Chapter Text
“I’ll look after him, I promise,” River said as she watched the crowd on the docks.
“What was that, Albatross?” Mal asked. River pointed to a man who wandered from ship to ship seemingly unimpressed with what he saw. He looked like trouble to Mal. “This why you insisted on coming here?”
“I promise I’ll feed him and take him for walks if you let me keep him.”
“We aren’t looking to book passengers, just right now.”
River tilted her head to look at him and Mal fought the urge to look away. It didn’t matter how much better she’d been doing since Miranda, she was still entirely uncanny.
“He’ll pay heaps and heaps of credits.”
“Well,” Mal murmured, “that’s a whole other thing, right there.” He started down the ramp as the man glanced over his boat with a thoughtful look. “Looking for passage?” he asked.
The man looked at him critically, blue eyes sharp and intelligent as they judged him. A part of Mal’s brain, the bit that was in charge of planning and caution and rules, told him this really wasn’t a good idea, but it was a small voice and he had never been too good about listening to that part anyway.
“I have a large container that I will need to store. Do you have storage space?” the man asked.
“Might have some space in the hold we can arrange for you.”
The man frowned and looked past Mal at the ship. He seemed to be coming to a decision and Mal knew a bit about negotiation, even if he generally had to resort to other options, so he let the man have a moment.
“Need to get to the Rim. Don’t really care how long it takes.”
That definitely sent alarms ringing in his head, but River had pushed for him to take on this man as passenger and the times he hadn’t listened to her tended to be more disastrous than the times he had.
“Might have to stop off for a delivery or two,” Mal added.
“I will pay extra to avoid inconveniences,” the man told him, eyes narrowing just a little.
Definitely bad news. Mal glanced back in River’s direction and she smiled at him and twirled in place, dancing to a tune only she could hear.
“I’m sure something can be arranged. Why don’t you get your cargo delivered while we settle on a fee?” Mal said magnanimously, as he waved the man into Serenity. “I’m Captain Malcolm Reynolds.”
“Eliot Spencer.”
-
“They tried to catch lightning in a jar,” River muttered as a crate was wheeled into the loading bay.
Mal was only half listening as he watched the too familiar crate being settled into his ship. He turned to look at Spencer, who watched the crate with all too familiar concern. He sighed.
“Please tell me you’re a flesh trader.”
Eliot raised his eyebrows.
“They tried to trap lightning in a jar. It didn’t work,” River said again.
There was something about the way she said it that sent a shiver down Mal’s spine. He just knew it ended badly for someone. He just hoped that someone wasn’t him. Spencer’s gaze moved swiftly to River and Mal shifted subtly to stand in front of her because Spencer did not look pleased. Mal knew what people like him did when they weren’t pleased.
“Captain?” Zoe questioned from where she leaned on the railings.
“River wants to keep him,” Mal told her. Zoe nodded and moved off in the direction of the galley. She hadn’t been the same since Miranda. None of them had.
“It’s okay,” River said as she sidled up to Spencer. “They cracked open my egg, too.”
Spencer stared at her with an unreadable expression for a long moment during which Mal remained tensed with his hand on his gun. Finally, Spencer sighed and muttered something about 20 pounds of crazy in a five pound bag, to which River grinned. Spencer looked at Mal again, his expression hardening once more. Mal supposed it was something that River had showed it was capable of softening, even a little bit, but he wouldn’t put it past the man to be able to put aside any feelings of that sort if he needed to. Mal wasn’t going to relax around him at all, and he was sure Zoe, Jayne and, for what it was worth, Simon wouldn’t either.
“No one’s cracking anything open until we’re in the Black.”
Mal glanced at River, but she was pre-occupied pressing herself up against the crate the same way she had Tracy’s coffin. It concerned him for a moment that Spencer could understand River’s ramblings.
“Fine,” he said and went to pry his pilot from her latest distraction.
-
Spencer didn’t leave the loading bay when they left atmo and neither did Mal. As much as he didn’t really want to know what was going to get him in trouble this time, he didn’t want to leave Spencer alone on his ship either.
“Any sign of pursuit?” Spencer asked when they’d been flying, hard burn, for a few hours.
“None, sir,” Zoe told Mal, descending the stairs. Mal assumed she’d just come from the cockpit. “River says no one knows he -they- boarded with us.”
“Time for presents,” River said, bounding over the edge of the railing and swinging to the ground. “Shake it to guess what’s inside.”
“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Spencer drawled.
“Before we go cracking or shaking things, might appreciate a little clarification,” Mal said. Spencer rested a hand against the crate, as though he could feel the presence of who was in it, and sighed.
“It’s a long story.”
“Took him and played with him until he broke into pieces. When he glued himself back together, they tried it again,” River said helpfully. She slid up to the box again and mirrored Spencer’s stance. She cocked her head to one side as though listening.
“Not so long, then,” Spencer said. He scrubbed a weary hand down his face. “As I understood, the sum I paid meant a modicum of privacy and few questions.”
Mal glanced at Zoe who nodded and disappeared up the stairs once more. She’d probably go and monitor their course, although River seemed to do that fine even when she wasn’t at the helm. Jayne and Kaylee hadn’t come to greet the new arrivals – the engines were having some troubles, but those would soon be fixed with Spencer’s money, and Jayne probably wasn’t interested. Simon still tended to avoid strangers in case they tried to turn in him and River to the Alliance. Although, that was a worry less and less these days. Miranda had changed a lot.
“I ain’t having something or someone on my ship I ain’t checked. And River’s a law unto herself,” Mal told him. Spencer hesitated but nodded. He withdrew a syringe from his coat and stepped up to the box. He quickly punched in a long code and then settled in to wait. Mal shifted uneasily. “Didn’t take this long last time.”
“Shouldn’t wake a sleepwalker,” River said and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Living nightmare, only you can’t wake up.”
Spencer stared at River for a long moment, concern etched on his face, though Mal wasn’t sure if it was for River or for whoever was in the box. After a long moment, drawn out by anticipation, the box opened with a hiss. Mal leaned over to look in as the smoke cleared, just as it had with River, and, just as with River, the man inside was naked.
“Adam,” Eliot said quietly, gently, as he crouched down and lightly traced the sharp cheekbones.
The man twitched once at the touch and then Mal wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but the naked man had Spencer’s gun and was aiming it steadily at Mal’s head, Spencer placed protectively behind him. Mal wasn’t sure he’d seen many people less in need of protection. River giggled.
“Ain’t a need to be hasty now,” Mal said, hands raised.
“Adam,” Eliot said again, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder blade. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”
Adam cocked his head to one side, still not distracting himself from Mal. The hand slid down to rest at Adam’s waist and to Mal it looked obscenely intimate. Eliot stepped closer and rested a hand on Adam’s wrist, gently pushing the gun down.
“You’re safe,” Eliot repeated.
“No,” Adam said, and he sounded much more grounded than River, “not ever.”
Eliot smiled wryly.
“Alright,” he said, “but you’re safe enough for now.”
Adam fully lowered his arm and Eliot retrieved his gun, replacing it in his holster.
“Well, that was bracing,” Mal said, he was going to continue when River stepped forward until she was only an inch or two away from Adam. Mal itched to drag her back, but he knew that of them she was the most capable of defending herself. She pushed up to her tiptoes in an attempt to look him straight in the eye.
“You’re very quiet.”
Adam smiled at her, but to Mal there was something dark and disturbing underneath. River smiled back.
“Might be an idea to get yourself sorted out,” Mal suggested with a vague gesture at Adam to indicate his nudity, but mostly to get him away from River.
“Come on,” Spencer said, hand on Adam’s back. “I’ve got your things.”
Adam gave him a short nod and allowed Spencer to lead him away, as dignified in his nakedness as Mal had ever seen Inara in full Companion regalia.
-
Eliot watched with concern as Methos stumbled in the doorway of the cabin they’d been allocated. Without fuss, Eliot slid an arm around Methos’s waist and led him to the bed. The fact that Methos leaned heavily on him, barely supporting any of his own weight, was especially worrying. Immortal physiology could only do so much, but considering the state he’d found the staff of the Alliance facility in, he’d been hoping that Methos would be more recovered than he was.
“Eliot,” Methos said, voice cracking with the stress of all that he’d been through. “Eliot.”
“I’m here,” he said as he guided Methos to lie down. Methos shivered despite the warmth of the room.
“Please.”
Eliot wasn’t sure what he was pleading for, wasn’t sure how coherent he was after what he’d been through, wasn’t even sure Methos knew what he was saying. He had very little idea what had been done to Methos, beyond the rather clinical reports the scientists and doctors had produced.
“It’s alright,” Eliot said, lying down beside him and curling around him, pulling Methos into his arms. Methos was warm and solid against him. Real and there in ways that finally eased the aching uncertainty and fear that had plagued him since Methos disappeared. Methos gripped Eliot’s hands, entangling their fingers, and held on so tightly it hurt. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Liar,” Methos accused, but without heat. Eliot sighed and pressed his forehead to Methos’ shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly against the curve of Methos’ shoulder blade.
“Me too.”