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: Don't own nothing. I'm poor.

Author's Notes: Hey look, it's section four, now with more Simon and Kaylee goodness!

The Book of JAYNE

part 4

Simon couldn't think of a more uncomfortable position to be in. It was a bad thing to be recognized in a potentially hostile place; a thing which became instantly worse when it was by someone who used to be a close friend. In retrospect, Simon thought that he could have seen something like this occurring, but it didn't make the shock any less than it was.

"Simon, I-I saw you and…I didn't know what to think."

"So you followed me." He tried to make his voice cold and inhospitable. He tried to look angry. None of it worked because all he really wanted to do was grab her up into a tight hug and never let her go again. Of all the things he had missed on Osiris—the prestige, the money, the opportunity, his family—the thing that he had missed most of all was Candace.

"Yes, I followed you," she admitted after pausing a while. "I had to know if you'd come back. Then I saw you come in here and…I knew. This always was your favorite place."

"Can we do this elsewhere if I'm not going to get my food?" he asked caustically. She looked shaken, as though he had physically hurt her. In truth, he probably had just by wandering along a Capitol City street in plain sight. Agony was written in every taut muscle and strained line of her carefully arranged face.

"I wanted to say 'hi,' if nothing else," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, none of this." Simon stood up and placed a finger over her mouth to stop any other sound from escaping. She would apologize for anything, his Candace; and he had tried hard to discourage the habit before he had gone to save his sister. Apparently, she had regressed back to her old ways when he left. Simon found that he minded this small matter quite a lot: It wasn't the apologizing that bothered him, but the fact that she had forgotten that piece of him. Simon desperately wanted to change that.

"Let's go outside. We'll talk someplace quiet," he murmured quietly. He finally withdrew his finger from her mouth, and stepped back. Candace looked to be on the verge of tears. I'm so sorry, baobei, he thought sadly. I never meant for this to happen, you of all people know this…

"When I heard the reports…" she sniffled.

"Ssh…" Simon dug a few credits out to pay for his untouched and much lamented dinner before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leading her out. If he ignored the feel of rough cloth against his skin and the feel of pending doom, Simon could almost pretend that it was like old times. Candace was tucked up close to his chest close enough for him to feel her answering heartbeat while he held her and kept her safe. Not even River could break them apart: not then and certainly not now.

Right now, the need, the shivering closeness flooded his mind like a freak wave breaking over a shore too long untouched by the rising water. The sensations of her rhythmic heart against his chest and her clean, soapy scent assaulting his nose brought him back to a time so very long ago. They had lain together in the grass, his fingers entwined in her raven-black hair while they gleaned comfort from every bit of contact that was to be found. That was the last night Simon had seen Candace. He could still remember the moment that he looked into her great green eyes, and said, "I'm leaving and I won't be coming back."

She had cried while Simon could do nothing more than hold her and hope she didn't shatter into a million pieces of tear-stained porcelain. All night long the wild beat of her heart ba-bumped against his chest while tears stained his silken shirt. Today, firmly in the present, that stead ba-bump tied him to a world that he no longer wished to be a part of. Her heart was his steadying force; it also made him want to tear away from her touch and run as far and fast as humanly possible. Instead, he led her into an alley and leaned against a cool, shaded brick wall. Simon carefully untucked her from under his arm and manoeuvered her before him. He didn't remove the hands he'd placed on her shoulders, though, because even if he couldn't admit it to himself, he did severely miss the feel of her creamy skin. He still admired her, even after his absence.

"You said you were gone for good," she started. "Gone to save River."

"I did," he replied softly.

"Why are you back? Did you save River, or—"

"I did. She's safe now, back where I should be, being looked after by people who love her."

"Where is that?"

He wanted to tell her about everything that had transpired since the day he had left. How he had heroically saved his sister, how he had been picked up by a rogue transport ship called Serenity, and how he had helped reveal the secret of a dead planet. But even telling her Serenity was a Firefly was saying far too much. She might save him, but his crew was a different matter entirely: people in Osiris were the pinnacle of Alliance obedience. He could remember being that way himself.

"On a ship. A good ship."

"A yacht?" she asked softly. Naïvely. Simon always did like the great, graceful ships; it made sense to her that he would someday find his way onto one.

"Not a yacht. Transport vessel. I can't tell you anything else," he sighed.

"So it's true. You are a fugitive." Her eyes grew wide, disbelieving. "I-I followed the stories until they stopped giving details. They never said you were caught, but I always assumed the worst. How did you manage? How are you still alive?" She looked genuinely confused, pained. Simon couldn't blame her.

"I've been lucky. I don't plan on staying long on Osiris. I can't be noticed by anyone…well, any unfriendly people," he amended. "My crew's coming back for me and there won't be any problem."

"They left you? How can you be sure they'll come back?"

His answer was automatic, to the point where it almost sounded rehearsed: "If I don't believe that, I'll never be able to lie to myself again."

In a way, it was rehearsed; Simon had been spinning the question through his mind on repeat for the past several hours, so he was bound to come up with some sort of an answer, no matter how feeble. Simon knew Serenity was coming back for him. River wouldn't let them leave him alone after all they had been through together. Kaylee would make them turn around to fetch him. Even Mal, to some degree, might want his prize surgeon back. However, the nagging voice in his head that blamed him for Shepherd Book's death and Wash's arm and everything else that had since gone wrong wasn't about to be quieted by simple parroted answers. Serenity wasn't coming to rescue a failure.

He felt the kiss before he saw the painted cherry lips approaching his own chapped ones. Felt the stickiness of freshly applied makeup against his smooth cheek. Her breath ghosted over his pale, sweaty skin. It said, "I'm sorry."

Me too, baobei, he thought. Me too.

Kaylee watched the kiss with an apathetic eye from her vantage point around the corner. When she neglected to comment or ruin the moment, she was almost pleased with herself. She thought she was entitled to walk in on him, but it didn't seem right on any level. The smear of lipstick on his mouth explained just about everything she had ever wondered about Simon Tam; it wasn't right to intrude on what she hadn't been meant to see.

But the awkwardness, the lack of social skills that Kaylee had been sure that everyone was born with…! Sure, Simon had to deal with River on a regular basis, but that wouldn't answer how he was consistently dense and impossible and socially inept. He was either doing it on purpose, or he was thinking of someone else, and either way, it pointed to a girl that he had left at home. Simon Tam was love sick.

Kaylee could have guessed, she supposed, but she had always faintly hoped that she would be the one for Simon. After the mechanic glimpsed relaxation and true serenity in the doctor's glazed eyes, even though he looked as though he had just received horrible news…well, Kaylee had been a fool to think that she could have given Simon what he needed.

She tried to smile for him. She smiled until she could pretend that she was truly happy for him. It almost worked, but not well enough.

"What's your big, genius plan now, sir?" Zoë asked mildly.

Mal wasn't sure, but he thought she was being sarcastic. "Well, Zoë, we're gonna free the rest of them kind folk from the boxes, put somethin' back in the crates, then reassemble 'em nicelike. Knowin' the Feds, they ain't gonna wanna open up goods like that in front of us. We'll be off planet before they know what's in there for real. Hopefully, there'll be somethin' in our pockets for our troubles. Then we'll go get Kaylee 'n Simon, and we'll go find a nice border planet for our friends. That reasonable?" Mal turned towards Alex as he asked the last part. Having been rescued first and being the only man currently freed, the patriarch had been unofficially dubbed the leader of the box people.

"Yeah, yeah, tha's fine. Jes' grateful not ta have ta go ta 'sephone," the man frowned. "Ain't good folk on 'sephone. My brother went 'n came back with his hands broken. Don't want my son su'jected ta that."

"Don't rightly blame you. We'll have to stow you in a bunk or in a niche somewhere till the Feds collect the cargo, but that shouldn't be a problem. If I were you, I'd stay outta Jayne's way; he has big damn guns. Otherwise, I think the next hour or two should be a smooth one, assumin' things go as planned."

"Sir, what were you planning on throwin' in the boxes?" Zoë asked.

"Jayne?" Mal shrugged.

"Sir?"

"Maybe not Jayne, but I bet we can find some interestin' stuff on our little Serenity."

Jayne smiled. Mal was going to expect some form of retaliation, but the mercenary didn't believe that Mal would be ready for it so soon. Not after the captain had effectively told Jayne to "go to his room."

In fact, not even Jayne had expected to take revenge this early. When he had torn his blanket down from the wall over his bed and revealed Vera in all her splendour, it soon became obvious that there really was no other option but to take revenge. He held her as carefully as any of his lovers, touched her in all the right places, and it only served to remind him of the fantastic and bloody times that they had shared. She was calling to him, asking him to play with her; he was only too happy to oblige.

He fingered Vera lovingly: a Callahan fullbore autolock, with customized trigger and double cartridge thourough-gage. In short, his biggest and favoritest gun in the whole 'verse. She needed air to breathe, just like himself, and it endeared her to him even more. It was almost as though she was a real girl that Jayne had brought up right. When he said, "dance," she was nothing short of absolute gloriousness, his Vera. Given that she was such a trusty and loyal girl, Jayne thought that it might be time to warm her up and make her dance again. Sure, his shoulder and head still hurt, but if he waited any longer to carry out his mission, he was going to miss payoff.

Jayne wasn't about to abide by that.

He took the opportunity to snatch up a couple of pistols and a knife as well, in case he ran out of ammo. Grenades were a tad extreme in such close quarters, so he opted to leave them in his bunk. It wasn't as though he actually expected the mutiny to be difficult without explosives. When the weapons were arranged on his various belts and clips—with Vera settled comfortably against his chest—Jayne yanked open the hatch to the hallway and climbed out of his bunk.

The dining area sounded empty, same as the little room off the fining area. Jayne thought that Mal might have moved the box people out of harm's way. It wasn't an inaccurate assumption, but it sure made Jayne's job harder. He would have really liked to scare the box people first, before he drugged them and stuffed them back into the crate they had come from. Jayne didn't mind much though; he'd find them. Serenity was only so big.

"Mal, I wanna talk," the mercenary called. His boot steps echoed around the tiny space, assaulting his ears in a disruptive manner. It wasn't conducive to a good listening atmosphere. Jayne was lucky that there wasn't an answer, despite not having expected any. The captain wasn't stupid. He probably knew that Jayne was coming after him now. It made the hunt that much more fun.

"Mal!" he yelled. He ignored the stairs that went down to the cargo bay, intent on checking the bridge, when he heard scuffling noises from downstairs. Jayne backtracked and waited to see if he could make out any of the sounds.

"Wash, ain't like the Fed's is gonna care if we give 'em one or the other. It ain't what they wanted, ain't gonna matter what they get."

"Captain, I really think we're gonna need it somewhere down the road."

"Well we don't need it now; it goes."

"Are you being rational about this, sir?"

"We ain't got time to be debatin', Zoë. It don't show the proper respect, it goes."

"It's been useful before, sir."

"Ain't useful now. Throw it in."

Jayne tensed. He was utterly convinced that they were talking about him. Spying wasn't normally his favorite past time—it was far too boring for his tastes—but Jayne wasn't going to throw caution to the wind today. He gently slid the knife—he had named it named Boo—out of his sheath and angled it to catch the light. The steel blade reflected Mal, Wash, and Zoë arguing about what was very probably Jayne's future.

"Anythin' or anyone ain't helpin' our cause goes in the box for our friends, is that very clear?" Mal asked.

"Sure thing, captain, I'm just not sure we can afford to scrap everything," Wash pointed out.

"Someone go fetch Inara, I'm sure she's got some fanciness she can donate for us. Wash, go get them plastic dinosaurs livin' on the bridge. Anything. Hell, get Jayne down here, he'll fit in."

The breath caught in Jayne's throat. That was it. They were going to give him over to the Alliance as dead weight. They were making up the missing weight of the slaves that used to occupy the cargo boxes to get their pay. It never once crossed the mercenary's mind that the whole thing might have been his fault, but he sure was regretting having opened the box.

"Ai ya…" Jayne muttered. "'N 'nara too." Mal had clearly gone crazy; there was no other explanation for his uncharacteristically caustic behaviour. Now Jayne was not only fighting time, but Mal's possibly dangerous whims. Jayne would just have to take the ship a bit quicker then.

Meanwhile, Wash was yelling about the reptiles that lived on the bridge as he ran up the steps to the fore passage. Zoë was right behind him, judging by the double pounding of footwear on metal. Jayne was forced to backpedal as he jammed Boo back into the sheath. They didn't know that he had been spying on them and if Jayne had anything to say on the matter, they wouldn't know. He quickly hid Vera in an enclosure of sorts before trying to look as though he had been out of his bunk for nothing more than a stroll of Serenity.

"He can't do that! Wife, tell me he can't do that," Wash moaned.

"He is the captain," Zoë sighed.

"But those dinosaurs…! I named them you know. You know I can't get rid of anything that has extreme sentimental value!"

Well, don't it just suck ta be yer arm then? Jayne thought.

"Husband, I don't think the captain is going to make you put your dinosaurs in. Jayne and Inara will help out and there won't be any need after that."

"You think so?"

"Of course. Jayne!" Zoë sounded mildly started; though the mercenary wasn't positive on that score. "Thought you were gonna to be in your bunk," she remarked.

"Well, I was. Then I got bored, 'n…well…" Jayne floundered.

"Are you okay?" Wash's eyes darkened. "Your…your arm…" He pointed vaguely at his shoulder, looking somewhat green as he did so. Jayne frowned, following Wash's gaze to the point on his own body where his arm met his chest. The sleeve of the orange t-shirt was almost entirely soaked in blood, something that Jayne had neglected to notice in his exertions. He could only guess that he had popped the stitching while climbing out of his bunk.

"Oh uh, right. I was…gonna get this checked out too," Jayne answered mildly. The fact that he hadn't noticed the bleeding somewhat unnerved him, but he didn't dare ruin the perfectly good opportunity to get Mal under his power.

"You should be resting," Zoë said. She looked slightly disapproving, but she always looked slightly disapproving.

"Should be. Ain't. Gonna get new stitches now."

"Right. Do. Stitches are relatively good things." Wash nodded slowly, trying not to look at the blood.

"When you're done, the captain wants to see you," Zoë added.

"Uh, right. Thanks," Jayne muttered. He let them pass, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible. It wasn't exactly hard to blend into the background, considering that his skin was beginning to turn the ashy colour associated with blood loss. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Zoë disappeared down into her and Wash's bunk while Wash sulked up to the bridge. Jayne was left by himself. He couldn't think of a better time to talk to Mal; and, all things considered, Jayne had to admit that he'd been pretty lucky. He left Vera in her little hideout, and descended.

Unlike in the dining area, he didn't announce his presence. Jayne could have just shot Mal in the head, but it lacked a certain sort of finesse and personality. Jayne really just wanted a few answers, among other things. Maybe he would be generous, and shoot the captain quickly. It depended on a few things.

He stalked over to Mal, who was busy checking the contents of the second box. Stealthily pulled out the first pistol. Aimed it square at the back of the captain's head. Mal stiffened at the sound of the safety clicking off.

"You got a few things to say to me. I suggest ya start now," Jayne said evenly.

Mal sighed. "Iffin you listened to me sometimes, you'd know I planned on gettin' paid."

"I ain't believin' ya. We're in too tight a spot, 'n I heard ya talkin'! I ain't gonna be shipped to the Alliance cause ya wanna save a bunch a strangers."

Mal almost choked on a spurt of laughter. "Give you—what the hell you on about?"

"I heard ya tellin' Zoë 'n Wash, 'n I ain't standin' fer it. I ain't givin' ya the opportunity," Jayne frowned.

"Jayne…" Mal couldn't stop the grin from lighting his face. "Yer off yer nut!"

"Mal, I'm serious!" Jayne wasn't about to be laughed at. Not when he had a gun to Mal's head. He jabbed the weapon into the other man's skull as a reminder.

"I'm sure you are, Jayne, but you're sadly misinformed." Mal turned around with an amused look. He plucked the pistol out of Jayne's weakened and bloodied fist, clicked the safety back on, and tossed it into the box. Jayne gawped.

"V-Veronica!"

"You name…all…your guns?" Mal cocked an eyebrow.

"Kao! Mal, they're like wives! You do not get away with takin' a man's wife—"

"Mal, we're landing in twenty minutes, get those boxes sealed up." Wash's voice echoed through the bay from the intercom system. Jayne didn't flinch much.

"—that's theft, 'n you know it!"

"I know lots of things, Jayne. I know we ain't getting' paid if we can't convince the Feds we ain't tampered with their cargo. I need you to donate for us. Might be…Veronica…might be some other gun. Whatever you've got to throw in, you add. We'll make it up with our winnings. You know you gotta spend coin to make coin, 'n that's oft true. You interested in getting' paid, or just fightin' with me?"

Jayne bit his lip, expression warring between pure rage and grudging hope. "Ya promise?" he whispered. Mal almost missed the tiny question.

"On my honour. I take care a my crew, iffin I haven't made it plenty clear before." Mal looked sincere far as Jayne could tell. Jayne did know that Mal was exceedingly kind to his crew, almost too much so. Mal got vicious if one of his crew was threatened; Jayne had born a bump on his head for weeks because of it.

He tentatively reached for the last gun at his back. Tina. She wasn't as good as her sister Veronica, but she held six rounds, was sturdy, and reliable. Jayne would miss her. He laid a kiss on the metal skin of the pistol before gently placing it on top of the pile. Mal said nothing.

"Everything is as it should be. The hole is closing, the eye is weary, tired. Tired of seeing everything. Letting us go. We are worthy." River's ethereal voice startled Jayne, but Mal seemed to have expected it.

"You got us into a lot of trouble today, little albatross," he said softly, not turning around. "We ain't even outta the woods yet. I'd go hide again if I were you."

"They don't want me. They won't see what they're not interested in. There is no changing the inevitable…no power in the 'verse can stop it. They will take their boxes and leave and we will be all alone. A spot of nothingness; they will care no more."

"Wonder why I ain't comforted by this charmin' sentiment," Jayne muttered.

Mal turned to eye River, noticing she was gliding towards them in her bare feet. Her naked hand was clutching at a big damn sabre.

Jayne jerked back involuntarily. He had learned long ago to stay away from her when there were knives concerned. The scar across his chest attested to that. The creeping pain in his shoulder ached sympathetically at the memory: the unprovoked slashing attack and gush of blood. It still gave him the willies.

"River," Mal started gently.

"No! It must go! It isn't loyal; it scares people. It's not good. They can take it. It cannot stay on Serenity." River stepped up to the box and deposited the blade carefully, almost tenderly. She musta kept it after Miranda, Jayne thought curiously. Girl's out to kill us after all…

"Good girl," Mal was saying.

"The girl is good but the weapon is not. Shen me guan tou ren zuo fan dui zhe yang lu mang di yuan hen…"

"River, sweetie, why aren't you—oh! Jayne, your…your shoulder." Inara and Zoë had joined them, arms laden with clothes and a few miscellaneous items from Inara's shuttle.

"You wanna be seein' to that?" Mal asked, gesturing at Jayne's shoulder.

"Not if he tears the stitches again," Inara answered hotly, glaring at the mercenary.

"I can answer fer my own self," Jayne muttered. "Besides, ain't nobody at Mal's back 'n—"

"Jayne, if I wanted to stab you in the back, I'd follow my own policy 'n make sure you knew why I was doin' it. Go get sewed up," Mal said firmly. "Inara, dump yer stuff in, we'll box everythin' up. Zoë, take River to her bunk or let her stay with the box folk in the spare bunks. Don't much care which. Make sure they don't make noise. When you're done, come back and help me unload."

"Right, sir." The fact that the whole matter was less than savoury went unsaid.

"Mal, I can help," Jayne added. "I got Vera."

"No. We're not a threat. Alliance needs to know that. Won't work otherwise. You can't do no liftin', you're better off stayin' in the infirmary with Vera in case things get ugly."

Mal hadn't said "go to your bunk" exactly, but it didn't lessen the fact that that was the second time in less than two hours. Jayne was expected to act as backup: to go in and save the day when things went south. Jayne didn't know whether to be ecstatic that he could help, or pissed that he couldn't.

"Right. I'll go get 'er, then." Her being Vera, still hidden up in the passageway. He dragged himself up the stairs with an increasing lethargy, careful not to jar his shoulder.

"See that you do. Inara, prep whatever it is you have to for Jayne. I'll get the boxes in place."

"Sir, we are landing…" Wash's voice was apprehensive and full of tension. Everyone's faces clearly reflected the mood of the operation, and none were even the slightest bit optimistic.

"Let's get to work," Mal murmured.

Chinese:

Shen me guan tou ren zuo fan dui zhe yang lu mang di yuan hen: What can men do against such reckless hate?

Honour Roll: Lynx Ryder: 'Course Jayne's an idiot, that's why I love him. Even Simon and his modestness and Wash's newfound angst. Treeofdooom: Cry no more, here's an update! A longish one too, actually. Nope, story's far from dead, I just need a bit of prompting to update. garden-crafter: Well, you can be sure it's nobody good that recognized him. Can't have a good story line without lots of snags. I have written more and I'm glad you're cool with Wash not being dead. It makes me smile.