The Hole in the 'verse

An alternative Firefly story

Rating: PG-13, for violence and mild cursing

Summary: AU fic. Wash is alive and almost well, Serenity's got more cargo, but there's something missing from the "Happily ever after" equation: Simon got left behind. What happens now?

Disclaimer: Still poor. Couldn't own Firefly if I wanted.

Author's Notes: I wanted to do a two chapter update because this one was so short and because I can. Honour Roll's on the next chapter.

The Book of JAYNE

part 5

Serenity stood proudly at attention over the three boxes of pristine cargo, her captain and first mate ready to do business their customer. Lord Shuffleton couldn't look more pleased.

"Everything seems to be in order, Captain. Any problems with the shipping?" the old lord asked kindly. He should have been just another innocent tzoo foo, not a dealer in slaves.

"No, not at all. Not with our Alliance escourt." Mal shook his head.

"Good, good. You will be wanting the rest of the payment, correct?"

"That would be nice, yes."

"Fair enough. Job well done, my friends." The old man grinned widely, unhooking a pouch at his waist and tossing it to Mal.

"Thank you kindly, sir." Mal smiled weakly. "Maybe we'll do business again."

"Count on it." Shuffleton grinned indulgently. "Good flight, Captain."

"Thank you, sir."

Mal punched the intercom. "Wash, take us outta atmo, please?" The pilot hadn't left his post, in case they needed a fast getaway; they could already hear the Firefly's big engines spooling up while Zoë parked the Mule properly.

"A minute from lift off," Wash answered.

"Make it faster," Mal barked.

"Yes, sir."

"And let us not look back on this rotten sphere of a planet ever again," the captain murmured. He pushed the button for the bay door to retract and returned to help set the Mule in order.

"Everything shiny?" he asked tentatively.

"Could use a fresh coat of paint, sir," she replied.

"No doubt." They were all looking somewhat dull these days. The crew of Serenity always tried to give itself a high moral place to stand on, but that mighty platform was getting worn and ragged now. The line between arrogance and righteousness was awful thin.

He smelled her before he saw her: a floral scent tended to precede Inara Serra. Mal didn't recognize the flower of the day, but it wasn't unpleasant because of the scent. Her perfume reminded him of bad memories, times where he had utterly screwed up and didn't have the courage to admit it. He wouldn't ever admit his mistakes now—they were too long past—but they still made him sad.

"Are we ever going to give up this petty thievery?" she asked quietly.

"Some day. Maybe. Jayne and River been seen to?"

"Jayne is asleep; River is with our refugees."

"Good. We'll be puttin' Persephone behind us soon, goin' back for Simon and Kaylee."

"Mal…you're losing your crew," she blurted.

Mal wasn't going to lie and say that he hadn't seen the statement coming. It was something he'd been contemplating a long time. Malcolm Reynolds had been stringing his crew along for a year on an ever increasingly long rope. Surely Mal couldn't help that a few had drifted away towards the end. Of course, the ones who had drifted would argue otherwise.

He had pushed them away.

The captain glanced at the infirmary, saw Vera's muzzle peeking around the corner. Saw Jayne passed out with the gun cradled in his arms, the butt nestled against a fresh white bandage. Jayne had tried to kill him today; Mal wished he knew why that that thought didn't bother him more.

Chinese:

Tzoo foo- grandfather