(LFN/FF) To the Black (1/4)
Please see the To the Black Chapter Guide for story details including summary, warnings, disclaimers, etc.
To the Black
Part One
She'd look absolutely ridiculous in purple paisley, Madeline decides, hastily putting the dress back on the rack.
Then she surveys the rest of the clothing selection, sighs, and picks the dress back up again, along with a few others in slightly different colors, and then adds a few of the abundantly-stocked, unpopular plain blue and grey dresses to the set. It irritates her that one of her goals has suddenly become 'find a planet where people don't dress like they do here', but she's always been the sort that thrived on having goals, she reasons, so… it'll do for the moment, anyway.
She grabs a dirty, supposedly 'new' leather bag and a pair of used, but fairly comfortable looking, shoes from a shelf on her way to the counter, pays for the pile of merchandise, and heads out into the dusty street. Ducking into the first empty alley she comes across, Madeline changes clothes behind a pile of garbage that's taller than she is, and she doesn't allow herself to hesitate before rolling the sleek black business suit she'd been wearing into a tight ball and pushing it into said mound of garbage. She transfers her gun, ident cards, retinal scan films and Section-issued panel into the new pack, her own bag and high-heeled shoes quickly following after her clothes.
When Madeline steps out into the street again, this time wearing the ugly paisley dress and the flat shoes, her hair knotted into a loose, messy french braid, she fits right in with the other people milling around the small town. Only her skin-too pale for a planet made up almost entirely of ranchers and farmers-gives her away as not being one of them, and even that can be explained away if need be; she could be someone who works in a shop, or a house-wife who spends more time indoors caring for children than outdoors in the fields. She doesn't stand out, not really. Not nearly as much as she did in her own clothes, anyway.
She catches a glimpse of herself in a store window and nearly grimaces, then rolls her eyes at her own reaction. Only an hour outside of Section's walls, and already she's… homesick. It's pathetic.
She's never lived outside of Section, is the thing. Not really. Not since she was a teenager, anyway, and even then, she'd never really been free.
Frankly, Madeline's not sure if she likes free at all. It's already boring and unfulfilling, and currently it's requiring her to wear paisley.
But she can survive anything for a time, and if she could make it through twenty years of Section life with only a few bullet-shaped scars to show for it, she can make it through a few months on the outside.
A few months is all it should take, really. Enough time for Madeline to locate-and cancel-Mr. Jones. And if she gets any say in the matter, Nikita as well. Maybe Michael, too, just to start with a clean slate. After spending so many years sleeping with Nikita and not even realizing that she was a Center mole, he certainly deserves to be canceled.
A few months will also be enough time for Paul to grieve, so that when Madeline contacts him, there isn't a risk that his reaction to her death will suddenly become less than authentic. She almost worries about that-Paul has always been far too attached to her for his own good, though she persists in her assertion that the attachment is purely one-sided-but Paul is strong, and he has will power enough for three. If she can get through life on the outside, he can certainly survive inside.
A few months, and when it's over, she'll resume her place within Section, where she belongs. Maybe this will even be a nice change of pace; things have been rather dull since Unification. Unite all the planets and suddenly there really isn't anyone to fight against… and managing things within the Alliance is only marginally interesting at best.
But all of her plans are distant goals. Goals that will require time and patience and better resources than she has access to on Paquin. After all, the only things on Paquin are farms, minuscule towns, ranches, and Section One. So the first order of business, she knows, has to be to get off Paquin without having to hand over her ident card too many times. It shouldn't raise any flags, but if ever it's connected to her, it'll be like a trail of breadcrumbs leading right to her.
Course of action determined, she heads for the docks to find the least-reputable looking transport ship she can find.
~
She appears out of nowhere during their last day on Paquin.
She's kind of hot, Wash thinks, in that ice queen kind of way. She doesn't really smile, but as her eyes scan the bar, she smirks in that way that suggests she finds amusement in things that most people wouldn't find funny. Wash loves people like that. Zoe's kind of like that, all understated sarcasm-when he can actually get her to talk to him, anyway. Mostly he just overhears her trading quips with the captain.
Zoe's kind of the last person on his mind right now, though, 'cause the ice queen is heading his way. Despite looking altogether not threatening, there's something about her that makes him pretty sure she knows twenty ways to kill him without even getting her hands dirty.
Frankly, that's kind of a turn-on all by itself. Her legs are really just an added bonus.
"I've heard tell that you pilot the Firefly docked in port," she says without preamble when she approaches him, and he grins.
"Captain, did you hear that? People tell about me!" he says cheerfully. Mal rolls his eyes, taking another swig of his beer. The woman, though, she doesn't look inclined to humor him. "Uh, yeah, that's mine. Well, his," he says more soberly, pointing toward Mal. "I'm just the pilot."
The woman promptly begins ignoring him, which Wash thinks is more than a little sad.
"Are you taking passengers?"
"That'd depend on where you're headin'," Mal answers.
"Off-world."
Wash and Mal exchange glances. Usually that sort of answer comes from someone who's never been off-world, and despite being dressed like a local, this woman is too well-spoken, not to mention too pale and soft looking, to have spent her life on Paquin, a world made up almost entirely of weather-beaten, sun-burnt, foul-mouthed farmers and ranchers.
"Care to be more specific?" Mal asks.
She regards him silently for a moment before answering, "Not particularly."
Mal's going to say no, Wash realizes. Of course he is; he's too paranoid not to. Even with the war over for three years, he's still wary of anyone with Alliance ties-and even if this woman isn't Alliance, she definitely has 'Core-bred' written all over her.
Wash wouldn't mind another face around the ship for the eight day trip to Athens. Kaylee seems nice enough, but Wash is pretty sure she's all of eighteen years old-maybe-and Zoe won't give him the time of day. The captain is an okay guy, but not really the most talkative or anything, and with Bester gone, there's no one left to laugh at Wash's jokes anymore.
Also, she's, as previously mentioned, hot.
Turning in his chair, he sends Mal a pleading, hopeful expression.
"You got a name, ma'am?" Mal asks.
She arches one eyebrow as if she thinks this is an entirely unnecessary question, but answers simply, "Madeline."
When it becomes apparent that she's not going to supply any further information, even Wash becomes mildly apprehensive about taking her onboard-but still... how much trouble can one Core woman cause? He again shoots Mal a pleading look, then grins happily when Mal glares at him, but begins quoting Madeline a fare three times their usual rate anyway
She doesn't even blink at the exorbitant fare, only asking if he'd prefer credits or coin.
"Coin, if you please," he answers because he's still the same paranoid Mal as always. "We're scheduled to head out in about an hour. If you've got any bags you need help gettin', we can…."
"No," she answers, "I have everything I need here." She indicates the bag hanging from her shoulder-it's small, and it can't possibly hold more than a few days' worth of clothes.
"Um, our next stop is Athens," Wash interjects. "You might wanna bring a few more things than that. It's about eight days out."
"I'm aware," she says with just a hint of impatience. "May I go onboard?"
"I'll take you; I need to get ready for takeoff anyway," Wash volunteers quickly, hopping to his feet. He reaches out to help her with her bag, but just as quickly, she shifts it so that it hangs dangling behind her. The smile she gives him is vaguely threatening.
"I've got it."
"Oh. Right..." he says, exchanging slightly confused, slightly amused glances with the captain. "Well, follow me then."
Only once they're outside the crowded bar does he tell her, "I'm Wash, by the way."
"I know," she answers, which is, he'll admit, more than a little creepifying.
He leads her onboard, escorting her to the passenger dorms. "I'll be around. If you need anything, I mean," he says as he hovers in the doorway. Madeline offers him a polite smile and a nod, then promptly closes the door in his face.
He walks away grinning from ear to ear. Yeah… he's totally in love.
Part Two
To the Black
Part One
She'd look absolutely ridiculous in purple paisley, Madeline decides, hastily putting the dress back on the rack.
Then she surveys the rest of the clothing selection, sighs, and picks the dress back up again, along with a few others in slightly different colors, and then adds a few of the abundantly-stocked, unpopular plain blue and grey dresses to the set. It irritates her that one of her goals has suddenly become 'find a planet where people don't dress like they do here', but she's always been the sort that thrived on having goals, she reasons, so… it'll do for the moment, anyway.
She grabs a dirty, supposedly 'new' leather bag and a pair of used, but fairly comfortable looking, shoes from a shelf on her way to the counter, pays for the pile of merchandise, and heads out into the dusty street. Ducking into the first empty alley she comes across, Madeline changes clothes behind a pile of garbage that's taller than she is, and she doesn't allow herself to hesitate before rolling the sleek black business suit she'd been wearing into a tight ball and pushing it into said mound of garbage. She transfers her gun, ident cards, retinal scan films and Section-issued panel into the new pack, her own bag and high-heeled shoes quickly following after her clothes.
When Madeline steps out into the street again, this time wearing the ugly paisley dress and the flat shoes, her hair knotted into a loose, messy french braid, she fits right in with the other people milling around the small town. Only her skin-too pale for a planet made up almost entirely of ranchers and farmers-gives her away as not being one of them, and even that can be explained away if need be; she could be someone who works in a shop, or a house-wife who spends more time indoors caring for children than outdoors in the fields. She doesn't stand out, not really. Not nearly as much as she did in her own clothes, anyway.
She catches a glimpse of herself in a store window and nearly grimaces, then rolls her eyes at her own reaction. Only an hour outside of Section's walls, and already she's… homesick. It's pathetic.
She's never lived outside of Section, is the thing. Not really. Not since she was a teenager, anyway, and even then, she'd never really been free.
Frankly, Madeline's not sure if she likes free at all. It's already boring and unfulfilling, and currently it's requiring her to wear paisley.
But she can survive anything for a time, and if she could make it through twenty years of Section life with only a few bullet-shaped scars to show for it, she can make it through a few months on the outside.
A few months is all it should take, really. Enough time for Madeline to locate-and cancel-Mr. Jones. And if she gets any say in the matter, Nikita as well. Maybe Michael, too, just to start with a clean slate. After spending so many years sleeping with Nikita and not even realizing that she was a Center mole, he certainly deserves to be canceled.
A few months will also be enough time for Paul to grieve, so that when Madeline contacts him, there isn't a risk that his reaction to her death will suddenly become less than authentic. She almost worries about that-Paul has always been far too attached to her for his own good, though she persists in her assertion that the attachment is purely one-sided-but Paul is strong, and he has will power enough for three. If she can get through life on the outside, he can certainly survive inside.
A few months, and when it's over, she'll resume her place within Section, where she belongs. Maybe this will even be a nice change of pace; things have been rather dull since Unification. Unite all the planets and suddenly there really isn't anyone to fight against… and managing things within the Alliance is only marginally interesting at best.
But all of her plans are distant goals. Goals that will require time and patience and better resources than she has access to on Paquin. After all, the only things on Paquin are farms, minuscule towns, ranches, and Section One. So the first order of business, she knows, has to be to get off Paquin without having to hand over her ident card too many times. It shouldn't raise any flags, but if ever it's connected to her, it'll be like a trail of breadcrumbs leading right to her.
Course of action determined, she heads for the docks to find the least-reputable looking transport ship she can find.
~
She appears out of nowhere during their last day on Paquin.
She's kind of hot, Wash thinks, in that ice queen kind of way. She doesn't really smile, but as her eyes scan the bar, she smirks in that way that suggests she finds amusement in things that most people wouldn't find funny. Wash loves people like that. Zoe's kind of like that, all understated sarcasm-when he can actually get her to talk to him, anyway. Mostly he just overhears her trading quips with the captain.
Zoe's kind of the last person on his mind right now, though, 'cause the ice queen is heading his way. Despite looking altogether not threatening, there's something about her that makes him pretty sure she knows twenty ways to kill him without even getting her hands dirty.
Frankly, that's kind of a turn-on all by itself. Her legs are really just an added bonus.
"I've heard tell that you pilot the Firefly docked in port," she says without preamble when she approaches him, and he grins.
"Captain, did you hear that? People tell about me!" he says cheerfully. Mal rolls his eyes, taking another swig of his beer. The woman, though, she doesn't look inclined to humor him. "Uh, yeah, that's mine. Well, his," he says more soberly, pointing toward Mal. "I'm just the pilot."
The woman promptly begins ignoring him, which Wash thinks is more than a little sad.
"Are you taking passengers?"
"That'd depend on where you're headin'," Mal answers.
"Off-world."
Wash and Mal exchange glances. Usually that sort of answer comes from someone who's never been off-world, and despite being dressed like a local, this woman is too well-spoken, not to mention too pale and soft looking, to have spent her life on Paquin, a world made up almost entirely of weather-beaten, sun-burnt, foul-mouthed farmers and ranchers.
"Care to be more specific?" Mal asks.
She regards him silently for a moment before answering, "Not particularly."
Mal's going to say no, Wash realizes. Of course he is; he's too paranoid not to. Even with the war over for three years, he's still wary of anyone with Alliance ties-and even if this woman isn't Alliance, she definitely has 'Core-bred' written all over her.
Wash wouldn't mind another face around the ship for the eight day trip to Athens. Kaylee seems nice enough, but Wash is pretty sure she's all of eighteen years old-maybe-and Zoe won't give him the time of day. The captain is an okay guy, but not really the most talkative or anything, and with Bester gone, there's no one left to laugh at Wash's jokes anymore.
Also, she's, as previously mentioned, hot.
Turning in his chair, he sends Mal a pleading, hopeful expression.
"You got a name, ma'am?" Mal asks.
She arches one eyebrow as if she thinks this is an entirely unnecessary question, but answers simply, "Madeline."
When it becomes apparent that she's not going to supply any further information, even Wash becomes mildly apprehensive about taking her onboard-but still... how much trouble can one Core woman cause? He again shoots Mal a pleading look, then grins happily when Mal glares at him, but begins quoting Madeline a fare three times their usual rate anyway
She doesn't even blink at the exorbitant fare, only asking if he'd prefer credits or coin.
"Coin, if you please," he answers because he's still the same paranoid Mal as always. "We're scheduled to head out in about an hour. If you've got any bags you need help gettin', we can…."
"No," she answers, "I have everything I need here." She indicates the bag hanging from her shoulder-it's small, and it can't possibly hold more than a few days' worth of clothes.
"Um, our next stop is Athens," Wash interjects. "You might wanna bring a few more things than that. It's about eight days out."
"I'm aware," she says with just a hint of impatience. "May I go onboard?"
"I'll take you; I need to get ready for takeoff anyway," Wash volunteers quickly, hopping to his feet. He reaches out to help her with her bag, but just as quickly, she shifts it so that it hangs dangling behind her. The smile she gives him is vaguely threatening.
"I've got it."
"Oh. Right..." he says, exchanging slightly confused, slightly amused glances with the captain. "Well, follow me then."
Only once they're outside the crowded bar does he tell her, "I'm Wash, by the way."
"I know," she answers, which is, he'll admit, more than a little creepifying.
He leads her onboard, escorting her to the passenger dorms. "I'll be around. If you need anything, I mean," he says as he hovers in the doorway. Madeline offers him a polite smile and a nod, then promptly closes the door in his face.
He walks away grinning from ear to ear. Yeah… he's totally in love.
Part Two