Title: Tough

Rating: PG. For now, but it could bump up. Will bump up.

Characters: the whole crew, plus the Pirate Children and Alistair Caramia (the latter are mine, the rest are Joss's)

Pairings: Canon pairings. I will openly admit that I heavily, heavily favor Mal and Inara and the Reynolds Family.

Summary: Yet another Pirate Children story. Set twenty-eight years post-BDM. A not-so-fluffy (but still slightly fluffy) look at the future. Serenity's adjusting to her grown children.

Author's Note: This one's gonna be controversial. It's not light, it's not fluffy, and Serra is no longer cute and prococious. There are now twelve adults trying to live on Serenity and be useful. Abe's in medacad. And all will be revealed in time. This skips almost a decade from Hell-Raising and though the first chapter doesn't answer any more questions than it raises, details will either be filled in by the characters or by later PC fics.

For newbies: Brother, Shadow, Mischief, Pirate Children, Hell-Raising (whew, that list is getting long) Kacey Washburn, 27 Lolly Tam, 26 Abe Reynolds, 24 (medacad on Ariel) Serra Reynolds, 19 Alistair Caramia (ladies don't reveal their ages)

Part 1

“Dress it up like ya like, empire is empire is Alliance,” Serra says, holding the big, burly man’s eyes steadily, and then takes a large sip of her mug of local brew. “Gorrammit Mal,” the man Serra calls Uncle Monty laughs thunderously, “Ya’ve raised yourself a right little Browncoat.” “Yeah, noticed that,” Mal sighs, likewise nursing a beer. He looks uncomfortable at his daughter’s political ramblings. “Wasn’t working on it; just happened on its own.” “Despite my best efforts,” Inara says from beside him, sipping on a much more girly drink. Serra continues to discuss the state of the ‘verse from her view, where the Independents went wrong and where they could go right. The whole thing scares Mal more than a mite. She sounds like he did before joining up, except a helluva lot more intelligent. Guess that’s his punishment for marrying above himself and taking that Caramia tutor aboard. It’s just strange for him: his genius son seems to have nothing particular against the Alliance, in fact is profiting from their fine higher education, studying medicine on Ariel. But Serra’s always had a deep-seeded indignation against purple-bellies. “They’re taking our sky, Daddy,” she used to tell him as a little girl whenever Serenity got stopped by an Alliance patrol. While Mal hasn’t exactly made his peace with the Alliance, he’s devoted himself to more personal matters ever since Miranda. He did his part in weakening the Alliance, now he’s earned the right to wife and children and some semblance of stability. He doesn’t understand how a little girl schooled by two Core-born ladies becomes a vehement Independent at nineteen. Mal has begun to regret kicking her off the boat for six months. He did it to help her assert her independence, not her Independence, but something happened in her wanderings, something she’s never spoken of, that turned her completely against their government. Serra checks her watch briefly. “Sorry, Uncle Monty. I’d love to continue the conversation later, but for now, I’ve gotta help Kacey and Aunt Zoe on a run.” She extends a hand to the big man, who shakes her hand roughly as she rises. “I’ll hold you to that conversation, Mei-Mei. I’ll buy ya another round when you get back.” “Monty, stop getting my daughter drunk. Look at her: she’s tiny.” Serra smiles, sloppy like her father, then kisses her mother’s temple before bidding farewell. She walks out of the bar, hand resting on the butt of the pistol strapped to her hip. Mal can’t help the little thrill of pride that works its way into his heart. Serra Reynolds is not one easily messed with. “You doin’ any work of your own these days, Reynolds?” Monty teases. “Or just sendin’ the younger, prettier version of you out? Did I mention smarter?” “Hey,” Mal says roughly, “She got half of her smarts from me. ‘Sides, the boat’ll be hers some time in the not-so-distant future.” “Not the boy?” Monty asks. “Ain’t he much older?” “Five years,” Inara supplies. “He’s at a medical academy in the Core right now.” “Ah, so he’s gonna be a doctor. Well now, that’s a mite more surprisin’ than your little Browncoat. Word in the biz-ness is your little girl’s quite the shot. You got Zoe teachin’ her?” “When I’m not looking,” Inara smiles, noticing Mal’s discomfort. She’s not exactly happy about how well Serra takes to her father’s profession, but she is coming to terms with it. Loving the daughter is much like loving the father, and once Inara fully convinced herself of that, things became easier between them. Inara deftly changes the subject. “So, Monty, how’s your business?”

***

Mal eventually invites Monty back to Serenity for dinner, checking in with Wash in the cockpit while Inara and Ally prepare that night’s meal. “Everybody aboard?” “Not yet, Captain,” Wash says, just a trace of worry in his voice. “Zoe and the kids just checked in. They’ll be here within five.” “They sound okay?” “Kacey sounded peachy. Mei was cussin’ up a storm, but that could mean anything.” Mal smirks a little. His little one does have a mouth like the true spacer she’s grown into. He takes his leave and heads down the cargo bay, Monty’s great laugh filling the halls of Serenity while he talks to the ladies. After a few minutes of securing cargo, the mule pulls up, Kacey at the helm. Zoe hops out as soon as her son parks the mule, extending a hand to Serra. Serra uses her aunt to get onto the edge of the mule and then hops down easily. Her right arm is held protectively against her chest, definitely injured, but there are no obvious bullet holes. A good run for Serra. “You okay?” Mal calls, trying not to sound too concerned. He doesn’t need her on his case about being an overprotective dad for the next week. She wants to be treated like an adult, like Aunt Zoe, and Mal’s doing his best to accommodate her. It’s hard. “Dislocated my elbow,” Serra says with a cocky grin. She has a high pain threshold and barely winces when Kacey accidentally brushes past her. “Hey, something smells good!” the young man grins, sniffing the air. Serra rolls her eyes. “Uncle Simon aboard?” “In the infirmary, I’m sure,” Mal says, making his way over to her. He gestures to her arm, a silent question to see it. She nods, and he gently lifts it, wincing with her. “That’s a right unnatural angle, daughter-mine.” “You should see the other guy’s nose.” Mal shakes his head. “Run over to Simon, get it looked at. Mama and Ally are puttin’ dinner on the table soon. Monty’s here.” She grins at him and heads to the infirmary. He wants more for her than this, despite the pride he feels when she performs so well. She was supposed to be more than a “petty” crook like her old man, supposed to go off and be successful, like her big brother. That’s what half of him thinks. The other half reminds him that he’s been grooming her as his replacement since she started toddling, that he’s raised her to be Serenity’s next captain. And he’s known for a while that she’s much darker than her brother and mama, saw it in her eyes as young as nine, underneath her carefree laughter and silly pranks. She killed her first man only three years ago, but shot her first man at twelve. She didn’t flinch for a moment before or after her first kill, just protected her crew and kept going. As he heads back up the stairs, he hears an incredibly colorful Mandarin curse echo from the infirmary, followed by: “Aiya, Uncle Simon! I thought you were supposed to put it back, not break it in half!” Ten minutes later, they all sit down to dinner, Serra’s slinged arm not slowing her down at all as she breaks into the meal. His women sit to his right and his left, mirror images of each other in looks but opposites in manner. “So, Mei-Mei, what’s the other guy look like?” Monty asks. “Not a tenth as pretty,” Serra grins, “Lonny thought he’d cop a feel while arguing down the price. I didn’t take too kindly to that.” “Or his nose,” Zoe adds with pride. “Smashed up real good. Blood everywhere.” “And his knee cap,” Kacey offers. “And his…” “Not at the dinner table,” Lolly sighs, smacking Kacey lightly. “Aww, Lolly, you’re my favorite little prude.” “But no shooting,” Serra assures her parents. “Didn’t want to use undue force. Our relationship with the Karlen family will be fine. They want us to wave ‘em when we get more of that funny spice from Sihnon.” “You’re saying you beat the go se out of Jorge Karlen’s youngest boy, and they still want to deal in the future?” Mal asks. He’s somewhat impressed. “Business is business,” Serra shrugs with her good shoulder. “Lonny Karlen was out of line. No one there disagreed.” “Completely out of line,” Kacey nods with a playful grin towards his youngest “cousin”. “I would’ve beat him up myself, Uncle Mal. If Mei hadn’t beaten me to it.” “Lotta talk over there, Washburn,” Serra says through a mouthful of protein. “Not ‘talk’ if it’s true, Mei. Pass the rolls.”

***

Kacey, Lolly, and Serra have escaped their parents, hitting a little bar near the ship. Usually at this time of night, when they were on a world, the younger members of Serenity (still called the kids even though Serra is nineteen and Kacey is twenty-six) would hit whatever nightlife there is to be found; frequent stops on Persephone make them regulars at a dance club near the Eavesdown docks. This little ball of dust, however, has nothing to offer besides a dingy little bar with barely decent beer. It is relatively crowded, not packed but not empty. The trio (finally used to being such) is camped by the bartender, reminiscing and trading jokes, most of them at their elder counterparts’ expense. “How about it, Kacey?” Lolly asks after downing the dregs of her beer. She hops off of the bar stool. “Game of billiards? Let’s see if you’ve gotten any better since Beaumonde.” “The balls copped out on Beaumonde. Wasn’t a fair game, Leila Lee.” “Then show me how to play, Killian Cobb,” the youngest Tam shoots back cheekily. “Hump you,” Kacey responds, sliding his glass back towards the barkeep and waving off any attempts at another. “Aiya, that’s practically incest,” Serra groans. “All manner of disturbing.” “Wanna join us, Mei-Mei?” Lolly asks. Serra gestures to her broken wing. “I’m disabled, sorry.” “Wanna keep our wager, then?” Lolly questions. “Loser takes the winner’s septic vac duties for a…” “Month,” Kacey says confidently. “You must love those toilets, Kacey,” Lolly laughs, kissing his cheek sisterly. She links her arm through his. “Let’s go, flyboy. You’re the ref, Mei-Mei!” Serra nods her acknowledgement, slowly working on her second and final brew of the night. She has a fairly high alcohol tolerance for someone her size, but she is 5’4” and 110 pounds. She prefers not to go home puking. The hairs on the back of her neck tingle, alerting her that she’s being watched. She glances surreptitiously behind her, searching for the watcher. She meets the brown eyes of a middle-aged woman over her right shoulder, but the woman’s gaze quickly skitters away. Serra furrows her brow, studying the woman for any threat. The stranger’s about fifty-five, hair obviously dyed red to hide any grays, with a face that must have once been beautiful but now was too tight, flawed by too many surgeries in attempts to recapture youth. She looks harmless, so Serra returns her attention to the pool game, still keeping an occasional eye on the woman as she watches Lolly do a victory dance after sinking a particularly nice shot.

***

The girl’s perceptive. The woman likes that. She’s been watching her, struck at first by how familiar her face is. It takes a few moments to place the face, and during that time the way the girl holds herself strikes the woman as well. That, too, is familiar, but from a different source. It is unsettling, until her brain processes the two together. Could…? No…. Impossible. The sources she is thinking about would never… procreate? But the girl is extraordinarily similar to a certain Companion from the woman’s past, a certain Companion the woman would much rather forget, but whose smirking face will remain ingrained in her memory forever, along with the memories of her year in an Alliance prison. And the set of her shoulders, relaxed but still on alert even with an arm slinged is reminiscent of... There’s a ruckus at the other end of the bar, and the girl turns around slowly, immediately analyzing the situation. Calling for her male friend over her shoulder, she calmly, arrogantly involves herself in the scene, where a local brigand seems to be harassing a young woman. “I believe the lady asked you to leave her alone, buddy,” the girl says, tapping the local boy on the shoulder. Oh, she’s definitely who the woman thinks she is. Only the descendant of Malcolm Reynolds would be stupid enough to get involved in such a thing, make such a high-handed, moral stand. A fight breaks out, the one-armed girl and the man with her quickly dispatching of the young buck. The local girl thanks them, then disappears from the bar. “Aiya, Serra Reynolds,” the young man laughs, throwing an arm around her shoulder as the third member of their group joins them, “You are all kinds of trouble.” “Maybehaps we shouldn’t mention this to the captain,” the young woman says as they make their way to the door, “Or Aunt ‘Nara.” Oh… this is definitely intriguing. The woman stands up quietly and trails the laughing trio back to their ship. As she follows them, she can hear the snippets of inane conversation, the young woman whining about the interruption to her billiards game and the young man crowing plenty about how he would have won. Their pace is meandering, but the girl, Serra Reynolds, is on alert, looking over her shoulder every few steps. Once she even stops her companions, hand on the gun at her hip, but the woman is still good enough at stealth and deception to remain undetected. They approach the ridiculously old Firefly (the woman can’t believe it’s still able to fly) and as they’re climbing the ramp, a bear of a man stumbles down, the young man steadying him before any havoc can be wrought. “Careful, Uncle Monty!” the young man cries, laughing and clapping his back. Aiya, who else from her past is going to show up? “Monty!” an equally inebriated, equally familiar voice calls from the cargo bay, drunkenly walking to the top of the ramp. Mal Reynolds, gray and a little thicker than she remembers, leans heavily on the hull of the ship waving. “Pleasure havin’ ya!” The young man turns to the women at his right. “Heads for Monty, tails for the captain.” “I’ll get my dad,” Serra sighs, climbing up to Mal and pushing her good shoulder under his arm, steadying him. “C’mon, Daddy, let’s get you to bed. Where’s Mama?” “Huh… Good question, Mei-Mei. Monty, you seen my wife?” “Yeah, Malcolm, she’s real pretty, I know…” Monty slurs back, leaning heavily on the young man. “We’ll find her,” Serra says, a grin on her face this time, rolling her eyes. “Remember I’m a cripple now and hold on to my good shoulder. We’re gonna take the steps really slowly, dong ma? Kacey, Lolly, can you get Uncle Monty?” “We’ll be right back, Mei,” the young woman calls back. “It was a shiny shindig you missed, baby-mine.” “We had some fun of our own. But let’s get you into bed; we have a pick up across town in the morning, just you and me.” Mal smiles. “How’d I get so lucky?” “By not puking on me. Because if you do, so help me, I will let you sleep on the catwalk. And then you’ll fall to your death, and the boat’ll be all mine.” “What’ll ya tell yer mama?” “Who says she’ll be upset?” a new voice says. The observer can just barely hear them now, their voices echoing through the cargo hold as the daughter helps the father up the stairs. They look over to the source of the new voice, the mother in a deep blue robe on the catwalk outside of the shuttle. Time has been far kinder to the mother than the observer, especially from such a distance. The hate still boils inside of the woman. “That’s right, Daddy. Mama’d probably throw a party.” Their voices fade away. The woman begins to plan.

TBC (*crosses fingers*)