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Serenity and the Slayer

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Summary: Karma comes back to kick Mal in the butt when a stranger's ship radios requesting medical assistance.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Firefly > GeneralBeeFR1533,74555210,63311 Aug 0620 Oct 06No

Chapter 1

Author’s Notes: Well! A new story. Not sure if I’m going to be updating this one much (or at all). It entirely depends on this chapter’s reception. So, if you like it, review! You know you want to anyway, I swear, some of you have sooooo much to say....

Timeline: This takes place after Firefly. Book and Inara have left the ship. Serenity the movie will not happen in this universe; it goes AU from here. (I like Wash too much.) As for Buffy, well, you’ll see how they fit in eventually.

Disclaimer: If you think I own any of these characters, you need a reality check. Don’t sue me, my bank account only has $7.77 and I don’t get paid for another week.



Chapter 1

Zoë quietly let herself onto the bridge, listening to her errant husband muttering softly to himself. A small smile graced her full lips as she leaned against the now-closed door, arms crossed, watching Wash as he re-enacted an epic battle with his toy dinosaurs. She stayed like that for quite a while, observing, before Wash happened to look up and spot her.

“Wife!” he exclaimed gleefully. “Come, sit with me. Watch as worlds are created and destroyed at my whim, for I am the God of Plastic Dinosaurs!” He followed this absurd pronouncement with a cackle that was probably intended to sound evil. The whole thing was so ridiculous that Zoë just had to shut him up – by plopping herself down onto his lap and kissing him senseless, of course.

They were about to move into their room, navigational duties be damned, when the ship’s computer began beeping insistently at them. Wash had just enough time to pull his lips off of Zoë’s and shoot the console a dirty look when the proximity alarm went off as well. Immediately, Zoë was off his lap and in the co-pilot’s chair, pulling down the shirt that had been rucked up around her ribs. She ran her hands over her face and hair, expertly removing all traces of an embarrassing liaison, then pressed the intercom button.

“Sir, proximity alert coupled with a distress beacon. Better get up here.”

Her Captain’s disembodied voice came floating over the intercom.

“Find out what they want – I’ll be up in a tic.”

Zoë shrugged and nodded to Wash, who opened up the communications channel.

“Unidentified ship,” he began, “the is the Firefly-class Serenity. We received a distress beacon. What’s the problem?”

There was static for a long moment. Just as Wash was getting ready to repeat the message, the screen flickered, and a woman’s face appeared.

Zoë and Wash exchanged surprised glances.

She was young, far younger than any ship’s pilot Wash had ever met – she couldn’t have been much older than twenty. Straight, fiery red hair framed a pale, pretty face and worried green eyes.

“Serenity, this is the Swallow-class Slayer. We have a medical emergency on board and no doctor of any sort. Requesting immediate assistance.”

“Slayer, please stand by,” Wash said as he closed the channel, trying not to smirk at the presumptuous name. Mal burst into the room at just that moment.

“What’ve we got?” he asked brusquely, as Zoë vacated her chair for him.

“Swallow-class, sir, with a medical emergency.” she said as he sat.

“Swallow-class?” he asked. “Ain’t they Alliance craft?”

“An older model, Cap’,” Wash informed him, “and civilian besides. That bird’s got no guns.”

“Don’t matter none, if’n they’re Alliance-friendly. Can’t help them in a medical emergency without the Doc.” Zoë pointed out.

Mal nodded distractedly, re-opening the channel.

“This is Captain Reynolds of Serenity. Explain th’ nature of your emergency.”

The girl’s face appeared on the viewscreen again, this time annoyed as well as worried.

“It’s a medical emergency, Captain Reynolds. We need a doctor.” She spoke as if he were a little slow in the brain-pan. Mal lifted his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

“I meant, be more specific.”

“Oh.” She didn’t blush, but she had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “A seventeen-year-old girl has a bullet in her ribs,” she clarified.

Mal blinked.

“Wash, get us over there. Zoë, get Doc, tell him what’s going on.”

“But sir,” Zoë protested, “we don’t know if this is –”

“Gorramit, Zoë, I ain’t gonna sit ‘round here while some ruttin’ little girl bleeds to death. Move!” he replied. Zoë moved, but not far before Mal turned and caught her arm.

“And tell him to get his sister out a’ sight, hear?” he muttered. Zoë nodded and was gone.

“Slayer, prepare for docking.” Wash called over the com channel. Mal gave him an eyebrow as he closed the channel again.

“Slayer?”

Wash just shrugged.



With Zoë and Jayne flanking him, looking their usual intimidating selves and fully armed, Mal felt a little better about opening the door to the airlock. Still, his trigger finger twitched as he watched the door slide open to reveal two figures on the other side.

It was another young woman and an older man, both dressed casually with no weapons to be seen. They up their hands to demonstrate this point.

Mal nodded to Jayne and Zoë, who moved forward to frisk the newcomers. The two rolled their eyes at each other but did not protest, and Mal took the opportunity to study them.

The woman was petite and blonde, with a sweet, almost childish face and rather haunted big brown eyes. Mal noticed that though she couldn’t have been any older than the redhead who was piloting their craft, she carried herself like a warrior. The man was much the same; in his late thirties or maybe early forties, with a slightly receding hairline and clothes that would have not looked out of place in Simon’s wardrobe. Yet the eyes behind the wire-framed glasses were sharp, piercing; and he also carried himself with the confidence of a trained fighter. Interesting.

The frisking done, both Zoë and Jayne gave him a nod to affirm that neither were packing. Jayne was shooting Zoë hurt glares, possibly because she had gotten to the blonde before him.

“Well. Good to see folks that keep their word. Captain Malcom Reynolds. This here is Zoë and Jayne.”

The girl smiled and took his hand. “Bethany Giles, but call me Buffy. And this is Rupert Giles, my uncle.”

“Pleasure.” the man said. He had a soft voice and a very cultured accent.

Buffy jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the airlock door. “Now will you see to my sister before she bleeds to death?”
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