SUMMARY:  Post-Serenity fic; it's a couple years later, and an insurgency is brewing.  Blame this one on the Propellorheads.

DISCLAIMER:  These guys belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, and Universal. Not me.

THANKS:  To Em, as ever, for the excellent beta, but more for the handholding and talking-me-down-from-the-ledge. Above and beyond, peaches, and you're getting yourself a Jaynehat for your troubles. ::g::

***

Feel the pain, feel the joy,
And sidestep the little bits of history repeating

***

Zoe stands at the foot of the ramp, watching him leave with a combination of resignation and anger.  Beside Zoe, Kaylee watches the captain's departure with her mouth hanging open, too stunned to say anything just yet.  Poor Kaylee didn't see this coming at all.

As for the captain, he doesn't look back once, a picture of heroism -- long brown coat swirling around him, beat up duffel bag tossed haphazardly over one shoulder, head held high and defiant in the afternoon sunlight.  If this were any other situation, Zoe would have a bit of fun at the captain's expense.

Instead, she stands between Kaylee and Jayne at the foot of the ramp, and waits for the inevitable.  She can feel the questions coming, and she has no burning desire to answer a single one of 'em.  But answer she will, now that Mal has dropped his bombshell and abdicated his duty.

Sure enough, Kaylee turns, her face drained of all color as she asks, "He's really goin', ain't he?"

Zoe can hear the plea plain as day:  Tell me the Cap'n's not really gonna abandon us to a war.  It's the one promise Zoe can't make, so she pats Kaylee's shoulder instead.

"Zoe?" Kaylee asks, a note of hysteria in her voice now.  She has always been the most emotional, the most open with her feelings, especially since the Simon-and-River incident.  "Jayne?" she pleads, glancing over at the mercenary.

Jayne just shrugs.  "Looks like," he says, because he doesn't trouble himself to lie if it don't turn a profit.  He catches Zoe's irritated look and lifts his chin in defiance.  "Well, it does."

"But he can't," Kaylee protests, tears pooling in her wide eyes.  "Zoe, you have to--"

Zoe lifts a hand, holding Kaylee's gaze.  "I'll talk to him," she promises.  She certainly can't promise she'll be able to change his mind.  Man is a stubborn fool.  Always has been.

She's felt this coming for months.  His curiosity about this rebellion, the way he monitored what little progress the rebels made against the Alliance.  Hell, he even hoodwinked the crew into running guns from middle planets to the rebels.  Crew all received their customary cut, but Zoe is almost certain the captain ran that particular operation at a loss.  Zoe is many things, but stupid ain't one of 'em -- she knew he'd join up eventually.  And she knew it would fall to her to talk him out of it.

Don't take much effort to find him.  He loves the ship too much to stand firm about leaving her when he's onboard, and Zoe knew he'd go as far away as possible, preferably get some fortification at an Independents' bar.  She simply walks to the edge of town and finds the crummiest unmarked bar she can.  Charming place -- all suspicion, fear, and secretive looks, with a trick entrance to boot.  There's a staircase that goes up five steps, past a window, and then back down, meant to reveal any newcomer's lower half to the clientele.  Presumably so they can recognize the dull, mindless thud of Alliance boots and skedaddle out the back in the event of a raid.

Zoe's entrance draws attention for an entirely different reason, even draws a wolf whistle, which she ignores.  Captain's at a small table near the back, two large clay mugs before him and his duffel bag at his feet.  He doesn't bother to look up at her when she sits across from him, just slides her drink across the battered wood planks.  "Took you longer than I expected," he observes.

Zoe takes a slow sip of her drink, swallowing down the bitter brew without comment, and keeps a close eye on him.  "Had to calm Kaylee a bit 'fore I could bolt," she answers, putting slight emphasis on the pronoun.  

It's enough; he lifts his mug and drinks a goodly amount, playing at nonchalance.  "She'll be fine," he says, trying to convince himself more than Zoe.

"When?" Zoe asks, keeping her voice low and level.  "The day you leave Serenity, or the day you come back a corpse?"

His jaw tightens.  "Both.  She's strong."

"Yes, but she's lost a lot of family already."

"I ain't her family."

"The hell you're not," Zoe shoots back, letting him feel her anger now.  He can lie to her about his motives, about the insurgency's chances, but she will not let him deny that he built himself a family on that ship, like it or not, and his leaving effects more than just him.  "You're her brother.  Serenity is her home."

"And I'm not kicking her off of Serenity!" he counters, choosing the easier point to argue.

Zoe waves off his protest.  "Gôu pì.  Ship needs a captain."

"How can I sit this out, Zoe?" he demands, anguish bleeding into his words now.  His elbows on the table, his hands splayed on the scarred planks, he leans closer.  "How can you?"

The accusation stings, but Zoe won't let him guilt her.  Not about this.  Not ever.  "We fought a war, sir," Zoe answers, repressing the brutal images from force of habit.  "It was one we could win, things broke our way."  She shrugs, her acceptance borne of long years trying to come to terms.  "But they didn't."

"Might this time."

"Ain't a war you're chompin' to go join," Zoe counters, troubled by his blind optimism.  The Captain she knows, the Sarge she met back on Shadow, was a realist.  He was a damn good fighter and a better leader because he looked at things realistically and determined how to use the situation to his advantage.  The thought of him running off to war with this unfounded conviction scares her.  "It's suicide and you know it."

"Qù tāmāde, Zoe."  He sits back, shaking his head in disgust.  "That's selling the will of these people a mite short."

"Will don't win battles, sir.  If it did, we'd be decorated war vets in the Independent Confederacy."  The loss of the war still burns her, when she lets herself think about it, and she knows it burns him, too.

He winces, but refuses to concede a thing.  "We can make it happen this time."

"No."  Zoe leans over the table, trapping her hand beneath hers, startling him.  She needs him to hear this, to understand this.  "No, we can't.  This ain't a reset button, sir.  We lost years ago.  It's over."

Mal stares at her, his mouth set in an angry line.  After a moment, he shakes his head, pulls his hand away, and takes a long swig of his drink.  "Ain't ever gonna be over.  Not when those méiyôu mûqin de xiao gôu are snatching people under my protection--"

"Sir, River and Simon weren't--"

"Save it," he interrupts in that hard, ruthless tone.  "I swore to protect 'em, and they're so far gone we can't find hide nor hair.  Can't run a proper raiding mission to rescue 'em if I can't find 'em to begin with."

"I know."  The loss of River and Simon haunts every single one of them, even Jayne, though he'd never admit it.  Kaylee grieved openly, even though she insists that they're still alive.  Inara eventually left the ship, after the Captain made one snide remark too many about the complicity of her "purple-bellied" clientele.

"Alliance," he continues grimly, "grabbed Simon for the crime of saving his kid sister; might've killed him already for treason.  Don't want to imagine what manner of things they've done to River since they got her back."  He taps his fingers against the mug clutched in one hand.  "Alliance killed Li Shen, Sanchez brothers, Mr. Universe, and they killed Shepard Book."

Zoe steels herself, silently warning him not to.  

He does anyway.  "Alliance killed Wash."

"Think that slipped my mind?"  She's caustic, now, pushed past her limits.  She knows the others miss Wash, that they loved him, even.  But he is her husband.  She is his wife, his widow, and she will not allow the captain to use Wash as a debate point.

"Zoe--"

"Think I don't spend nights aching for my husband?  Think I don't curse their arrogance?"

"Then how can you sit this out?" he demands, the question exploding out of him in a burst of honest indignation.  Eyes wide, he leans closer, crowding her, trying his damnedest to get her to follow him into madness.

Zoe composes herself, stares at a small scar in the wooden table for a moment before pinning him with her gaze.  "Because getting myself killed for nothing ain't bringing Wash back," she answers evenly.  "Or Shepard or River or Simon"

"Independence ain't nothing," Mal counters, studying her.

Leaning back, she shakes her head sadly.  "You're a fool if you think a ragtag collection of misfits with popguns are gonna win independence from the Alliance.  We had half a million troops, anti-aircraft technology, surface-to-airs, formal military training..."  She trails off, gives him half a shrug.  "We couldn't do it.  What makes you think it'll be different now the odds are worse?"

When he breaks out that cocky half-grin, Zoe knows she's lost.  He lifts the mug to his mouth and says, "Element of surprise?"

She watches him take another long drink.  "Sir," she begins, her tone sober.  "Mal, don't do this."

His smirk fades, and he's just as serious when he answers, "I have to."

"You don't," she argues.  "I don't care the new browncoats are making Mr. Universe into a martyr to the cause, rallying around you and using you as--"

"That's not a concern of mine and you know it," Mal interrupts.  "Alliance reaches out farther each year, and there ain't hardly room anymore for people like us."

She hesitates, unsure how to reach him.  "You remember what you used to say about heroes?"

"I ain't a hero," he counters with a careless shrug.

"They think you are.  Heroes get other people killed, sir, and that's exactly what you're going to do if you join up.  Every kid who admires what you did in the war or what you did with the Reavers will use your presence to justify joining up.  You will be the reason they die for a losing cause."

Mal bristles.  "I'd rather die for the right reasons than keep on living for the wrong ones," he answers slowly, and she can feel the accusation in his words.

Shaking her head slowly, Zoe knows he's talked himself into this foolishness.  Never imagined it all coming down to this, but now that it's on her, she supposes it makes sense.  Zoe pushes her half-empty cup away and makes to stand.  "If you join up, sir, I won't follow you."

Corner of his mouth twitches, but he nods.  "Didn't ask you to."

She regards him for a long moment, splayed in his seat, a show of casualness she knows he doesn't feel.  Then she reaches for him, cupping his chin and lifting his face.  She leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead.  A benediction, maybe.

When she straightens, her eyes are stinging and Mal can't quite meet her gaze.  She touches his shoulder.  "Never could tell the difference between brave and foolhardy."

He laughs, the sound a bit rusty.  "I suspect that's true."

Zoe swallows hard, unable to bring herself to say goodbye.  "I'll keep her in the air," she promises instead.

Mal nods, still not looking at her.  "I'll take that as a kindness."

With that, Zoe turns and walks out of the bar.  Partway back to Serenity, she reaches up and wipes the tears from her cheeks.  She won't mourn the living.

THE END

Glossary:

gôu pì:  bullshit.

méiyôu mûqin de xiao gôu:  motherless curs.

qù tāmāde:  fuck that.

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