The crash team, consisting of Mal and Simon, were already waiting with two horses when Jayne came within sight of Serenity through the trees. Swerving around the trunks, he gassed the mule into the cargo hold, slamming instantly on the air brakes. The mule bucked violently for half a second before ramming to a halt inches from the opposite wall. “Where’s the girl?!??” Jayne bellowed, reaching for Gabriel. “Where’s River?!??” “Hold off!” Gabriel exclaimed, warding Jayne off with his hands. “We ain’t gotten to the fascinating part yet!” “She ain’t here,” Mal replied, staring worriedly at Gabriel’s erratic behavior. “Why-” “‘Cuz I can’t ruttin’ *handle* this kid, dammit!!” Jayne shouted, grabbing Gabriel’s arm. “C’mon down from here!” “What happened to him?!” Simon questioned intensely as Jayne finally coaxed Gabriel into jumping from the mule. “Overdose of Lava,” Jayne explained. “No time to explain!” Suddenly, Gabriel twisted from Jayne’s comparatively-weak grip and dove headfirst through the door, tumbling down the stairs noisily. “Gorrammit!” Jayne yelled, racing after him with the other three close behind. “Alliance!” Gabriel shouted in warning, tossing the lounge couch over with a flick of one wrist and throwing himself behind it. “Find cover!” Without explanation, Simon rushed into the infirmary. “Gabriel!” Kaylee cried hysterically, her shoulders convulsing. “Honey, there’s nobody here! Come out so Simon can-” Sounding a war cry, Gabriel leapt over the couch and barreled into the side of the stairs shoulder-first. The impact concussion was deafening, and the stairs were ripped from their mounts and bounced along the wall. In futility, Jayne tried to grab the man around his arms and torso, but Gabriel flipped him onto the overturned couch as easily as tossing a length of cooked spaghetti. Jayne bounced off the couch and landed on the floor. “Soldier!!” Mal bellowed in his sergeant voice. “Get a grip on yourself, *now!!!*” Gabriel froze, blinking at Mal in confusion. The distraction lasted just long enough for Simon to get the needle into the side of Gabriel’s neck. Gabriel drunkenly staggered several steps toward Mal. “*Holy Helga,*” he breathed before collapsing to the deck. “What the hell did you give him?” Mal inquired as Kaylee whizzed to help the fallen man. Simon stared back with an ominous expression. “Twice the amount of tranquilizer as should have killed him,” he revealed. *************************************************************************

Jayne slammed open the basement door and stormed down the stairs. He stalked to the bound and gagged Hayze and knelt before her chair. “I am in a *bad* ruttin’ mood,” he growled, “so yer answers are gonna be short an’ honest so as to circumvent my gettin’ knife-happy. Dong ma?” Hayze’s head remained hanging. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she muttered softly and with almost a hint of sadness, “but it won’t help you at all.” Jayne grabbed the frazzled and disintegrating blond bun on the back of the woman’s head and jerked her up to face him. He froze at something he saw in her eyes. It wasn’t anything mean, but it wasn’t anything good, either. Releasing Hayze’s hair so her head could continue to hang, Jayne stood and paced away. He sighed heavily. “What is yer issue, Hayze?” “Helen.” Jayne whirled. “What?” Hayze lifted her head of her own accord, and Jayne was astonished to see tears welling in her blue eyes. “My name is Helen.” Jayne rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “All right, *Helen,* I’ll ask again. What’s yer issue?” Helen blinked. “I don’t understand the question.” Jayne growled in the back of his throat. “Never mind. Why are you here?” Helen looked a bit confused. “To gather information that will help us catch you. I figured you would know that.” “Who do you work for?” Jayne demanded. “Doctor Ray Foster. I *know* you know that.” Jayne cursed under his breath. “Why do I *always* get the cooperative ones?” He knelt before her again, this time more slowly and less aggressively. “Should I trust you?” he questioned calmly. Helen shook her head. “No.” “*cussing in Chinese*” Jayne exclaimed, standing again. “Ya just *don’t* wanna lie, do ya?” “I have no reason to.” Jayne eyed her peculiarly for a moment as something Gabriel told him surfaced in the foreground of his mind. “Ya got boss issues, don’t’cha?” Helen sighed. “Not particularly. I just...” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m getting to a point in my life where I’m thinking there must be more.” Jayne arched an eyebrow. “More’n what? Yer a whup-ass merc who *should* have a bad attitude like me. What more is there, the attitude?” Helen chuckled. “Great attitude on your part, Jayne, let me tell you. No, I was talking more like... *substance.* Like...” She trailed off, and suddenly, her gaze locked on him with an icy stone-gaze. “You’re right, Jayne Cobb. I am not myself at the moment.” She straightened in her chair and in her bondings and squared her shoulders. “I have nothing to say to *you.*” Jayne stared at the woman for a moment before shrugging. “Meh. Makes no never mind to me. Ya already told me we know everythin’ we need tuh.” Helen shook her head. “I never said that. Not directly, at least.” Jayne squinted, becoming quite confused. “Um... Okay...” He paused for a moment, urging his gears to warm up and begin turning. “Uh... All right. What sort of questions should I be askin’ ya?” Helen regarded him for a moment. “Well, a good opening question would be, ‘What connection, if any, do you have with the Operative?’ I’d start with that.” “Thank you,” Jayne ingratiated. “Okay, um... What connection, if any, do you have with the Operative?” Helen thrust her chin at the man. “I’m not saying a *thing.*” Jayne slapped both palms against his eye sockets. “*Damn* you, Woman!” “Mind if I butt in?” River inquired, flowing into the room like a non-viscous fluid. “Yes,” Jayne replied curtly. “Ya got more need at Serenity than ya do here.” Ignoring Jayne, River moved past him to regard the encumbered Helen. “Although I do not meet your opinion, I do see the point from where you are coming.” Although Helen said nothing in response, Jayne felt obligated to prod. “Girl, what in the *‘Verse* are ya babblin’ at?” River turned to regard Jayne with narrowed eyes and a scolding presence. “Sorry, Jayne. Girl Talk. No boys allowed.” “I also have no idea what you’re talking about,” Helen piped up. “And I *never* participate in what you refer to as ‘girl talk’.” River shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She turned, and as she exited the room, she slapped Jayne on the rear. “You should try it sometime,” she suggested to Helen, and she disappeared up the stairs. *************************************************************************

“I don’t think I’ve ever had to work this hard in my life to detox a patient,” Simon explained, mentally working through the possibilities encrypted in Gabriel’s vital signs. “He’s stable... for now.” “So he’s gonna live?” Mal insisted questioningly. Simon heaved a sigh. “It’s complicated, but please bear with me. A normal person would be dead before Jayne could even get him here. We know Gabriel is not normal. Now, were I to detox someone normal, succeed, and their vitals looked like *that...*” He pointed to the screen. “...I’d say their chances of survival are twelve percent at the *most* optimistic of views. Again, Gabriel is not normal. Finally, within that twelve percent, the chances are almost guaranteed of permanent brain damage and probably even vegetation.” “But Gabriel is not normal,” Mal finished, a dead, emotionless tone in his voice. In an uncharacteristic display of comradery between the two men, Simon placed a hand on Mal’s shoulder. *I hate to say this, but I must...* “Mal... How ‘not normal’ do you think Gabriel really is?” Mal stared at the comatose form of his old friend in silence, trembling. After a moment, he whispered, “*But there’s a chance.*” Simon slid the hand from his captain’s shoulder. “Yes. There is a chance, albeit minute.” He glanced down to see Mal’s white-knuckled hand clenching the butt of his weapon. It was doubtful he was even aware of the all-too-familiar action. “I’m goin’ after Cornell,” Mal announced, turning to meet Simon’s gaze. “Tonight.” “What are you going to do?” Simon prompted, already afraid of the answer. Mal released his gun. “No more death,” he decided. “No more fear. No more of *any* of this fey-oo. I’m going to challenge Cornell to a gunfight to decide this.” Simon’s eyes widened. “You’re not serious.” There was a soft cough from the table, accompanied by a spike in vitals, and Simon and Mal immediately rushed to Gabriel. “Gabriel!” Mal exclaimed. “Gabriel!” “*Bad idea, Sarge,*” Gabriel croaked. Laughing aloud, Mal actually stooped to wrap Gabriel in an embrace. “You son of a bitch!” he laughed. “How dare you!” Simon stared in shock at Gabriel’s vitals, scanning the information frantically. “I... I don’t understand any of this!” Mal finally stood. “Wait a minute! How is this a bad idea?” Gabriel coughed again, his right hand sliding questioningly along the edge of the table. “Cornell’s better’n ya give him credit fer.” “He’s blind,” Simon explained. “Probably only temporary. Same with the throat swelling and the partial paralysis.” “I know how you shoot, Mal,” Gabriel continued, his hoarse voice becoming a bit clearer. “Yer good. Fact, yer *great*. But Cornell is still faster.” Mal crossed his arms before his chest. “Okay.” Gabriel cleared his constricted throat again. “Ya got one thing on him. Accuracy. Use that.” Mal frowned. “How can I use accuracy if Cornell’s faster? Apparently, with a rep like that, he must be able to shoot straight, or he’d be dead right now an’ savin’ me the trouble.” Gabriel closed his glazed eyes and inhaled deeply, and the two men nearly decided he was asleep. Finally, he continued with, “There was a lawman. Later nineteenth century Earth. Bill Hickock.” “I’ve heard of him,” Simon informed. “I haven’t,” Mal returned. “Hickock is prob’ly one of the most famous western American lawmen of that era. An’ he weren’t lightning-quick, an’ he couldn’t shoot a tick off a dog’s back at thirty paces. But he still won his fights.” “How?” Simon urged. Gabriel swallowed thickly. “It ain’t about who’s fastest, an’ it ain’t entirely about accuracy. It’s about who stays the calmest, the surest.” “So yer sayin’ I’m gonna win,” Mal prompted, “or I ain’t?” “I’m sayin’ I don’t know. It could go either way.” Gabriel suddenly grinned. “I’m puttin’ my money on you jus’ cuz yer such a ruttin’ badass.” Mal laughed, patting Gabriel on the chest. “Whatever you say, Kid.” “One more suggestion,” Gabriel added. “Shoot. No pun intended.” “Duly noted.” Gabriel inhaled deeply once more. “I think you should take Simon with you.” “In case I get shot?” Gabriel shook his head slowly. “In case you get in a tight spot.” Mal frowned and Simon’s eyes became saucer-sized again. “*What?!*” Simon uttered. Without missing a beat, Gabriel snagged Mal’s weapon from its holster and blindly aimed it directly at Simon’s face. None of the three men moved a muscle. As serious a face as ever displayed, Gabriel stated, “You didn’t flinch.” Simon’s eyes were locked on the barrel that was mere inches from his nose. “How... did you-” “I just know. Ain’t important. The question you *should* be askin’ is... ‘*Why* didn’t I flinch?’” More silence ensued. Cocking a strange grin, Gabriel twisted the gun backward in his hand and held the grip shakily toward Mal. “When ya figure out that answer, then ya come back an’ we’ll talk.” He then collapsed in utter fatigue and was soon unconscious. *************************************************************************

As soon as Mal and Simon exited the infirmary, Kaylee rushed into her lover’s arms. “Simon! Is he-” “Alive. Awake. Against every medical fiber in my being, he’s going to make it.” Kaylee squealed, pressing her tear-streaked face against his chest. Mal locked gaze with Inara, and she suddenly found that she couldn’t break the contact. She’d seen a similar look in his eyes in the moments after Shepherd Book died in his arms. This look was different, however. This look was a brand-new side of Reynolds that had never been seen before. “Mal-” she stammered, barely able to speak. Mal sighed, his gaze drifting to the floor. His head came back up to meet her gaze again. “It’s over. It’s over, and they don’t even know it yet.” “What’re ya gonna do, Captain?” Kaylee inquired worriedly, twisting in Simon’s embrace. Mal remained staring at Inara for a moment. “I’m takin’ Cornell. By myself.” Tears stung Inara’s eyes as anger built. “No, you’re not!” Mal stared at her curiously. “I’m not?” Inara took several stalking steps forward, looking as menacing as she ever had. “Malcolm Reynolds, I have heard some ridiculous plans come out of your mouth before, but this is, by far, the *stupidest,* most *senseless,* most utterly *idiotic* thing I have *ever* heard in my entire life!! What the *hell* is wrong with you?!??” Mal didn’t explode. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even get the least bit angry. This upset Inara all the more, as every emotion imaginable coalesced throughout her soul like rapids tearing through rocks. “I have to, Inara,” he explained quietly. “I’ve seen too many people die for too many stupid reasons, and I can’t let that happen. Not this time.” Trembling, Inara felt tears on her cheeks. “I won’t let you do this,” she croaked. “You stupid, stupid man, I *won’t.*” Mal took another step forward until they were a foot apart. “Yes, you will.” Inara wanted to fall to the deck, to fall into Mal’s arms, to curl up in her shuttle in the dark and never see light again. She stood before him, saying nothing and doing nothing. Mal reached out and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll come back,” he promised, and although he did not say it, Inara heard the completed sentence as clearly as a pane of new glass. *I’ll come back to you.*

“Gorram it to hell, I fold!” Tinksy exclaimed, throwing his cards violently on the table. Grinning like a jester, Bull swept his chip winnings to his side of the table. “Sure yeh don’t wanna play, Boss?” Chester prompted. “Game ain’t too much fun with only three.” “I don’t wanna play,” Mitch informed them, scrubbing the wire brush back and forth in his third drum chamber. “I wanna clean my bloody gun.” “Yeh clean that ruttin’ thing more often than yeh clean yerself,” Bull observed. “Why don’tcha try-” “I *said,*” Mitch repeated, “I don’t wanna-” The door blew inward, ripped from its hinges. It cleaved the card table right out from between the three players, and before anyone could move, there were three guns aimed at three of the four men by three very angry-looking men from Davin’s crew. “Which one’s Cornell?” the Browncoat demanded authoritatively. The big guy that was there when Davin was OD’d pointed. “That scrawny rutter.” The Browncoat directed the big guy and a prissy-looking fellow to eyeball the men at the table. He stalked over to Mitch, who still held his empty revolver in his lap, and butt-stroked the man across the face with his shotgun. When Mitch could see again, the barrel was pressed into his throat. “Do I have your attention?” Silently, Mitch nodded. “Tomorrow,” the Browncoat growled. “Eight a.m. You be there, you be armed, and you meet me in the street. I die, my crew leaves this planet and never comes back. You die, and your gang leave us the *hell* alone. Do I have your cooperation?” Again, Mitch nodded. “Good,” the man agreed. “I’d kill ya now, Cornell, but yer boss would just send more men.” He eased his finger on the trigger, then stopped. “Oh, and one more thing.” He loomed even more menacingly over the frozen Mitch. “Malcolm Reynolds.” He jabbed the barrel forward violently, and Mitch began coughing, gagging, and vomiting. “I’m Malcolm Reynolds. Remember that name.” The three men exited the room as swiftly as they had entered, leaving Mitch to cradle his throat on the floor.