ship rocketed itself towards the atmosphere, singing and flying and then wham, bam and with a glorious screech they burned down through the layers as fast as anything he'd ever been a part of.

Faster and faster and they broke free as gravity caught them again, slowing there pace but not enough.

“Frell,” she shouted, and he grinned.

 She yanked back on the steering, hitting acceleration with her fist, kicking something on the ground and the ship rattled, shaking, threatening to break apart as the ground rushed up to meet them.  He shut his eyes, not willing to see himself splatter into a million pieces on this damn backwater moon, miles away from his dreams, so close he could taste ‘em. His stomach dropped again as the ship leveled too quickly, skittering in the air and dropped to the ground, hitting heard enough to produce a tinny, terrifying crunch.

He heard a relieved sigh next to him, and a huff of amazed laughter.

“Welcome to Hecuba's Moon,” she said.

Every muscle in his body had tightened up with the hellish descent and as willed himself to unclench, he cocked his head.

“You gotta name for that little maneuver?”

“Slingshot,” she said, both proud and a little incredulous. “Didn't think it would work.” She snorted again. “I really didn't.”

The sun was coming up on the small outpost as they exited the ship, both trying to stretch out the kinks. The flat, brushy landscape stretched out around them in all directions.

“Well,” he said, pushing his knuckles into his lower back, and arching enough to hear an audible pop. 

“Looks like we're gonna be walking into town.  Least we won't have to hide the ship.”

They'd had to steal the horses, quietly breaking into the paddock and leading out two of the more docile pack animals. He left behind a box of whiskey as a sort of payment, and fervently hoped it would at least delay any pursuers. From the look on Aeryn's face as she held the reigns of the gentle bay and stared at it dubiously, being captured and hanged as horse thieves was gonna to be the least of their current problems.

“You want me to ride this creature?”  Disbelief battled with outrage.

“Yeah.”

And she'd done it too, after he helped her mount, shoving her up onto the saddle and not letting his palms linger on the curve of her backside. 

She'd only spoken once since then, to ask petulantly if he knew where they were going.  He headed them west with an embarrassingly loud, "Yeehaw."

The morning ride was exactly what he'd needed. They day grew warm as the sun rose high in the sky over the small planet, dust and the itchy sage smell swirling around them.  He'd kept the pace steady after a string of vicious curses had erupted from her when he'd urged his mount to run in a fit of glee at the morning, at being here, being free even for these few hours.  She hadn't tumbled off, but she wouldn't talk to him either.  When the fence that marked the boundary of the property came into view, he couldn't help himself, urging his horse into a gentle trot.

“Frelling useless, sadistic….” The expletives deteriorated into the sliding clicks he recognized from before, but he couldn't stop himself, finally taking pity on her at the edge of the way leading up to the small farmhouse.  He stopped his horse, dismounting with more ease than he felt, and catching her horses by the bit as it slowed, looking for it's partner.

“Bastard,” she hissed, eyes furious and slitted.

He just grinned at her.

“Swing your leg over.”

She tried, with little discernable effort, anger and frustration whitening her knuckles as she gripped the smooth leather of the reigns.

“Can't.”  Her teeth were so clenched he could hardly make out the word.  He thought for a second.

“Stand up in the stirrups, and try it again.”

She did, face blanching as she shifted position and he winced in sympathy.  She swung her leg over, using considerable strength to hold herself up and then, eyes wide with uncertainty, tried to drop down off the horse, but her foot caught in the stirrup and she slipped.  He grabbed her waist, taking her weight and keeping her from tumbling to the ground.

“You all right?” She was warm from the sun, smelled like sweat and horse and cramped quarters and something musky, damp and welcome.  His grip on her hips tightened as she looked at his face.

“Fine,” she said, and gently disengaged herself.

“Okay,” he squared off his shoulders. “Let's go.”

The door was solid wood, and it rang full when he wrapped on it.  He could feel the jitters, the nerves ripe and rash in his belly, and he looked over his shoulder at her, trying to smile encouragingly.  “Things are gonna be great from here.  You'll see.”  Her mobile mouth was still set in a flat, unhappy line.

He rapped on the heavy door again, and finally it swung open.  Mal opened his mouth, searching vainly for any of the thousand greetings he'd practiced over the years, and was met instead by Wash's clenched fist crashing into his jaw, already tender from Riis' thugs.

His head snapped back, he heard a click, and as he staggered, catching his balance against the porches beam, he saw Aeryn feet planted, gun out, killer's eyes leveled on Wash.  He waved at her but she didn't move.

 “Dammit Wash,” he said, spitting out blood, “You still hit like a shingwah girl.”

Wash looked at Aeryn, wide eyed and jaw gaping until she finally lowered her arm. He turned in the doorway.

“Honey, we've got company,” he hollered into the small house. 

He turned back to them, eyes shuttling between Mal and Aeryn.  “Well, Captain,” he drawled, “You do know the most interesting people.  And I'm thrilled you've brought them to my home to point guns at me.”

“Good to see you too, Wash.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes, reholstering her weapon with a smooth motion.  A small dark head poked around Wash's legs.

Smooth carmel skin and wide blue eyes stared up at Mal.  “Daddy?” said the small, clear voice.   Aeryn sucked in her breath, and the little girl looked up at her.

“Hi,” she said, bright as a button, so clearly Zoe's poised child that Mal wanted to take her up into his arms and hold her tight.  “My name's Min.  I'm four.  Who're you?”

The table was rectangular, a heavy dark wood and it sat squarely in the warm, light filled kitchen.  Zoe held the baby in her arms, smoothing his back with a practiced motion and looked steadily at Mal, her eyes wavering only every once in awhile to Aeryn who sat rigid and still in the chair at the opposite end of the big table.

Mal pressed the bag of ice to his lip and his cheek, staring at the downy head of the baby at Zoe's breast.  Wash rattled behind them at the stove, scrambling eggs, frying ham.  Mal's mouth watered at the smell. Zoe sighs, and stretches out her hand, touching Mal lightly on the arm and shaking her head.

"You saved his life."

"Yes." Aeryn and Zoe could have a face off in terse, taciturn.

Min sat on the other chair, across from Mal, her thin legs curled up underneath her, staring at Aeryn, mouth open with awe.  She had filled up the heavy silence with her chatter, asking where they'd come from, whey they were hear, how long they were staying.

"I'm four," she repeated, holding up her fingers to Aeryn.  The flinty eyes focused on the little girl. 

"When was your birthday?" she asked, gravely serious.

"Two weeks ago," Min announced, and then looked coyly under her lashes at Zoe for comfirmation. Her mother raised an eyebrow.

"We had a party, and a cake.  I got to ride Jayne."

"The mule."  Zoe said, not cracking a smile, but her eyes were bright.

"How old are you?"  Min was intent on her conversation.

"Much, much older than four," Aeryn replied.  "Do you have other siblings?" 

Min glanced back at the baby, nose wrinkled with indeicision, then nodded.  "Renny."  She pointed dismissively.  "But he's only a baby. He doesn't do anything."

Her eyes widened as a thought struck her.  "Do you want to see Jayne? Or the other horses? Or the pigs or the chickens or the cows or Daddy's ship or…"

"Min," Wash turned, slamming plates down haphazardly in front of Aeryn and Mal.  "If you don't stop talking, someday you're going to lose all your words!"  He waggled his eyebrows at his daughter. Her eyes grew round as saucers and she clapped her hands over her mouth, awestruck.

"That's a brilliant solution, dear." Zoe said, mildly sardonic.  She looked at Mal, wry. "She learned to speak early. We're not sure when she breathes though."

He laughed.

"How 'bout you go check on the chickens?" Wash said to Min, scooting her out of the chair, "So we can talk to these nice people and get a word in edgewise."

She gave her father a considering look, eyebrow raised in a parody of her mother, and then slid off the chair to stand in front of Aeryn.

"It was very nice to meet you." She said, small and official.  Aeryn held out her hand and Min grasped it with grave formality.  "Thank you," Aeryn said. "It was nice to meet you too."

When the little girl had left, the adults stared at each other, the hush like a weighted thing among them. 

Mal was more than surprised when it was Aeryn that broke it.

"You have a beautiful family."

"Thank you."  Zoe held up the baby, shifting him to her other shoulder. "You have children?"

Aeryn's denial was swift. "No."

"You're good with her," Wash said, somewhat distracted as Aeryn picked up her fork and slowly began to eat the meal in front of her.  "She'll talk to dead plants, but she doesn't take to everyone."

Aeryn blinked, but kept eating, her grip on the fork tight, her motions very controlled.

"You coulda called, maybe, sent us a telegraph, a message of some sort."

"Honey," Zoe put her hand out, soothing her ruffled husband.

Mal nodded, chewing vigorously on his ham.  "If I'd a called, you mighta said not to come."

Zoe snorted, and Wash slammed his hand down on the table.  "Now imagine that.  Us telling you to not come, bringing trouble to our door."

"Wash."  There wasn't any amusement left in his wife's voice.

"Cap'n, you know you're always welcome, but…" Her eyes flicked to Aeryn again.

Mal finished his meal, stomach full and churning.  He shoved the plate away.  "I been scraping by, staying out of the way of the Alliance, mostly,  not makin' trouble for anyone but myself.  But now, well, I can't just sit by any longer.  It ain't just the Alliance, it's the way that they turn away from stopping men like Farel Riis, from any of the other warlords and bosses as long as it don't interfere in the way the Alliance does things."

Zoe's face was set, pulled and serious.  "Mal," the tone was sharp.  "Why are you here?"

"We got a ship, need fuel for her, need some currency and a place to stay the night.  I'm gonna get my ship back, and she," he waved his fork at Aeryn, "Well, I ain't real sure what she's gonna do, but she saved my life and I owe her a debt.  Money and a job."

Wash started to laugh, pounding his fists on the table.  "Oh, that's beautiful Captain Reynolds. You haul your sorry ass all the way here, possibly bringing down the wrath of whatever gou tsao de warlord you've pissed off now, and quite possibly the Alliance who I don't really believe has forgotten about your," he raised an eyebrow, " all right, our, activities, despite the restitution you offered, and you want money?  That's just too gorram rich, Mal."

"Wash," Zoe's voice was icy.  "Honey, sweetheart, love of my life.  You might want to shut up for just a minute, because you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Mal breathed a sigh of relief.  "You still got it?"

"Yeah," Zoe said.  "I still have it."

He could hear Wash and Zoe arguing in the other room, his second's low smooth voice matching her husband's rising hysteria.  He hated to have put a wedge between them, but he'd known Zoe for a very long time.  They'd trusted each other, relied on each for safety, for support, for friendship long before Wash came in the picture, and it had been one of the worst days of his life, when she'd cupped her strong hand around his cheek and said goodbye.  It'd been necessary, it'd been right, and it'd been terrible.

"I just can't believe you kept something for him without telling me!"  Mal was impressed that Wash could make his voice rise that high in pitch.  Generally took losing some vital parts of a man's anatomy to hit that note.

The chest lay open and he rifled through the contents - enough currency to buy them fuel, to pay restitution to the horse owners, to pay someone to get Serenity up and running as soon as he got her location from Zoe.  A new life, a new start.  A purpose again.

Zoe sat down next to him on the bed.

"Trussed up like a turkey, huh?"

"She say that?"

"No.  She said that Riis' had you beaten and decided to lynch you.  She helped to change their mind."

"She say lynch?"

Zoe snorted, "No.  But, I've heard stories about Riis.  Not a man to mess with."

Mal shrugged.  "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Zoe's snort was anything but ladylike.

"She…" her voice trailed off.

"Yeah."

"She's in a lot of pain, Mal."

He sighed.  "Who isn't?  She saved me, and I think she's a long way from home."

"You trust her?"  He shrugged.

"Don't matter much.  She ain't gonna kill me, and I don't think she's gonna be around for long."

Zoe looked at him out of the corner of her eye, mouth pursed.  "But you like her."

"Yeah," he frowned.  "I do."

"Min's showing her every piece of rock and dirt on our land.  She's gonna need a fair amount of patience to listen to my child all afternoon."

"Don't know about patient," Mal grinned fiercely, "I think she just likes your kid.  Probably more than most of the folks she's met lately."

"You could have come here earlier," Zoe said suddenly, voice kinder than he had any right to expect from her.   "We're doing fine.  I'm doing security for a few of the big ranches, organizing things and Wash mostly stays with Min and Renny when he's not running legitimate cargo.  We've got a nice life out here.  You could have come back sooner, stayed for awile."

Mal put his hand on her knee.  "Couldn't. I…" he choked on his intent.  "When Kaylee left with Simon and River, I didn't want to go back to anything we'd done before.  She'd said I wasn't the man, the Captain she'd thought I was to not protect them.  She was right."

"She was right for Kaylee.  Practicality doesn't make you a bad man, though."

"You know I made the right choice, after Jayne got shot, after Inara left for good.  The Alliance breathing down our neck, bounty hunters and spies.  We couldn't even be honest thieves any more!"

He clenched his hands into tight fists.  "All I ever wanted was the freedom to do my own thing. Have my ship and a crew.  I wanna try that again.  Heard about another branch of independents out on the fringe who need some guns, some med supplies.  Thought I might see if they could use a hand."

"You're gonna get yourself killed," she said with real affection.

"Nah," he said, nudging her long leg with his knee.  "You know I'm too pretty to die. 'Sides, I made it two days in a tiny ship with that woman and she only threatened to shoot me once."

"Shiny, sir. That's very shiny."

"Wash was right." He said, worrying his lip.  " I know I took a big risk comin' here to the two of you, but…"

Zoe pressed something into his palm.

He looked down at the small chip.

"I've kept tabs.  If you go to those coordinates, you can find a man who can tell you where Serenity is."

He could feel tears wet in his eyes, and he brushed his lips over her cheek in silent thanks.

Aeryn was sitting on the porch steps staring out into the cool night, rubbing something between her fingertips.

"We leave first thing in the morning to get the ship fueled," she said absently, as he set a mug down by her an dleaned against the porch rail

"Yup.  Wash is going to take the horses back once we're gone."

She hmphed. 

"It's beautiful out here, the night sky, the stars up there.  I forget sometimes, just how damn pretty it all is."

She sipped the coffee, setting the tin mug down next to her with a careful chink.  "I was born in space," she said, looking at the ground.  "This view is still…unsettling.  At times."

Her hair was dark silk, laced with the light cast from inside the house, filtering through the windows and it covered her face.

"All of your colonies," she looked down at the object, held it up, focing on it's slender black casing, "They all look the same, dry and used and open."

"Terra-forming.  Makes 'em livable, but takes a while to grow things, to start over.  People who can stick it out, they make new lives.  Start fresh."

"Why," she took a deep breath and curled the chip tightly into her palm.  "Why did you fight for the rebellion?"

"I don't…" He wanted to protest, to stay far away from where youthful idealism had taken him, but he did know.  "I thought it was the right thing to do.  I didn't believe in unification, being controlled by a government that wanted to force us together for no reason other than makin' their control easier to administer."

"That doesn't sound like an answer."

He was surprised still, that she'd asked, that she was listening to the explanation.  He remembered a moment, such a long time ago, and before he could stop himself, the memory spilled out.

"Grew up a long way from any of the central planets - Ariel and Sihon.  My folks had a small farm, eked out a decent living.  Nothin' fancy.  The Alliance was just a loose government then, but starting to tighten their reigns and they levied a tax on all of their outlying colonies.  Most folks couldn't or wouldn't pay, so they sent soldiers to collect.  Wasn't supposed to be threatening, just typical bureaucracy, but they had to recruit to get enough grunts to go do the collecting, and they didn't screen 'em all that well."

She hmmed.  "Conscripts?"

"Maybe.  Probably just dumb farm boys who needed the money."

She nodded.

"They came to the farm, and my father couldn't pay. Or wouldn't. Still not clear on that.  They burned the barn, killed some of the livestock, and mother shot on in the back of the leg, got hauled into town, put in jail."

That year had been wretched, his father miserable and angry, the work around the farm doubled without his mother and Mal and his brother living on his cooking.  Nobody had told him biscuits were that complicated.  And even the crows wouldn't eat the gravy.

"Ma was sad when she came back, all quiet and fierce. No one was much surprised when James left.  Joined up with the small group of Independents, came home in a coffin.  After that, well, it seemed like the thing to do."

He'd never sat like this, spelled out his reasons for joining up, maybe never even hashed ‘em through in his own mind. Didn't much like to think of his fathers ravaged face as he'd cried over his sons body, his mothers continued silence, her acceptance, the way she'd turned from the coffin, the flimsy from the quiet faced boy apologizing for her son's death curled in the dust where she'd dropped it.

“Alliance wanted to force a union, levy taxes and install governments, regulate everything.  People'd fled Earth that was to get away from the kind of mess a government could make.  Didn't seem right to let it happen again.”

“Was it worth the risk?” she asked softly.  “Even though you lost?”

He shrugged, rubbed his hand across his mouth, opening up the cut on his lip again.  “Don't rightly know.  Know I was on the right side, and we were out numbered, out gunned.  Lotta good men and women died tryin' to be free.  That's ‘bout all I do know about it.  That there were, are people runnin' things who shouldn't be.”

She took that in. “Thank you.  For telling me.”

She seemed content to sit in silence, but she'd just stirred up a mare's nest of questions in his mind.

“You've had some experience with rebellions? From the other side I mean, the fightin' side, not just the mowin' them down side.”

She tilted her head in grim acknowledgement.  “Equally unsuccessfully.  Yes.”

“That's it? That's all you're gonna say?”

She turned her face towards him, and the light gleamed on her skin, casting shadows on her cheeks from her lashes, hollowing out her features.

“There were moments, whole days even, when we thought we'd win. Or at least escape.  But in the end, we lost everything. I lost…” she swallowed.  “There's nothing else to say about that kind of failure.”

“Yeah,” he looked down into his mug.  “Changes a man.  But you go on. If'n you can.”

“Yes,” she said softly, voice so low as to be practically unheard. “If you can.”

Mal curled his palm tightly around the cup.  He would have liked to reach out, to put his hand on her wrist, to touch her hair, but he didn't think she'd accept the gesture.

"I…" he took a deep breath, blew through his nose and set his coffee on the porch rail, rubbing his hands together.  "I had a ship that I named after the last beautiful place I'd been.  The last great defeat we suffered.  And a few years ago, when things got really bad, I had to leave her behind."

"So now you're going to get her back."

"Yeah," he breathed, afraid to hold to tight to the hope, not willing to break it, fragile and new.

"I'm gonna need a pilot, crew.  Wash refuses to uproot his kids to fly around the universe and steal stuff again." He laughed.  "Actually, I think he's just jealous. Me getting to fly around with beautiful women, see the 'verse."

Her tone was gentler than he deserved. "I don't think he's jealous."

He cleared his throat, stomach knotting up with butterflies. "You could come with me, you know.  Fly Serenity."

She didn't answer.

"What you got there?" He gestured at her clenched fist wasn't going to ask again, still not quite sure what had prompted the offer in the first place.  He knew next to nothing about this woman, had grave suspicions about her, and had met her when she was working for a man he consider more vile than snake spit.  Sure, she'd saved his life, got him here, but everything else he was trusting his gut to. Of course, his gut had given him Simon and River.  And other intestinally based choices had not proved all that trustworthy in the past. He'd been sure the Independce would win.

She held her hand out palm up, to reveal a tiny circular chip. There was a low hum, and then an image about three inches high sprang to life in her hand.  The holo fitzed and sputtered, before coalescing into a clear image of a man about Mal's age with short hair and lined blue eyes holding a toddler with the largest eyes he'd ever seen.  The man bounced the child on his knee, and then looked forward with a smile, rubbing his cheek against the dark curls covering the baby's head.

Mal had trouble finding his voice as she closed her fist and the image disappeared.

"Why'd you lie? About having kids?"

She looked up at him, eyes glossy, empty.  "She's lost.  They both are. I… I thought I could get them back, find them. It doesn't work like that.  Fate… our miserable frelling luck."

She pushed herself off the steps, groaning as she turned, and glared.  "Zoe told me they have a spare bedroom.  You, however, are sleeping in the barn with those wretched animals."

She bent down to pick up the coffee mug, and a bullet shattered the porch railing next to her.

They looked at each other, yelling simultaneously, "Tracking beacon!"

Hooves thundered, shouts rose up in the distance and Mal heard Min shriek inside. He bolted for the door, swinging it wide

"Wash, get those kids hidden."

"Huh choo-shang tza-jiao duh tzang-huo." Wash's fury was, for once, completely understandable.

"Zoe," Wash bellowed, and then it was just like old times.

Mal was weaponless, and as he turned in the doorway, Aeryn tossed the gun she'd been using towards him.  He caught it as she extended her arm, aiming before she turned her head.  Bullets whizzed by as Zoe, on the porch behind them, fired straight and true, nearly matching Aeryn with her impeccable aim. She hit the first rider as he charged forward through the gate. He grabbed his shoulder and fell backwards sliding off his horse as he lost control.

Three other mounted gunmen galloped through the gate, guns drawn only to meet similar fates.  There must have been scouts, snipers in the trees, because a bullet from the left zinged into Mal's tin mug, sending the cup flying into the dirt in front of him. Zoe aimed, fired and the muffled scream seemed to satisfy her.  Mal flattened himself against the porch, trying to provide enough distracting cover fire to let the two more qualified women make a real difference, and as the number of riders increased, he saw something that amazed him.

Aeryn Sun, weapon at her side, was walking forward, oblivious to the animals and men bearing down on her.  She stopped dead center, raised her arm, and shot the man in the lead in the forehead.  He flew back as flesh sizzled, and his horse reared up, screaming, and dislodging the now dead weight on it's back. She raised her arm again to the sky and fired three times.  The sky lit up with bolts of light, and quick as they could, the riders stopped.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Zoe bellowed, voice full of fury and rage.  "Riding up to my house, guns blazing like you're some sort of posse come to collect a murderer."

Now that several of their number lay dead and wounded, the men looked more scared and bewildered than anything.

A tall man with a big had slid off his horse, holding his hands up in surrender.  "Zoe," he said, pleading, trying to soothe. "You're shelterin' horse thieves, and who knows what else these folks done?  Stole a ship too, we know that.   Sneaking around, thieven' from honest folks, leavin' behind liquor?"

"So you risked my family, the lives of all of these men over a pair of missing horses and a ship?"

Mal had heard Zoe dangerous in the past. It didn't even come close.

"Shall I shoot him?"

Aeryn voice rose cool and throaty in the midst of the stand off.

The man with the hat waved his hands frantically. "No, no.  Please, we was wrong, we overreacted.  But there was that business last month with the cattle rustler, Jim Owens boy bein' murdered. I…"

Aeryn fired at his feet, dirt flying up a scant half inch away from the man's booted toes.

"Horses are in the barn," Zoe said through clenched teeth. "They're fed and groomed and there's a pile of currency on my kitchen table earmarked for Karl Rae, since those were his horses, enough to pay for both those sorry nags. But I think maybe we'll just go ahead and keep the money." Her eyes slitted towards the dead man on the ground. "Pay for repairs to my porch, since Karl's not going to need it any more."

"Zoe," The man raised his hands again after glancing wild eyed at Aeryn.  "We…My boy'll be out first thing in the mornin' to make those repairs.  But they still stole a ship. It's owner tracked 'em here.  You're lucky Alliance ain't caught up to 'em."

"You see that your boy is out here first thing in the morning.  And we'll worry about the alliance.  That ship belong to any of you?"

The man in the hat turned a pale queasy green, and pointed back behind him. "His."

"Well I guess he won't be needing it any more." Zoe gritted out. She turned her back on the men, stalked back into the house, body bristling with rage.

The man on the ground spotted Mal, and sidestepping around Aeryn like she was a coiled rattler, he called out, "Could we maybe take them horses back with us?"

Mal raised an eyebrow, waved the gun at them.  "I think they'll be keepin' 'em, don't you?"

Confused grumbling ran through the group of men as their horses nervously pawed the grown, feeling the unease of their riders.  The man with the hat returned to his mount, and just as he swung his leg over the back, Aeryn fired into the air again.  The horse took off like a shot, it's rider bouncing along trying frantically to grab the reigns and not tumble to the ground.  The rest of the group took that as the sign, cantering off as quickly as they could, leaving the dead man behind on the ground.

Aeryn stood still in the now empty path, the dust raised by the horse hooves settling around her. Driven by impulse,  Mal strode up to her.

"That was a helluva a risk," he said as he got closer. She looked over her shoulder, eyebrow raised, cocky as all hell and he felt the lust come back, slamming into his gut like one of bullets lodged in the porch.  "You sure you don't wanna come with me?"

She started to shake her head, the loose feral smile still on her face, and he listened one more time to his gut, to the adrenaline racing through his blood.  Reaching for her, he threaded his hands through her heavy fall of hair, and met her mouth, kissing her with rough passion.

Her scent, sweet and rich and musky, the surprising coolness of her lips, the answering parrying of her tongue all surprised him. Her heart beat against his chest as the kissed deepened, fast and hard and unromantic, but sod damned good. He clutched at her hip, fingers catching on the low gunbelt and as his knuckles brushed her skin, she gasped for air and shoved him away. He stumbled, sucking in oxygen, trying to catch his breath, tasting blood from his split lip, from her sharp teeth.

"Aeryn, I'm…" He didn't want to apologize, wasn't sorry.  She didn't look shocked, just flushed. Her cheeks faintly pink in the darkness.

"We leave at first light," she said, voice steadier than his whole body felt. "Refuel, and go."

He said her name again, but she didn't turn back, and he muttered curses at himself, standing there in the dirt, alone with the carcass of an idiot, before finally returning to the house.

Zoe met him at the front door with a shovel and a blanket.  "Bury Karl Rae," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You're sleeping in the barn."

The hay was clean, sweet smelling, but the lowing communication of pigs and horses and mule was not his normal bedtime lullaby.  He almost missed the creaking sway of Big Sven's bunk above his, the rocking squeak as Sven relived his years at sea on Persephone.

Exhaustion weighed down Mal's limbs, guilt and embarrassment and the plans still niggling at him, the hope keeping him awake.  Buying back Serenity, starting anew.

When the door slid open just a fraction, moonlight slitting through, his first thought was Wash coming to hustle him out of bed and away from his family. Mal wouldn't have blamed him.  He'd brought unnecessary trouble down upon them in his desire to not have Zoe turn him away.

But it wasn't Wash.

Aeryn climbed the ladder to the hayloft easily, and sat down on the edge taking off her boots. Standing gracefully, she unbuckled her gun belt, peeling off her pants and her shirt until she was naked, body fine and pale and slim in the watery moonlight coming in from the window at the top of the hayloft.  He could barely breathe in the face of her beauty, in the light of his surprise.

Standing over him, he reached up stroking his fingers down the long line of her muscled thigh, smelling her scent.  Her skin was cool, smoother than he'd anticipated and she tilted her head back, eyes slitting shut at his touch.  He sat up, wrapping his hand around the back of her thigh, rubbing his cheek against her knee.

"Aeryn."  He was awed, hardening.

"Don't…" She touched her fingertips to his hair, gentle and tentative. "Don't talk.  Please."  The word caught in her throat and she sank down, straddling him.

He moved to kiss her, meeting her fierce need, her tongue and teeth and steely grip on the back of his neck, his shoulders.  He ran his hands down her back, smoothing his way and clutching at her hips as she pressed her sex against his cock through the blankets.

He said her name again when she moved her mouth, gasping and she shoved him down hard into the hay, his head bouncing comically.  Raising herself up onto her knees, they fumbled together for the blanket, jerking it out of the way so that the flesh of her thighs met his hips and he was lost in her body.

Grimy white shorts covered his growing erection and she shifted her leg to kneel beside him in the soft hay so he could wiggle out of his underwear.  He flung them away, chortling into the night as they sailed off the loft to land on the head of a disgruntled goat that start to baa at the unexpected gift.

Her own rough chuckle loosened something in his chest and he moved back to her.  Freed, he palmed her breast, moaning into her throat, kissing the long column of pale flesh, moving down to her collarbone before taking her nipple in his mouth, earning a grunt and a moan from her.  She clawed at his head, at his neck, and reached for his sex, grasping him tightly.  Her fingers were cool, and very, very firm as she worked him. 

He wanted to suckle her, savor her body, her smell and taste and feel, but he was hard enough to burst, and she clearly didn't want tenderness from him.  Her nails scratched down his side, sharp and painful, startling him. He jerked back, letting her go.  She dipped her head, still on her knees, taking him into her mouth, tongue and lips hot and wet. He grabbed her hair, crying out at the sweetness, at the torture of the contact, the suction.  And then she was on him, thighs tight around him again, sinking onto him, burying him inside of her and it was so damned good. Hot, tight, wet, slick against his cock as she bucked, muscles squeezing him almost painfully as he followed the force of her passion.

She rocked against him, thrusting frantically, bony hips knocking his as he sat up, wrapping his arms around her, trying to thrust back.  Her eyes closed, head thrown back, intense concentration on her face, she was so beautiful that he clutched at her sucking at her throat, at the hollow using mouth and teeth, scraping against her skin as she whimpered. Mal struggled to meet her thrusts, couldn't keep the rhythm, and he used his greater mass, pitching them to the side so he could get some leverage and rolled her to her back.

He withdrew and her eyes flew open, narrowed and panicked and furious. He shoved his shoulder under her left knee, and slammed into her again, feeling the fluttery sigh of relief as she pitched and moved under him.  She brought up her other knee, angling her body to let him go deeper, and he fucked her, mindless and driving, banging into her body hard enough to hurt and she cried out, tightening around him so hard that he shuddered, nails digging grooves out of his back. Aching, his release rushing up his body like a cannonball, he came with a snap like his back breaking, and collapsed on top of her with a groan.

She let him lay there for a few moments, and then extricated herself. He rolled away, flopping onto his back.  She crawled over to her clothes, and he caught her ankle.

"Stay." 

This time, he knew it was begging.  He'd never begged a woman for anything, but he wasn't afraid to try a new thing.

"No."  Her voice was scratchy and thick, throaty from the exertion and her skin was slick with sweat.  He stroked the arch of her foot as she grabbed her shirt, and he knew she meant what she said.  He watched her dress, watched her slip back down the ladder, less smoothly than her ascent and thudded his head against the hay, accomplishing little more than grinding the stalks into his skull.  He pulled the blanket over his flaccid sex and tried to sleep.

The mechanic's workshop buzzed with activity, even at the early hour.  None of the mechanics would look at Mal and Aeryn sent them scurrying for the back with her sure strides.

"Take care of yourself," Zoe still wore an expression of exasperated affection, her days of passive acceptance of his flaws and orders clearly over.  It was the end of an era, and despite himself, Mal was very proud of the life she and Wash had built for themselves. 

She turned to Aeryn. "Min wanted you to have this." She handed her a folded up piece of paper. Aeryn smoothed it out, and turned her head, brow crinkled as she rotated it around in her hands.

"I think it's a horse." Zoe said, careful and wry. "But with Min, you never know."

Aeryn carefully folded the paper back up, and tucked it into her belt.

"You could stay here," Zoe offered. "Work for us.  Work for whomever takes over Karl Rae's or the Ship Repair space."

Mal interjected, "And how will I get to Sparta?"

"Thank you," Aeryn nodded, ignoring him. "I need to see this through.  But thank you again.  The offer is very generous."

Zoe fished in her leather satchel, drawing out a ball of white fabric.  "The goat wanted you to have these back."

Aeryn started to laugh, loud and chortling and Mal blushed like a school girl, snatching the underwear out of Zoe's hand and trying to stuff them into his pockets.

"We gotta go," he said softly, taking Zoe's hand, squeezing her strong fingers. "Sie sie, for everything. I'm sorry…"

"Be safe," she ordered, cutting him off and left them standing in the mechanic bay.

Mal picked up the box filled with food and water, hoisting it up under his arm and looked at Aeryn.  "Let's go."  He didn't look back, didn't watch Zoe leave.

His body was still recovering from the injuries inflicted upon it by Riis and his goons, and his midnight adventure hadn't helped much, all thoughts of healing muscles lost in the form and touch of a beautiful woman and her fierce need.  Now, stretched on the makeshift bunk in the back, hands underneath his head, he let the painkillers Wash had reluctantly offer him take hold, relaxing his muscles and making the physical damage more palatable.

Aeryn had programmed the ship to take them to Sparta.  Back in her Pilot's chair, she had redressed herself in stoic formality.  The quiet moments of conversation, the vulnerability of her holo family were hidden back wherever she kept such weaknesses.

He closed his eyes, mapping out his future, assembling a new crew, thinking of men and women that he'd met over the years who would be willing to sign on, to go with him to suss out a new Independence.

He still had moments, still had it in him to wonder over River and Simon, to be enough afraid of whatever those butchers had done to the girl to be wary of the powers of the establishment.  But those fears just bolstered his determination.

The door between the hold and the cockpit slid open and Aeryn stood there, staring at him.  Mal tilted his head to look at her upside down and waggled his fingers at her.

"If yer standin' there, who's flying this thing?"

He laughed at his own joke.

Aeryn took a few steps into the room, squatting down by the box of supplies and rifled through it, searching for something to eat. Mal rolled onto his side, looking at her bent head, the glint of low light on her hair and her fine strong hands.

"You shouldn't work for men like Riis," he said suddenly, desperately.

"If I have choice," she answered absently, "I won't."

"You're… you have choices Aeryn."

She looked up at him. "Chances, maybe.  But little choice. I… there is a possibility." She shook her head.

"What," he encouraged, but she ignored him.

"Show me the picture again."  He stretched his arm out to her, fingertips brushing against the line of her sleeve.

"No."

"Please.  At least tell me their names."

"No!" Her denial was vicious.

"Why?"

Her expression was incredulous, then shuttered.  "Because looking at them, talking about them.. it's like losing them again.  Every single time.  I… their faces."

He was gentle with her. "Then why do you keep it.  Why not just abandon the past completely?"

Mal could barely hear her reply.

 "Because I know, I know they're gone, and yet, he has done more difficult things to find me then coming back from the dead.  Because I didn't see their bodies, and I'm too stupid to just end it.  To give up.  Stupid frelling human and his hope."

"Aeryn."

"If I live, then I can find a way back, or find a way out.  If I die, I get peace and I'm not ready yet for peace."

She took a sandwich out of the box, and went back to the cockpit.

Mal didn't want to say goodbye at the docks, amid the bustle of travelers, the noise of hawkers and ships landing and departing.

He slung his satchel over his shoulder, toeing the box full of supplies.  She hooked a thumb into her gunbelt, eyes sweeping over him.

"You know who you're supposed to talk to?"

He did, had all the info in his pocket.  "Got some good leads, and a name.  Zoe said it should be pretty easy to track down my ship."

"That's good."

"You're gonna be all right? Be able to find work, get some decent intel?"

She tilted her chin.  "I think so, yes."

"Come with me.  I got currency, even with what I gave you, even after I get Serenity back.  We're a good team, Aeryn."

"No.  Can't."

"You come with me, it don't mean givin' up."  He didn't know when the hell he'd gotten so insightful, but the sardonic turn of her mouth, the angling of her head and sweet sweep of her lashes told him he was right.

"I just can't Mal."  She hadn't said his name before, and if felt like a present, shiny papers and bows on Christmas morning.

He ignored the bustle of people, ignored her very clear reluctance to extend this goodbye, and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her slim frame.  He closed his eyes against her neck when he felt her strong hands on his back for a moment. Knowing better than to press his luck, he released her, gripping her forearms, and nodding.

"Try not to die, Aeryn Sun."

She licked her lips, teeth grazing her bottom lip.  Someone jostled into Mal's back in a hurry to get by, and he turned to protest. When he looked back, she was walking away.

The barstool was padded, an unexpected luxury in a port city. Hot, and thirsty, anxious to rid himself of the foul smell of the docks and some of the less savory neighborhoods he'd searched through, Mal signaled the barkeep, plopping the satchel down on the bar next to him.  He'd rented a shabby little room at a local inn, and had stashed the supplies there before giving in to his thirst.

"You just get in?"  The bartender was a tall man, rangy and red-haired with the bushiest eyebrows Mal had ever seen on another human being.  The seemed to have a life of their own, and he followed their antics as the man poured him a drink.

"Yup.  Early today.  Lookin' for someone that knows someone. Spent all day trackin' him down.  You know how it goes."

The bartender laughed, setting his eyebrows to dancing. "I do indeed friend.  Why just last week, had a man in here looking for a woman.  Said he'd lost track of his wife."  The bartender made the universal curve sign.  "Told him most wives that go lost ain't lookin' to be found, but he seemed pretty sure she was the exception to the rule.  Said she was beautiful, a little scary. Black hair and a big gun.  Told him we hadn't seen anyone matching that description."

The bartender shook his head as Mal's hand curled tightly around the glass. "It's a whole 'verse of people searching," he said, whiskey at the ready as Mal slammed the glass onto the bar.  He barely felt the burn as the liquor slid down his throat.  "Can only hope they find what they're lookin' for."