Hey, thanks so much to everyone who read the first part. I appreciate the support. I wasn't gonna post this so soon, but I figured it was hard to tell if you wanted to keep reading or not just from that little prologue, so here's a little more to help you make up your minds. It's a bit shorter than I usually like my chapters, but oh well.

Thanks again!

*****

Chapter 1

Three Hours Earlier

Wash carefully drove the mule through the crowded streets of Corinth’s open-air marketplace, trying to avoid people, animals, and everything else. The sun was warm on his face and arms and his lips had settled into a comfortable smile. The Black was his home, it called to his soul, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like a good day planetside, mingling with people and enjoying the sights and sounds and smells. Well, most of the smells…

He had at least a couple hours before he was needed back on the ship, so he took his time with the purchases. Their last job had been one of the highly illegal kind which made for bad blood pressure while doing it, but nice payoffs when done. For the first time in a long while, they had real coin, and Mal had told him to splurge a little and go for some of that, what did people call it…oh yeah, real food.

Who knew shopping for little green vegetables could be so much fun?

Once he’d bought all the nice, fresh, yummy things he dared, including using a little of his own coin to get Kaylee a few of those strawberries he knew she loved so much, Wash moved on to the more practical, mundane parts of the shopping. He bought a case of protein, just to be safe, arranged for someone to stop by and top off Serenity’s water tanks, and grabbed the other stuff they were running low on like shampoo, laundry detergent, band-aids… Finally, after fifteen minutes of serious haggling, he added the two engine parts and the new screen for his console to the stack of purchases on his mule and surveyed the sight with satisfaction.

Yup, he done good.

The warmth of the day had risen steadily so he allowed himself the luxury of snagging a bottle of lemonade before he turned the mule back toward the ship. Might have liked something a mite stronger, but he was on the job. The market wasn’t terribly far from the docking yards, but the streets were small and meandered with a kind of apathetic order that could easily mix a person up and twist them around. Good thing Wash was up on his navigation skills.

The late afternoon sun was lazy and comforting, lulling him into a state of happy ease. It was almost enough to make a man consider putting down roots, what with the gentle breeze, the shady trees, and that glorious sunshine. Heck, if he stayed here long enough he might even lose that space-induced pallor to his skin and actually pick up a healthy tan. He wondered what Zoë would think of that…

Thoughts of his wife took his brain off on an entirely different tangent, so much so that he never even saw the wooden cart until he almost rammed into the back of it.

“Whoa!” he cried, slamming on the brakes hard. The mule lurched to a stop, missing the cart but loosing half its cargo in the process. Wash just sat there for a second, running a hand through his hair as he calmed his breathing and cussed himself soundly for his lack of attention to the road. He was finally spurred into motion when the owner of the cart came around from the front to check for damage.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Wash said sheepishly, jumping off the mule and stepping up to examine the cart for himself. “Think I stopped in time, though,” he added.

The other man ran a careful hand over the back of his wooden vehicle, then straightened. “Yeah, no damage done,” he agreed. He was tall, taller than Wash, and a little stockier. His hair, a light brown, was worn long and pulled back from his face with a tie at the nap of his neck. He was dressed in normal, everyday attire and looked liked like he could have grown up in the town, or just stepped off of any ship in the port.

“Looks like ya spilled a bit off your load, however,” he said with a smile, gesturing to the packages and engine parts lying in the dust behind the mule.

“Oh, I packed everything up real good, so it should all be fine,” Wash said as he bent over to pick up the first item. He was relieved the cart was undamaged, and even more relieved the man seemed to be taking the near hit well. He didn’t like to think about what Mal’s face would have looked like if he’d showed up at Serenity and had to explain how he, the pilot and navigator of said ship, was being sued by some guy for plowing over his cart.

“Here, let me help ya,” the other man offered. Together, they quickly gathered up the scattered packages and replaced them on the mule. Wash made a point to strap them down this time.

“So, ya look like you’re headin’ for the docks,” the man said conversationally. “You off a ship?”

“Yup, a little firefly named Serenity. Best ship in the ‘verse,” Wash replied with obvious pride.

“Ya own her then?”

Wash laughed deeply. “Heck no, I’m just the pilot. The boat belongs to the captain, Mal Reynolds.”

The man seemed to perk up at that. “Malcolm Reynolds?” he asked pointedly.

Something about the way he said it caught Wash’s attention. His eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he answered warily. “Why you askin’?”

“Oh, I weren’t asking,” the man replied coolly. “Not really. Just needed to confirm it for sure before I gave my men the go ahead.”

“Huh?” Wash asked, backing away toward the mule and starting to get royally creeped out, especially as it dawned on him for the first time that they were the only ones in this quiet, peaceful little street. “What are you talk –”

He never got to finish his sentence. A large hand came out of the blue and clamped over his mouth. He tried to turn and see who the offending hand belonged to, but suddenly two more men were next to him, pinning his arms to his sides and stopping him from struggling. Another man appeared out of nowhere and climbed on his mule, starting it up.

“Come on, Mr. Washburne,” the man said, looking decidedly less friendly now. “Let’s go somewhere a tad more comfy so we can chat a bit about your good captain.” As he was man-handled off into a dingy, side alley, Wash knew he was in big trouble.

When they reached the middle of the dark, little street, the men pulled him to a stop. Mr. Not-So-Friendly-Pony-Tail stepped in front of him again, this time with a very shiny, very deadly looking gun.

“My men are gonna let go of you now, but don’t get any funny ideas. You’re gonna come with us nice and easy like, because if ya don’t, or if ya make any noises or movements I don’t approve of, I’ll shoot ya on the spot, dong ma?”

Eyes wide, Wash nodded, wondering what cosmic force he had crossed this morning to land himself in this kettle of fish. The men holding him stepped back, letting go. As soon as the hand was removed from his mouth, Wash scrunched up his face and spit on the ground.

“Ugh!” he said, turning to face the thug who could give Jayne a run for his money in the big, ugly, and dirty category. “Don’t you ever wash that thing?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Once a month, like clock-work,” the thug replied, sounding somewhat hurt. Wash gave him an incredulous look, then rolled his eyes and looked away.

“Come, Mr. Washburne,” Pony Tail growled, gesturing Wash forward with his gun. “You can be funny later; I ain’t got all day.”

Terror returned as Wash allowed them to lead him through the streets, one of the men following on his mule. It was not comforting at all to realize that he’d just been successfully kidnapped…again. He couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting back to the last time someone had snatched him; that kidnapping had ended with him and Mal strapped to a rack in Niska’s torture chamber.

Blind panic surged through him and he stumbled a little. Niska was still out there, Mal hadn’t killed him. Could these be his men, back to finish what they started? And this time he was all alone. He’d barely survived last time, with Mal there to keep him sane… The thugs had made no attempt to restrain him or blindfold him, which was almost more unnerving. If they didn’t care that he saw where they were going, perhaps they weren’t planning on him ever needing to leave?

He considered making a run for it, or trying to take out the men, but knew there was no way he could succeed with either plan. He was no Zoë or Mal, he wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight, and all he’d get for running was a shot in the back. He’d have a much better chance to just go along quietly, and try to last out whatever was coming until the rescue squad rode in with guns blazing.

Didn’t mean he was looking forward to it, though…

It felt like hours, but was probably only about ten minutes later, they arrived at a plain, nondescript building. Nothing made it stand out from all the other rusty, metal buildings around it. One door, no windows, flat roof… Judging by the route they’d taken, Wash figured they were actually closer to Serenity than they had been before, just on the other side of town.

One of the men took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling it up from the ground with a loud swooshing sound. The room beyond was dark and cool, stale air rushing out to hit Wash in the face. Pony Tail motioned with the gun for him to step inside.

“After you,” he said with false politeness.

Gulping just a little, Wash stepped into the darkened warehouse.

The others followed, the mule bringing up the rear, and then the door rolled shut again, plunging them into complete darkness. A hand took his elbow and Wash noticeably jumped, a small squeak escaping.

“This way,” Pony Tail spoke out of the darkness. Wash was guided forward into the depths of the building, unable to see anything and wondering how the heck the other guy could tell where he was going, and more importantly, what was waiting for him when thy got there.