My second ever bit of fanfic, yay! Takes place post BDM, and is the sequel to my previous work ‘Live by the sword, Die by the sword’. This one features the BDH’s as they are post BDM (oh so many abbreviations) and their encounter with the… ah what the heck you’ll find out for yourselves. Thanks to all those who commented on my last piece, it really helped, what with the advice and encouragement and all that jazz. Same as last time, all comments welcome even critism if its constructive. Obviously I don’t own Firefly or Serenity…blah blah blah… Joss Whedon rules the world…blah blah blah… Hope that you like it. Yay fanfic! Enjoy!

The job had gone well for the crew of Serenity, and the payment that they had received from Badger would keep them flying for a couple of months at least. Currently everyone was relaxing with what they had bought using their share of the profits. Kaylee and Simon were ‘relaxing’ in their bunk, a euphemism that Simon insisted on using for River’s benefit, even though he was fairly certain that his sister knew what they up, what with her being psychic and all that. The two of them had been growing closer and closer in the eight months since the events on Miranda, but they were trying to be discreet about their love, for Zoë’s sake. Zoë herself was in her bunk having a moment of quiet reflection. She sat alone in the dark weeping with one of Wash’s Hawaiian shirts clutched to her chest like a new born child. It had been harder for her than for the others. To carry on after the death of her husband had been even harder than picking herself in the aftermath of the battle of Serenity Valley. Everyday was a trial of fire, but it was becoming easier. Already her memories of their time together were beginning to sweeten, with the good lingering on and the bad fading into oblivion. Jayne had picked up a new gun in the market on Persephone and was in the cargo bay trying to get used to the feel of the thing. The Feds were swarming around the docks like ants whose ant-hill had just been kicked, but that said every border world was that way lately and there are some trades that carry on regardless. It was a modified Desert Eagle, with a built in sight and some additional ammo and a silencer thrown in by the salesman, on account of his intimidating manner. Jayne was…well Jayne was Jayne. It would take more than few near death experiences to make him change his ways, or at least that’s what he liked to tell himself. But the truth is that a whole heap of hurt was rising up on the horizon and threatening to engulf all of the crew, Jayne included. Mal was asleep in his bunk, but the insistent beeping of the comm soon put an end to that. Groaning slightly he pulled himself upright and pushed the button that allowed him to talk to whoever was calling at…a quick check of his clock revealed that on the little backwater planet that he had bought it was now well past noon. “Mal? Mal? Are you there--”, Inara’s honeyed and sibilant voice was cut off as Mal picked up. Thing had been going better between him and Inara lately, that is to say that they were fighting less and had actually been able to have a couple of conversations with each other without resorting to petty jibes. Right now she was up in the cockpit keeping an eye on River, who was managing much better these days but was still prone to the occasional out burst of craziness, and the one place that you don’t want that happening unchecked is in the cockpit. “Mornin Inara, what’s the matter”, Mal replied still not quite woken up yet. “There’s someone on the wave for you. He says that his name is Monty, it sounds pretty urgent”, came the reply. In the background Mal could hear River humming gently to herself but at the mention of the message she had gone very quiet. Mal smiled to himself and hastily began to pull on some clothes. They hadn’t run into Monty since their last little encounter with his dear one time wife Saffron (or Brigitte, or Yolanda, or any number of other names that Mal could conjure) and it’d be good to talk to the old sasquatch again after all this time. Now fully dressed and awake Mal hit the comms button and the screen in font of his blossomed into life. He was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted his eyes. It was Monty alright but he looked considerably worse for wear than when Mal had last seen him. Fear made Monty’s eyes wide, there was a large gash across his temple was slowly oozing blood across his face where it was caught to congeal in his already matted moustache and a large black bruise was forming over his left eye. In the background Mal could hear screaming and gunfire. “Monty what the hell--”, Mal began but he was soon cut off by his friend. “There ain’t time to explain Mal so just shut your clam and listen. Your in danger, all of you on that damn boat of yours” “Monty what the hell are you talkin about? Are you in some sorta predicament”, said Mal, shocked, and confusion written across his face. “Dammit Mal don’t worry about me, I’m good and dead as things stand right now. I sealed the cabin door but I doubt if that’ll hold him for long”, replied Monty a small spark of determination burning in those fear laden eyes as the sounds of screaming and death grew louder and closer. “Now just let me speak, gorrammit, there ain’t time! We picked him up on Persephone two days back, the fella said he wanted passage to Boros and was willin’ to pay mighty handsomely for the trouble. So we brings him on board and everything’s fine, the guy kept mostly to his self, but then tonight at dinner he starts asking questions about folks we know, about our families; about you guys”. Monty paused for a second to wipe the sweat and gore that covered his face onto the back of his sleeve. The racket of the slaughter was right outside the door. “Before we knew what was happenin he’d killed three of the crew with knifes that he pulled from God knows where. We tried to stop him but we just couldn’t seem to bring him down and by the time Harris was able to get a couple rounds out of his shotgun he’d gone. We tried to track him down but he just kept pickin’ off like cattle. Mal. He fights like a Reaver Mal. He’s commin’ for you Mal, sure as the stars in the sky he’ll be commin’ for you and yours” Suddenly the sounds of carnage stopped and the deathly silence that followed was broken by the crash as the cabin door burst inwards. Monty turned, his back to the vid-link blocking out the picture, but sound remained. And that alone was enough to chill Mal to the bone, as a new voice rang out over the comm, a voice laden with scorn and malice and yet as cold as winter’s heart. “Ah there you are Mr Montgomery, I must admit you really are rather spry for such a generously proportioned gentleman, aren’t you now” An element of chiding and regret entered the voice. “You really should have answered my questions Mr Montgomery, all of this ruckus could have been easily avoided” “I won’t tell you nothing you mangy dog”, growled Monty, “You’ll have to kill me first!” The new voice laughed, a mad, grim, completely humourless laugh. “All in good time Mr Montgomery, all in good time. But first I will allow you one final chance to cooperate. Answer my questions truthfully and no harm shall befall you” “Go to hell you slimy piece of gos se”. There was silence for a moment before the unseen attacker answered in a voice brimming with barely controlled anger. “Wrong answer” The sound of gunfire rang out, like a thunderbolt at midnight, and the screen went blank. Mal stood stock still for a moment, but then he was up the ladder out of his cabin and pounding along the corridor towards the bridge.

* * * * * The Hunter stood at the helm of the battle cruiser IAV Sejanus and surveyed the heavens that sat enticingly beyond the window. That is what he called himself now, the Hunter. He no longer considered himself an Operative, although of course that was the title he was known by. After all, for him to call himself an Operative would be akin to a wolf calling itself a lamb. Around him the crew went about their tasks and duties, but the Hunter kept his eyes fixed on the heavens. Gradually and with infinite casualness the transport vessel which he had been on just an hour before, drifted across his view and was detonated by a series of artillery blasts from the Sejanus’s anti-ship weapons. The Hunter could still hear the sounds of carnage and slaughter ringing inside his skull, he’d actually been surprised by the way that the crew of that clunking smuggler’s ship had been able to coordinate some sort of resistance. It might even have worked… on a lesser man. Suddenly something broke the Hunter out of his reverie. It took him a moment before he was able to place exactly what it was that had attracted his attention but once he did it was as if his senses had been kicked into overdrive. It was a scent, lily of the valley, so faint that he doubted very much that anyone else had noticed it. He smiled to himself of all the changes that the good Dr Stockman had made to him this had to be one of the most enjoyable. He wasn’t quite clear what had been done to him by the new head of the Academy’s Special Projects division (following the untimely death of the dear Dr Matthias), there must have been a memory suppressant mixed into the anaesthetic he’d been given. Still it really didn’t matter, the Hunter lived to follow orders not to question them and they had been perfectly clear, even the part about ‘turning the Alliance’s greatest failure into its greatest asset’. But where was that marvellous scent coming from? The Hunter inhaled deeply scanning the bridge for its source. It didn’t take him long to find it. The scent drifted lazily from the body of an ensign currently seated at the radar station over to his left. Her plain grey Alliance military uniform concealed a form that the Hunter, before his interment into the ranks of the Operatives, would have described as petit. Now he described it as…delectable. Her supple curved neck, white as alabaster and smooth as silk. A face so pert and prim. Such fine flesh. Flesh so fine. So fine to tear, to gash the skin; skin to strip, to plait, so nice to plait the strips, so nice, so nice the blood that falls, sticky blood, warm blood, blood so sweet, so sweet the blood; sweet screams, pretty screams, singing screams, scream your songs, sing your screams… With an effort the Hunter pulled himself back from the brink and forced the beast within him clawing and screeching back into the darkness of his soul. They come out of the dark. They come when you call. He’d heard that somewhere before, long ago but the memory of it eluded him. With invisible effort he composed himself and began once more to run through his plan, the goal of which, and nothing short of this ultimate goal would be acceptable in his eyes, was nothing less than the death of Captain Malcolm Reynolds and Miss River Tam by the most excruciating method that his mind could devise. Already the trap was set the message sent by the dear walrus faced captain of the transport vessel, which now existed as so much twisted debris floating in the depths of space, would send the crew of Serenity scurrying for cover like the little vermin they are. And once they did that he simply had to find them, which should be no trial. After all they were so damn predictable. The Hunter turned away from the prow of the Sejanus and strode away in the direction of the elevator, but stopped in his tracks as he caught another lazy waft of lily of the valley. So sweet the skin, to strip, to plait… The Hunter turned on his heels and confronted the source of that beguiling scent, a look of purest, icy innocence on his face. “Ensign I require a report on all of the transmissions sent by Alliance authorities regarding Firefly class vessels in the last eight months, be so kind as to bring it to cabin”, he intoned, his voice like a knife hidden beneath silk, a deadly edge concealed beneath a soft veneer. The Hunter turned away and smiled darkly to himself, his face contorted by disturbing shadows. One evening of vice, as payment for a lifetime of virtue.