“Still can’t see, my Makeshift Captain?” River inquired as she leaned forward on the stool to slide her hands and face across Gabriel’s body. “Nope,” Gabriel replied, placing his arms around her. “My doctor tells me that you didn’t freak out.” River shook her head against Gabriel’s chest. “I knew you’d be all right all along. Still, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. There was... something I had to do.” “But you didn’t freak out,” Gabriel repeated. “Yer gettin’ better.” A small shudder ran through River’s limber frame. “No, Gabriel. I’m not getting better.” Her hands tensed their grip on his chest. “In fact, I’m getting worse.” Gabriel stiffened as an icy shock rocketed through his core. “*What?*” he breathed. River sighed. “I’m starting to get... My ‘moments’ are returning. Brief and infrequently, but it’s accelerating. Moments where I don’t know where I am or what’s going on...” Her voice began to crack, and she started trembling. Gabriel pulled his love onto the table with him and cradled her in his arms. “Shh...” he soothed. “We just have to tell Simon about this.” River nodded. “I know.” “You should have told him as soon as they started coming back,” Gabriel scolded gently. “I have my life back,” River whimpered. “I don’t want to lose it again; I *can’t* lose it again.” She pressed on Gabriel so hard that, in a figurative universe, she could have crushed her own body against his. “I love you *so* much, Gabriel, and I... I can’t...” “River,” Gabriel urged, “if all else fails, you have to remember one thing.” River turned her head to look at him with watery, brown eyes. “Me,” Gabriel murmured. “No matter what happens, or where you go inside, I will *always* be right here with you. *For* you.” He hugged her tightly. “We’ll get through this together.” “I know, Gabriel, but it will be more difficult than you think,” River revealed. Gabriel frowned at her. “What do you mean?” Tears streaming down her face, River buried herself in his chest once again. In a muffled, choked voice, she managed, “Malcolm Reynolds will die tomorrow morning.” *************************************************************************

“It’s just so gorram... *weird,*” Jayne confided as he paced the floor in the farmhouse basement. “Jus’ when I think Mal can’t get any more noodle-legged, he goes an’ pulls a stunt like *this*.” Still tied to her chair, Helen offered, “Maybe he’s lost it.” Jayne frowned at her for a moment, then shook his head. “If Mal lost his mind, it happened a *long* time ago. That’s what’s weirdin’ me out so bad. This decision’s so damned... spur-uh-the-moment, yet at the same time...” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “It don’t surprise me at all.” “Came off a little strong, did he?” Jayne heaved a heavy sigh. “He shoved a shotgun into a man’s throat an’ made him remember his *name*.” He paused for a moment, then continued to pace the floor. “Mal’s got his weak moments an’ his strong moments, but...” He halted to run a hand across the pebbled, unpainted surface of the basement wall. “I ain’t seen nothin’ like this since... Well, since Haven got hit.” “He’s returning to his war sergeant roots?” Helen ventured. Jayne shrugged. “Hell, I dunno, I jus’...” He narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Why the *hell* am I consultin’ *you?!??* Yer the *enemy*. Yer tied to a chair in my basement so’s I can recollect data from yer stores.” Helen chortled quietly. “You mean you *collate*, not *recollect*.” “There ya go,” Jayne offered. “Go fer it. *Mock* my English. See if I care.” Helen shook her head. “I’m just wondering if your Chinese is as bad as your English.” “Chu ni duh,” Jayne retorted. Helen gave him a quirky, smug smirk. “Cussing doesn’t exactly count as proper Chinese, Cowboy.” “If I can hit target at five hunderd yards with a bent scope,” Jayne boasted, “why the ruttin’ point’ve worryin’ ‘bout how I talk?” Helen shrugged. “Oh, I dunno... Respect?” Jayne coughed a false laugh. “Respect?!??” he repeated. “Right, so I gotta stop sayin’ ‘ain’t’ jus’ to get a li’l respect around here, when I can...” He shook his head. “Yer the *enemy!!* Why am I even *talkin’* to ya like this?” Helen sighed. “We’re not enemies, Jayne, we’re just...” She wiggled her shoulders in a ‘My arms are tired from being bound to a chair for two days ’ sort of way. This bounced her unkempt, unwashed, frazzled blond hair from north and west to east and south and back again. “We’re just two *persons* on opposing sides of a singular, monotone battle.” Jayne continued his pacing as he grinned condescendingly. “Right. Ya *didn’t* just give the exact description of enemies.” *************************************************************************

“Mal,” Inara’s voice chimed from behind him in the kitchen of the Davin’s household. Disallowing the call from affecting his motions, the captain continued to oil the action mechanism of his well-manufactured, yet longtime-historic weapon of choice. He squinted at a bit of something, muttered to himself, and continued his preparations. “Mal,” Inara repeated, this time louder and harder. “Inara,” Mal returned swiftly as he snapped the ejection cowl back into place and slid its pin into its designated position. Inara moved to stand next to him as he aimed his firearm at the far wall and worked the hammer. *Nice, smooth... Satisfactory.* Inara sighed. “Mal, talk to me. Please?” Mal pulled the hammer back again, this time pulling the trigger. The hammer slammed into the firing pin with a satisfactory *snap*. He repeated this action twice more. *If this baby gums up tomorrow, then I’m the purtiest woman who ever came outta Shadow*. “Why? Got a new arsenal of insults worked up?” Inara took the seat to Mal’s left at the table. “No, Mal. No insults. I just want to speak with you.” “Then speak.” Mal placed his gun gently on the table before him and picked up one of the bullets. He inspected it meticulously for a moment before setting it on the table next to the others he would carry. Inara laced her hands on the tabletop and pressed her forehead down upon them. “Mal, there has to be a better way.” “Like what?” Mal began to load his weapon. “Run again? Find a new place to hide?” “Yes!” Inara exclaimed. “Yes, Malcolm! We move on, and we try again. What’s wrong with that?” Mal paused in his reloading for a moment. “No, Inara.” He continued his loading once again. “Not this time.” Inara reached out and pressed her hand against both of Mal’s. “Mal, stop for just a minute and listen to me.” Mal returned the items to the table and turned toward Inara for the first time during the entire conversation. “Inara, we have been walked all over, with our asses on fire to boot, fer so long, I can barely see straight. First, it was Simon an’ River, an’ those blue-hand psychos who were chasin’ ‘em. That ain’t even mentionin’ the bounty hunters. Then, it was the Operative, an’ Miranda, an’ Wash an’ Shepherd an’ all those other folk.” He paused for a breath. “Then, it was Gab, an’ with him came Ritter an’ Foster an’ this new Dante bastard. After that, it was this laser deal went south, makin’ me an’ my crew the biggest fugitives from the law in decades. “An’ *now,* some scum scraped offa the bottom of a rancher’s boot poisoned the only part of my old life, ‘sides Zoe, that I *got,* an’ I happen to love him like damn near a son, though he’s a bit old fer that. Gab’s *still* laid up, an’ shoulda *died*. We’ve been runnin’ scared an’ beat up an’ tired an’, an’, an’ *losing* fer the past *year*.” He was so upset that he felt his hands shaking and his face heating up. Inara squeezed Mal’s hands with hers. “I know, Mal.” Mal shook his head. “I dunno. I guess I just finally hit a point where I’ve snapped, but if we can survive all of that, I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let us get run off again by some po-dunk Scottish punks in rural Hera over a spot of land.” He closed his eyes again for a moment, breathing deeply to clear his head and calm his nerves. “It’s a principle, Inara. I gotta put a stop to this sometime, even if it only serves as an example.” After a moment of silence, Inara softly murmured, “I went to see how Gabriel was doing.” Mal’s eyes opened again. “Yeah?” Inara nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the table. “River says you’re going to die tomorrow.” Mal was stunned as he stared at Inara. It was then that he noticed the trickle of teardrop running from the corner of her left eye and down her cheek. “Inara,” he ventured gently, “do you really think I’d be doin’ this if I didn’t know I was gonna win it?” Inara finally looked back. “I don’t know. Would you?” Mal set his jaw. “Good question, I reckon,” he admitted, pulling one of his hands away to wipe the tear from Inara’s cheek. Inara sniffled a bit. “Thank you.” Mal nodded his head once in return. “There’s no talking you down from this,” Inara guessed, “is there?” Mal shook his head. “Sails unfurled. Course set. I’m sorry.” Inara nodded. “I’m not going to be there.” Mal nodded. “I didn’t expect you would.” Inara stood from her chair. She reached out to place a hand gently on Mal’s head for a moment. Then, she covered her mouth with her hand and moved swiftly from the room. *************************************************************************

“Report,” Damian spoke in the direction of the Comm. “*After visiting any and all family friends and relatives,*” Sera began, “*I finally paid a visit to the Tam residence. I am confident that the Tams have neither seen nor heard anything at all from their children in over a year. Additionally, all they know of Reynolds is what they’ve heard on the news*.” “You are confident, you say?” Damian questioned for clarification. Sera nodded once curtly. “*I am confident that Osirius is clear, and am en route to Sihnon to negotiate with the authorities present and question the residents of the Companion House*.” Damian pressed his lips together and nodded knowingly. “I thought Osirius to be a long shot, but we can’t afford to leave any bases uncovered. You’ve done well.” Sera kept his stony bearing. “*Is there anything else?*” “Yes,” Damian replied. “You were to be the last to report to me. Instead, I find that it is Hayze.” Still impassive, Sera suggested, “*Perhaps she was detained.*” “Perhaps.” Damian leaned back in his chair. “If not, it is inexcusable for her to miss her window. I am cutting the search short. Forget the Guild, for now, and return here, as I will direct the others. If Hayze fails to make contact in six hours, we will assume Priority status and go to Hera directly.” “*Understood,*” Sera declared before cutting the link. Damian sat in his quarters, pondering whether or not to contact Foster. *No,* he decided. *Unless I have something substantial, I don’t want to have to deal with that man*. Damian reached out to trace circles on his cold, polished steel desktop with a finger. *I can’t help but let it nag at me. What does the Operative have to do with all of this?* *************************************************************************

As Zoe pulled the mule around a corner, she caught sight of the captain tying his horse to a post. His head turned at the sound of the vehicle and stepped from his ride to greet them. “Toldja I didn’t need ya,” he called as Zoe powered down the mule. “Expected ya, anyhow.” “Wouldn’t wanna miss all the action, Sir,” Zoe replied. “If I had money on this action,” Jayne added in support as he dropped to the ground, “I’d definitely-” “Won’t be much of it, I conjure,” Mal returned, glancing around. “Action, I mean.” Simon and Kaylee clambered down from their seats. “Huh, that’s mosta the crew. Should I be expectin’ a certain young Albatross to be draggin’ a blind kid in any minute?” “Gab’s been moved to the house so’s River can keep an eye on our prisoner,” Kaylee explained. “Ah,” Mal intoned. “And, um... How’s Inara-” “The hell yeh waitin’ fer, Reynolds?!” Cornell’s voice called from a distance down the street. “Yeh wanned a fight, aye? Or are yeh gonna play kiss-kiss with yer mates?” “Zoe,” Mal muttered, “just... if-” “I got it...” Zoe interjected. *If it...* “...Sarge. I’ll take care of them.” *************************************************************************

Mal grasped his old friend’s shoulder for just a moment before Kaylee’s arms were wrapping around him. *Hell. Ain’t like I’ve never-* “Another five seconds, an’ the bullet’s goin’ through yer neck, yeh ruttin’ Nancy!!” Cornell shouted, moving away from his sidelined gang. Without another word, Mal pulled from Kaylee’s sudden arms and strolled purposefully into the street. He faced Cornell, who was squared thirty meters away in the dust-blown street of Hatchet. “We gonna do this the old way, or the sneaky way?!” he called. As a curt response, Cornell’s revolver was clear of its holster in the time it took Mal to focus his own weapon. There was a hot, fierce burn in his left upper arm, and it took Mal a moment to realize that he’d been knocked back a step. Almost in slow-motion, he saw Cornell hit the dirt from the thigh wound that the particularly-placed bullet from Mal’s gun had created. “Yer down!” Mal called over the distance, his own voice sounding hollow in his ears. “Let’s leave it at that!” His head was already feeling dizzy, but he refused to let it affect his judgement. Not in a situation such as this. “Yeh got it, Pal!” Cornell called back. “I’m done!” Mal didn’t like the feel of the hot, sticky blood flowing down his arm and dripping from his limp fingertips. “Throw yer gun, an’ I’ll leave town.” Time slowed again as Mal witnessed Cornell’s gun snapping back to position. Cornell squinted as he took aim, while at that exact instant, Mal’s line found a certain forehead. Everything went so still, that the dust froze in the air like mist on a calm day. When time began again, Cornell dropped the rest of the way to the ground, blood oozing from a brand-new cavity in his face. *Thank God,* Mal thought for the first time in years. He couldn't believe that he'd just thought it. It had been almost as if it were natural. Immediately thereafter, a strange feeling crept through his body. *************************************************************************

Kaylee screamed as Mal hit the dirt like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Before anyone else in the foursome could blink, Simon was at Mal’s side, inspecting the situation for a split fraction of a second. Without further hesitation, he tore Mal’s shirt open and inspected the wound. *Chest, left side, possible aortal positioning...* “We won,” Mal boasted quietly, his right arm, now missing a gun, flapping absently. “I got ‘im.” “We’re getting the mule right now, Captain,” Simon assured the bleeding patient. “Just-” He cut himself off as Mal’s eyes slid shut and his head and arm slumped to the dirt. Zoe pressed two fingers to Mal’s throat. “He ain’t got a pulse,” she gave in a monotone. “He’s... *dead?*” Jayne wondered numbly. “*No...*” Simon whispered. “*Noo!!!*” he screamed. “Get the mule!!” Of course, Zoe was already sprinting toward the vehicle. “It’s *not* done yet, you bastard!” Simon raved as he began compressions. “It’s *not* over until I *say* it’s over!! *Zoe!!!*” he shouted over his shoulder. “Get that mule over here *right now!!!*”