Simon coughed. “Did I ever tell you, Captain, that you are extremely aggravating and distracting?” The young man was propped up between two oil drums, the front of his shirt a sticky mass of blood. His skin had gained a grayish pallor but his eyes were still bright and sparkled with intelligence. How Simon was even still conscious, let alone alive, was a mystery to Mal.

It was a familiar sort of agony to sit before the boy and watch him bleed; he’d done enough of that at Serenity Valley. However much he wanted to help Simon though, he couldn’t do a gorram thing. Simon’s medical bag was in Serenity, and help was at least a quarter hour away- an eternity for Simon, and for Mal.

The two had been scouting out a warehouse in an empty section of Boros to use as a temporary hidey-hole of sorts for some of their more hazardous deliveries when a Reaver scouting ship had descended from the sky like an angry hornet, buzzing straight for the warehouse.

Having no other option, the two had retreated back into the warehouse, Mal sending repeated messages to Serenity. There was no response save static.

After giving Simon an extra gun they’d found in the cubby under the trapdoor, Mal and Simon shot off as many Reavers as they could before they were forced to fight in closed quarters. They’d managed to pick off most of them before the Reavers got close, leaving a handful of the twisted men to fight, but Mal didn’t celebrate his fortune. The guns were fast running out of charges, and the Reavers were still doggedly approaching. Mal had no illusions of beating even a scouting party of Reavers –which this seemed to be- with two people and two guns between them, neither fully loaded.

As a last resort they could retreat to the trapdoor they’d come here to use, but that would be used only in the most hopeless of situations. The trapdoor lead to a small bunker, strong enough to –hopefully- hold off the Reavers for a time. Mal wasn’t deluded enough to think for one instant that it would work if the Reavers were hungry enough. Mal was hesitant, however, to actually enter; the bunker had only the one entrance, so if they were forced to retreat to it and the Reavers didn’t leave… Euphemisms failed him.

They had managed to hold their own (Mal more than Simon, as the boy was still too inexperienced with guns to be of much help) for a decent amount of time before they’d been overwhelmed. At that point a rather large stack of boxes, probably pushed by an unseen reaver, fell on Mal, breaking one of his legs.

Simon had heard the crash and Mal’s roar of pain and turned about instinctively to see- a grievous mistake. A previously unseen Reaver had lunged forward, swinging a crude sword-like instrument, tearing a sizable portion of the young man’s throat with it. For a moment Simon had simply stood in place, paralyzed by the shock and pain, unable to comprehend that a part of his body no longer had a bosom relationship with the veins in his neck.

Luckily Mal had dispatched the two Reavers, more through sheer luck than anything else, as the two had been overcome with bloddlust at the sight of Simon’s wound, and had dropped their guard.

Dragging himself over to Simon, he’d latched onto the injured doctor, and had made their painfully slow approach to the trapdoor. Simon hadn’t, understandably, contributed to Malcolm’s efforts. He was too busy bleeding to death on the floor.

Positioning himself before Simon, Mal had dragged himself through the hole first, pulling Simon in after him. Simon fell on his leg. The less said about those hellish minutes the better in his opinion.

There was a button by his side to close the blast doors above him in case of emergency. If he recalled correctly, there was a bright red sign that mentioned something about “use only during emergencies”, listing fires as a prime example. Mal was fairly sure this qualified, and had pounded the button. With a faint whoosh of air and metallic thuds, the doors slammed shut, cutting off the reavers. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it’d do for the moment.

Around that point Mal had passed out.

When he’d woken up, Simon had been peering at him in concern, hands pressed tightly to the wound. “Good morning, Mal,” he’d rasped over the thuds of the Reavers pounding on the blast doors, “I noticed you managed to break your leg again.” Mal hadn’t been positive, not being a doctor, but he was fairly sure that pointing out the obvious in a sarcastic tone after an injury like that might be a sign of shock. Then again, judging by the darkly amused expression on Simon’s face, the boy might’ve known that.

“Yes, I think you mentioned that, Simon.” Mal paused for a lengthy stretch of time, listening to the rhythmic pounding noise on the blast doors. A Reaver screeched in frustrated rage. Shifting his broken leg manually so he was facing the doors, Mal remarked casually, “Any partic’lar reason you have a desperate need to bring this to my attention?”

Simon rolled his eyes about to face Mal. Both of the young man’s hands were clasped to the makeshift bandage on his throat, which, previously a violent purple and blue color, had turned an alarming scarlet. Every breath sent a spurt of blood from the horrible neck wound, darkening the cloth a fraction. His voice was steady and calm, however, when he responded, “I’m just telling you this in case we die horrible deaths, you understand.”

“Ah.”

Both paused for a moment before Simon asked hesitantly, “Do you think the others-“

“They’ll be fine,” Malcolm returned in an amused tone that was obviously forced. “Jayne’s leading them back to Serenity, and that man has the most effective survival instincts I’ve seen on anyone ‘sides Zoe.” Simon could tell he didn’t really believe what he was spouting, that he just said it to make Simon feel better. Simon appreciated it, even if he didn’t believe it.

Neither made any mention of their own chances of survival.

The pounding grew louder and more insistent. “Did I ever tell you,” Mal commented, hefting his gun, “that things never go down smooth?”

It had started innocuously enough, if such a thing were possible anymore. Their contact, an indentured servant named Thyme, had hidden away a stolen case full of her mistresses’s perfumes and lotions that were to be picked up by Mal when Thyme revealed the location. They were valuable to Mal because the items themselves easily fetched a price of eight thousand marks, and they were valuable to Thyme because the selling of them would repay her debt to her mistress. According to Thyme there was an added bonus as well: her mistress had stolen them in the first place, so she could hardly report the theft to the authorities without risk or expulsion from the guild.

Whatever the habits of its inhabitants, Soonal was a fairly quiet planet, situated in the same system as Sihnon and Boros. Soonal was fairly sophisticated and technologically advanced, as it lay well within Alliance territory. There had, in fact, been rumors that there were extensive alliance prisons located under the surface, but they had never been proven. It also happened to be the site of a Companion Training House, the very one that had, until five years ago, been the home of one Inara Serra for more than a decade.

As usual Wash was wearing a freakishly bright shirt, the battleground for free expression over taste. At the moment the pilot was parading his plastic dinosaurs over the cosoles, muttering to himself. Wash must’ve been confident about their course if Serenity was set on auto. “Oh, the angsting and the pain! Angst, much angst!”

“Ah hah-hah! And hah-hah again!”

A smooth-toned, amused voice cut into the diabolical laughter. “Wash.”

A purple meat-eater narrowly missed Mal’s nose as the pilot jumped. “Gah!”

Raising an eyebrow, Mal said, “What time are we scheduled to land on Soonal, Wash?”

Wash glanced at a panel to his right. “Two P.M. local time. We should get there right after the classes are done at the House for the day if Inara’s information is good,” the pilot added.

“Right. Zoe, I want to you remain with the ship. If trouble comes, I’ll need you to get to the drop point on the land rover and get them if we can’t.”

“Now that’s done, where can I find the pretties?” The big mercenary looked around expectantly.

“Jayne,” Mal sighed. “Not countin’ my own reservations on Inara’s line of work, my aim isn’t to rile up a House full of companions, each of whom is potentially trained to use things that put bloody holes in other folk. Dong ma?”

If Mal hadn’t known better he’d have sworn the imposing man was pouting. “But Mal-“

“NO, Jayne. I need you with me, sober, and on the lookout for trouble.”

There was a rustle of silk as someone seated themselves on the cushion next to him.

It wasn’t their contact. It was Inara.

The companion was wearing a cascade of lace embroidered green and gold silk, and a particularly set expression. “Mal.”

“Inara,” Mal said pleasantly. He sucked on his cheek to keep himself from strangling the woman. If their contact came and found someone else in her seat, she’d bolt. Thyme was a skittish sort.

Mal fisted his hands in his pants and smiled pleasantly. “Inara. You realize your rump is currently seated on a cushion already reserved for one of my unsavory contacts?”

“Yes, Mal,” Inara waved off the comment. “I’ll be fast. Disregarding my feelings for your line of work, I have a job for you. I’ll pay for it myself.”

That piqued Mal’s interest. “You don’t say. From whom and when did you come into riches?”

Inara ignored the comment and picked up the cup before her, carefully holding the delicate porcelain with her fingertips. “I would appreciate speed. Haste is crucial for this undertaking.”

“What is it we’re deliv’rin, then? A pack of massage oils to some of your clients?”

Inara’s eyes shifted upward briefly. “No. An initiate at the House, soon to be a companion.” Inara took a sip of tea. When she swallowed, the companion added, “His homeworld is home to strange customs, and the boy wishes to purify himself in a spring there before the ceremony.”

“Where’s he from, then? I don’t recall any purifying customs.” Mal frowned. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. There were a few border planets, Jiangyin notably high on that list,that still followed such traditions. Jiangyin was practically a taboo topic, however. If it came up in conversation (save one in which Jayne participated), even in the broadest terms, talk was turned to teasing about the events immediately following, namely Mal’s temporary marriage.

Inara’s eyes glittered over the teacup. “Athens.”

“Huh.” That was a blantant lie. Nobody came from Athens that weren’t slavers or the like. Whole planet was like a breeding ground for scum. “That a fact. And the boy’s set to be a companion? Wonders never cease.”

“Mal, please. I- I owe it to him. He needs this chance to see the worlds before the life he didn’t choose descends upon him.”

“You’re saying that like bein’ a companion’s a death sentence.”

The companion’s kohl lined eyes darkened. “For some it is.” Setting aside her tea, she rose gracefully to her feet. “I’ll see you onboard.” Without another word she swept off.

Jayne grunted and fidgeted on his cushion. “I think she’s up to sumthin’, Mal. Bein’ all sneaky like.”

Mal admirably resisted the urge to make a cutting comment about the merc’s intelligence. “You don’t say.”

Inara was gone less than ten minutes before a whip-thin girl almost festooned with veils seated herself in the companion’s vacated cushion in swoosh of heavy perfume and glitter..

Mal nodded a greeting, sliding a small container of sweetener at the girl. “Thyme. Sugar?”

Lace and silk flashed as the girl shook her head. “No time for such things. I’ll be missed within the quarter hour; I’m to be laying out her undergarments. To business: I buried the cases a mile or two past the docking area. If you are fast, you’ll get to them before House Priestess even realizes they’re missing.”

Malcolm frowned. Stealing was frowned upon in these parts. “If she does, the priestess will have that skinny neck of your swing.”

The girl snarled, slender fingers that dripped with delicate silver chain links twisting into an obscene gesture. “Tā māde! I don’t care! I don’t care,” Thyme repeated calmly. “That amount is enough to fulfill my debt to that sāohuò twice over,” the girl said viciously.

“And I wish you the best of luck with that. The reciever on your end is reliable?”

“I have no idea.” Thyme shrugged. Never met the man personally.”

“Ah. If that’s everything.”

“It is. But before I leave, Captain… You’ve been honest with me, so I’ll give you a word of advice.”

“Only one?”

Thyme slashed the air impatiently with a lace-covered hand. “Get off this rock before she finds out those cases are gone. She has an attachment to them, and will probably mean to repay whoever ships them as well as myself.”

“Like as not in a permanent fashion.””

“Indeed. The contents would lessen her in the eyes of the guild, and she won’t have that.”

“Best to keep her reputation spotless and spit-shined, then.”

P)P)P)P)

The pickup had been fairly simple -ridiculously so, in fact- but then again, picking up the merchandise usually was; the bloody parts came later, after they developed a false sense of security.

All that was left was picking up Inara and her “initiate” buddy.

Shortly after dusk Inara walked up the ramp into Serenity, their passenger nowhere in sight. Inara stopped before them and smiled at Kaylee for a moment before turning to the captain. Mal made a show of leaning over to glance past the companion. “So where’s this passenger of yours, Inara? We’re on a slight schedule, you know.”

She smiled somewhat stiffly back. “Malcolm, this is Simon Tam.” Then she stepped aside, revealing what might have been the most frustratingly pretty-boy he’d ever seen.

P)P)P)P)

骚货 sāohuò slut (lit. "lewd commodity")