Chapter Text
I’m looking for
A soft place to land
The forest floor
The palms of your hands
- Kathleen Edwards
Of all the many, many places in the ‘verse that stirred up a feeling of ambivalence in Captain Malcolm Reynolds, none measured up to Persephone. As he made his way down its winding streets and narrow alleys, he once again found himself wondering whether he loved it or hated it. Located at the very edge of the Core, the planet was by many considered the last civilized stopping place before you ventured out into the wild frontier. Mal knew better; he had been to plenty of worlds on the Rim that he’d found a lot more civilized than Persephone, only less fancy. But, of course, in Alliance speech ‘fancy’ and ‘civilized’ meant the same thing.
Anyway, when it came to resupplying, Persephone was always the best place to go. It had a well-functioning, smoothly run black market where close to everything was available and where few or no questions were asked. Not to mention the possibility of a job or two. And so, regardless of how he felt about the place, he had to go there once in a while.
This time it was work that had brought him here.
“We goin’ to ‘nother one of Badger’s tea parties?” Jayne had asked him when they stepped off the boat in Eavesdown Docks half an hour earlier.
“Not if I can help it,” Mal had answered. “I’m done with that little weasel.”
“Badgers ain’t weasels. But they belong to the same group of mammals. Mustard lids.”
Mal had side-eyed him, and Zoë cocked an eyebrow. Jayne Cobb had this uncanny ability to sound both stupid and somewhat smart in the same sentence.
But, no, Mal wasn’t dealing with Badger, and he suspected the feeling was mutual. They had not parted on the best of terms the last time they’d met. And that, of course, was a problem. Even though Badger didn’t control as much of Persephone as he himself liked to think, he did control Eavesdown Docks, and that was why Mal had ventured into another part of the Capital, one that was not particularly known to him.
He’d done his research, of course. Riverfront was the city’s financial district, consisting of tall office buildings, pristine parks, and a few upper-scale bars and restaurants, most of which were closed, as it was not yet lunchtime. Few other pedestrians were out, and all of them seemed to be young, attractive, and dressed in fancy business attire. Mal knew he and his crew stood out like a sore thumb, though he had left his worn, brown coat back on the boat, opting for a black, slightly more formal one instead. With any luck he looked like a small business owner headed for a meeting with his lawyer, along with his slightly over-the-top security detail.
A dark-haired woman dressed in a red silk suit walked past them. Mal caught a whiff of her perfume, and very much against his will his thoughts drifted to Inara. He did not want to think about her. It was less than three weeks since she had left, but she was already settled back in House Madrassa on Shinon, worlds away, literally and figuratively. She was not coming back. Bemoaning past actions, or lack of actions, wouldn’t change a thing.
He heard a low whistle from Jayne, as per usual on rear guard duty, and bit back a groan. That man just didn’t know the meaning of subtle. But it did help to take his mind off the companion, so he let it pass.
“Okay, just down here,” he said as they reached another corner. “Number 64. That’s where we’ll meet our man Arrow.”
“That the guy we smuggled cattle for?” Jayne asked.
“No, that was Harrow, with an H. This guy’s new. Bernoulli vouches for him, though. Not that that means much.”
No. 64 turned out to be a three-story concrete building, nestled in between two taller ones. There was a little lawn in front of it, a low wrought iron fence, and a cobbled walkway leading up to a broad oak door. The plaque read Smith & Walthers, Financial Advisors. Mal shook his head. People weren’t even trying with these fake business names anymore.
He steered away from the door and led the way into the narrow alley next to the building. They followed it, single file, to a dirty backyard. The buildings were like the people here, Mal mused: always less impressive once you took a closer look. There was another door there, and Mal shot a glance back over his shoulder at Zoë and Jayne, making sure they were on the alert and ready for whatever awaited them, before he pressed the doorbell.
The door opened in less than ten seconds, revealing a young man in a dark blue suit. He was clean and groomed, like everyone else, apparently, in this part of town, and he flashed a too white, too perfect smile at Mal. The suit was a polyester blend, though; Mal noticed that right away. Boy wasn’t as rich as he pretended to be.
“Hi,” Mal greeted him, in that little too cheerful way he always used on strangers, “Mr. Arrow, I presume?” When the man nodded, he added, “I’m here to collect the rental.”
Passcode accepted, he was let into the room, which turned out to be a storage area, filled with boxes and old filing cabinets. The others followed, Jayne remained by the door.
Arrow went over to a desk in the corner and pulled a key tag from one of the drawers. He tossed it to Mal. “Zhao Storage down in Eavesdown, unit 16. Do you know where to find it?”
“No problem.”
“Then have a good day.”
So much for pleasantries. Mal pocketed the key tag, and they went back outside.
“That was it?” Jayne asked as soon as Arrow had closed the door behind them. He sounded genuinly surprised, maybe even a little disappointed.
“Yeah, that went bone-chillingly smooth,” Mal agreed.
“Job’s not done yet,” Zoë pointed out.
“Let’s go finish it, then.”
“All this way for a gorram key,” Jayne muttered.
They found their way back onto the street and headed back towards the Docks, and as the pristine glass- and concrete buildings slowly gave way to the lively, colorful, mismatched bazaar that was Eavesdown, Mal began to relax more. This was more his habitat.
“What did you make of him?” he asked Zoë.
Being Zoë, always attuned to him, she immediately picked up on the fact that he meant Arrow, even though a good twenty minutes had passed since the encounter.
“Seemed professional enough,” she replied. “Calm, not skittish. Not your typical middleman, but then again, this is not your typical contraband. Might be he is just idealistic?”
Mal pondered her response for a few moments. “He fits the bill,” he agreed. “Young, well educated, priviliged... wannabe philanthropist if I ever saw one. Not as rich as he seems, though, so I wouldn’t count out the money as an incentive too.”
“’Course it is,” Jayne huffed from behind them. “What else is there in it for ’im?”
Mal had long since given up on explaining the concept of altruism for Jayne Cobb. He chose to ignore him, as did Zoë, except for a short glance over her shoulder.
“Anyways, our dealings with him is done,” Mal said.
They turned into Eavesdown’s main shopping street and weaved their way through the crowd. By now it was lunchtime, and people from all walks of life crammed into cafés, bars and restaurants, or flocked around the street food vendors. The smell of spices and grilled meat made Mal’s stomach rumble with hunger, but this was not the time. Better to bring the cargo to Serenity while everybody else was occupied.
“Jayne? Jayne Cobb!” someone yelled from the crowd.
Ta ma de! Mal almost unconscioulsy moved his hand towards the Liberty Hammer strapped to his hip, half concealed under his long coat. People who knew Jayne Cobb were usually not happy to see him.
Jayne had reached for his gun too, but luckily hadn’t drawn it. He had his eyes fixed on a man emerging from the crowd and slowly sauntering his way towards them. He was tall and thin, with black, greasy hair plaited into braids, one behind each of his large ears. He wore a light brown duster and pointy shoes, and his broad grin revealed a set of teeth yellowed by tobacco. He looked like any other hún dàn who came to Persephone looking for less-than-honest work, only slightly more ridiculous.
“Rufus,” Jayne greeted. The reunion clearly brought him no joy.
Rufus looked a Mal and Zoë, particularly at Zoë. Mal could feel her tense slightly next to him.
“I see you still run with Mal Reynolds,” Rufus remarked. “That makes what? Two and a half years?” He chuckled. “Must be some sort of record for you.”
“Who’s your friend?” Mal asked Jayne.
“Not my friend,” Jayne hissed back, not taking his eyes off Rufus. “Former crewmate is all. He used to run with Marco.”
“Marco? Marco Ferlenghetti? The useless little toad I found you with?”
“The very same.”
“Can’t be very bright, then.” Mal turned to leave, and as he did so, tilted his head closer to Jayne’s to whisper, “Lose him.”
Jayne sighed, but hung back to shake Rufus’s outstreched hand, while Mal and Zoë slipped away into the crowd and continued on their way.
“Jayne’s frenemies do seem to pop up all over the place, don’t they?” Mal said as they dodged a moving rickshaw.
“Not just his, sir.”
Mal didn’t protest that. He knew he was being slightly unreasonable. Jayne had no more control over former contacts that he had himself. Still, he liked to think his were smarter and nobler than Jayne’s.
They reached the end of the street and entered the big plaza next to the docks. From there they made a beeline for Zhao Storage, the huge building taking up most of the block directly ahead. Mal didn’t know Zhao personally, if it even was a person, but it wasn’t the first time he picked up cargo here. They never asked for references, and you didn’t even have to ID yourself as long as you had a key.
“Let’s get the vehicle first,” he told Zoë.
It was waiting in the carpark next to the building, just like Mal’s contacts had promised. It turned out to be a hover truck, a 80-10 Dragonfly, and it made Mal smile when he saw it. He’d always liked the Dragonfly, reliable and built to last, just like his ship. This one was at least a decade old, full of dents and scratches in its faded eggplant colored paint, but the engine roared happily to life as soon as Mal turned on the ignition.
“Nice of them to lend us a vehicle,” Zoë said as she settled into the passenger seat. “It’s tricky doing jobs without the Mule.”
She was referring to their old off-roader, which had been sacrificed in their assault on Adelai Niska’s sky complex some months ago. It was still in their cargo bay back on Serenity, for some inexplicable reason. Mal figured they had brought it back onboard hoping Kaylee or Wash could fix it, but that hadn’t happened, and now it only stood there, taking up space because everyone was either too nostalgically attached or too lazy to throw it out.
“As soon as we’re paid for this job, we’ll buy a new one,” Mal said, and meant it this time.
They turned the corner and drove alongside the building, eyeing the numbers on the garage doors, and when they pulled over by Unit 16 a few moments later, they found Jayne already there waiting for them.
“That was quick,” Mal remarked as he exited the driver’s seat. “You and your friend didn’t have much to reminice about? Figures, with a boss like Marco. Not many highlights, I s’pose.”
“Again, not my friend,” Jayne said tiredly. “I hardly knew him even back then. I only recall he had a terrible breath and was the worst shot imagineable. His breath’s still terrible, I can tell you that much. Didn’t see him shoot, but I don’ think that’s improved much either.”
“He didn’t follow you?”
“I shook him off easy enough.”
Mal pulled the key tag from his pocket and unlocked the garage door. It opened to a blaring alarm, revealing a single crate about the size of a… well, a casket.
“We’re not transportin’ another not-so-dead body, I hope?” Jayne said, and Mal silently wondered why on Earth-That-Was he would say such a thing. The ordeal with Tracey was nothing to be flippant about, and Jayne knew what they were transporting. He was sure he’d told him.
“It’s medicine,” he reminded him, nonetheless. “Some experimental stuff being developed here on Persephone. The company that makes it refuses to share the patent, and some people take issue with that policy. You see, people get sick on other worlds too, funny enough, and... well, this one’s going to a clinic on Aberdeen.”
He almost smiled when he said it. If only all his jobs were as guilt free as this. This one he would’ve pulled for free if he’d had the funds for it. Which he didn’t.
“Wouldn’t we get more if we went on the black market?” Jayne asked while he helped Mal carry the crate out of the storage unit and onto the hover truck.
“We would,” Mal confirmed. “But this will be safer and morally right.”
Jayne frowned, as if the words ‘safer’ and ‘morally right’ made no sense to him. Mal flashed his eyes towards Zoë. She gave him a look that read Why do you even bother?
“Anyways, it’s tagged,” he told Jayne.
“Tagged?”
“Yeah, tracker imbedded in the crate. They will know if we take it somewhere we’re not supposed to. They will know if we open it. And they will know if we remove the tag.” Sometimes explaining things to Jayne was like explaining things to a little child.
Jayne picked up on the condecending tone, though. “Fine,” he sneered and dusted off his hands. “How about some shore leave, huh?”
“Job ain’t done.”
“C’mon, Mal, ship’s half a mile from here. I’m sure you can handle that without me. I ain’t had lunch yet, and our timeslot for departure ain’t until four. Hell, with that kinda time I might even get me some pu—”
“D’you have to talk about women that way?” Mal interrupted him. Jayne flinched at his sudden outburst, and through the corner of his eye, Mal could see that even Zoë raised her eyebrows at him. He didn’t let that stop him. “Like they’re things – toys! – for you to abuse.”
“Hey, I treat ‘em alright!” Jayne defended himself, which was probably true, at least in Jayne’s mind, but beside the point.
“Sure you do,” Mal muttered, and turned his attention to the crate again, making sure it was securely fastened.
Jayne, however, wasn’t about to let things slide. “You can accuse me of a lot of things, Mal, but I ain’t never fucked a woman who wasn’t willing. I always use contraceptions, and I always pay ‘em.”
“Maybe it’s the paying thing I find degrading,” Mal retorted.
Jayne snorted. “It’s business, Mal. Somethin’ in it for everyone. Just because you couldn’t get it up for your whore –”
Mal’s knuckles slammed into the left side of his jaw and effectively stopped the rest of the sentence. The captain had about a second and a half to regret that somewhat unwise choice of action before Jayne’s ridiculously big fist filled his vision and hit him straight on the bridge of his nose.
First he saw stars, then he saw black, then he saw red, and he threw himself at his hired gun, all fired up for a fight.
Instead, Zoë caught him. “Stop it!” she yelled. “Both of you!”
She was surprisingly strong as she stepped in between them and more or less peeled them away from each other, like little schoolboys. “Walk away, Jayne!” she hissed at the bigger man as she wrestled Mal out of his reach. “Walk away!”
Surprisingly, he did. He sent Mal another angry glare, but then threw up his arms, turned around and stomped away.
Zoë turned to Mal. Okay, maybe not so surprisingly... She was fuming. She did look scary.
“What’s the matter with you?” she scolded him. “You get into a tussle with Jayne, it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“I can take him,” Mal protested.
“We both know you can’t.”
“But you heard him, he –”
“He was being Jayne! Seriously...” She shook her head and let go of him. “Let’s get this cargo back to the ship, sir, and leave that fèi fèi de pì yan to blow off some steam elsewhere, okay?”
Mal pinched his nose, which was already dripping blood. Not quite ready to admit it just yet, he did see the wisdom in that suggestion.
At ten minutes to four that same afternoon, he was considerably calmer, but still mad. In hindsight, that was probably why the decision was so easy to make.
The crate was well stored away and safely hidden by then. The ship was fuelled and restocked, the engine fired up. Things were running smoothly. Except for the fact that he was one man short.
He came down into the cargo bay to find all search parties already returned and gathered out on the ramp, talking amongst themselves.
Wash was the first to acknowledge him, with an apologetic shrug. “I checked all his usual spots. Nothing.”
“He’s not in any of the shops and garages,” Kaylee added.
“I talked to the madame at the Palace,” Zoë said. “He hasn’t been in.”
“And he’s not in jail,” Shepherd Book finished the report.
Mal muttered a curse to himself.
“We could have another look,” Kaylee suggested.
“We’ll miss our take-off slot,” Wash reminded them. “Could be hours before we’re given a new one.”
“No, we won’t,” Mal decided. “Get us in the air. Zoë, close her up.”
“But what about Jayne?”
Who else but Kaylee would voice a protest?
“He knew departure was at four. If he’s not here, we leave without him. We’re on a clock here.”
“But he could be in trouble!”
Oh, he was in trouble, alright…
“Jayne can handle himself, Kaylee,” Zoë said. Mal threw her an appreciative look, but the one she returned revealed no emotion whatsoever.
“She’s right,” the shepherd unexpectedly chipped in, placing a supportive hand on the young mechanic’s shoulder. “If anyone can fend for themselves, it’s him. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with us soon. We’ll be back here next week, won’t we? To return that nice truck.”
Mal said nothing. Nor did Kaylee, but she blinked hard a couple of times. Couldn’t be tears for Jayne. Maybe she was thinking of Inara?
Well, he refused to.
“Prepare for take-off, people!”
He turned and followed Wash to the bridge. Behind him, the cargo bay doors slammed shut.