(no subject)
This is musesfool's fault (and somebody should probably try to keep track of the number of crack-addled posts that begin with those words). She had this idea for an Alias/Firefly crossover, and I kind of ran with it. No relation to that other Firefly/Alias crossover that I might get back to someday.
From now on, Mal decided, they were only taking jobs that looked hard to start with. Nothing with a small cargo and a big payoff and folks promising it was nothing the authorities were interested in. And no handsome women, neither. Zoe told him he was developing a weakness for handsome women, and she was right. And if one handsome woman was a curse, two were a downright pestilence.
He cracked one eyelid open, blinking at the dried blood. Yes, there she was, staring right at him. "Do I have your attention, Mr. Reynolds?" Mal grunted, which seemed to be sufficient. "Are you still insisting that you have no idea where the artifact is, or the woman who gave it to you?"
"I ain't exactly had a chance to go looking since the last time you asked me," he pointed out.
That got him another jolt of pain. "Was that meant to be humorous?"
"It's the truth." He thought about adding a "ma'am," but the situation didn't seem to call for it.
"We'll see about that." She took a couple steps back. "Get rid of him." That sounded bad enough for Mal to start struggling again, but between the beating and the ropes tying him to his chair there wasn't much he was good for.
He came to when he hit the floor. Yeah, it was the floor of a cell, and here he was being dragged across it and getting one hand chained to the wall. Beat being tossed out the airlock, any day. No major bones broken and his teeth mostly seemed to be where he'd left them: he'd had worse days. "Handsome woman, that," he said to the air once the guards were gone, "but she does have a cruel streak."
There was a dry chuckle, and what Mal'd figured was a pile of rags in the opposite corner sat up and resolved itself into a man. Blow to the head must have made his vision blurry and his brain slow: chaining a pile of rags to the wall didn't make much sense, now that he thought about it.
"I should warn you," the man said, "that the woman you're speaking of is my wife."
"Hunh," Mal said. He regarded the other man a while: older than him by more than a few years, with a couple bruises on his face and the promise of more what remained of a white shirt. "Your wife make a habit of torturing you and tossing you into a cell?"
"That isn't relevant to our situation."
It seemed plenty relevant to Mal. "Just making conversation, Mr. Derevko."
"Bristow," the man said. "My name is Bristow."
He sounded like it mattered to him. "You know, Mr Bristow," Mal started, "I've never been married myself..." Unless you counted Saffron, anyway, which he didn't, although now that he thought about it a moment, this was just the kind of situation a man married to a woman like Saffron might expect to end up in. Maybe she wasn't as unusual as he'd figured.
"You were saying?" Bristow said.
"Hunh?"
"You were saying that you'd never married." The chains attaching Bristow to the wall were clinking a bit.
"Right," Mal said. "You reckon this kind of thing is typical, between husbands and wives?"
"We had a disagreement."
"Some disagreement," Mal said. Bristow kept fiddling with his chains. "What're you doing, over there?"
"What's your name?"
"Malcolm Reynolds."
Bristow yanked at the links a moment. "Mr. Reynolds, do you know what the chief cause of death is in men of your age group?"
Mal thought a moment. "Fishing accidents?"
"Stupidity. Please try not to be stupid." Bristow fiddled a little more, and all of a sudden the chain fell away from the wall. "As should be obvious by now," and now he was across the room and leaning over Mal, "I am escaping." He frowned at the manacle around Mal's wrist.
"Don't suppose you're in the market for an accomplice?"
Bristow smiled, dry and quick. Then the door burst open and he whirled around like he'd been expecting it. Two men rushed in and he whirled the chain around and knocked out the second before he was properly in the room. Mal shouted, "hey!" and threw himself to the side more by reflex than anything else; Bristow was already on the first guy. Three blows and a crunching noise, and he lay on the floor. Bristow had both men's guns and the keys in his hand while Mal was still catching his breath. He unchained himself and stood up.
"Hey," Mal said. "You gonna leave me here?"
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Bristow asked.
"You don't really went to leave me alone here with that wife of yours, do you? Handsome woman like that, and all."
"Don't flatter yourself," Bristow said. But he came over and unchained Mal anyway.
That's all I've got. But there should be rescuing. And Sydney and River should work together.
From now on, Mal decided, they were only taking jobs that looked hard to start with. Nothing with a small cargo and a big payoff and folks promising it was nothing the authorities were interested in. And no handsome women, neither. Zoe told him he was developing a weakness for handsome women, and she was right. And if one handsome woman was a curse, two were a downright pestilence.
He cracked one eyelid open, blinking at the dried blood. Yes, there she was, staring right at him. "Do I have your attention, Mr. Reynolds?" Mal grunted, which seemed to be sufficient. "Are you still insisting that you have no idea where the artifact is, or the woman who gave it to you?"
"I ain't exactly had a chance to go looking since the last time you asked me," he pointed out.
That got him another jolt of pain. "Was that meant to be humorous?"
"It's the truth." He thought about adding a "ma'am," but the situation didn't seem to call for it.
"We'll see about that." She took a couple steps back. "Get rid of him." That sounded bad enough for Mal to start struggling again, but between the beating and the ropes tying him to his chair there wasn't much he was good for.
He came to when he hit the floor. Yeah, it was the floor of a cell, and here he was being dragged across it and getting one hand chained to the wall. Beat being tossed out the airlock, any day. No major bones broken and his teeth mostly seemed to be where he'd left them: he'd had worse days. "Handsome woman, that," he said to the air once the guards were gone, "but she does have a cruel streak."
There was a dry chuckle, and what Mal'd figured was a pile of rags in the opposite corner sat up and resolved itself into a man. Blow to the head must have made his vision blurry and his brain slow: chaining a pile of rags to the wall didn't make much sense, now that he thought about it.
"I should warn you," the man said, "that the woman you're speaking of is my wife."
"Hunh," Mal said. He regarded the other man a while: older than him by more than a few years, with a couple bruises on his face and the promise of more what remained of a white shirt. "Your wife make a habit of torturing you and tossing you into a cell?"
"That isn't relevant to our situation."
It seemed plenty relevant to Mal. "Just making conversation, Mr. Derevko."
"Bristow," the man said. "My name is Bristow."
He sounded like it mattered to him. "You know, Mr Bristow," Mal started, "I've never been married myself..." Unless you counted Saffron, anyway, which he didn't, although now that he thought about it a moment, this was just the kind of situation a man married to a woman like Saffron might expect to end up in. Maybe she wasn't as unusual as he'd figured.
"You were saying?" Bristow said.
"Hunh?"
"You were saying that you'd never married." The chains attaching Bristow to the wall were clinking a bit.
"Right," Mal said. "You reckon this kind of thing is typical, between husbands and wives?"
"We had a disagreement."
"Some disagreement," Mal said. Bristow kept fiddling with his chains. "What're you doing, over there?"
"What's your name?"
"Malcolm Reynolds."
Bristow yanked at the links a moment. "Mr. Reynolds, do you know what the chief cause of death is in men of your age group?"
Mal thought a moment. "Fishing accidents?"
"Stupidity. Please try not to be stupid." Bristow fiddled a little more, and all of a sudden the chain fell away from the wall. "As should be obvious by now," and now he was across the room and leaning over Mal, "I am escaping." He frowned at the manacle around Mal's wrist.
"Don't suppose you're in the market for an accomplice?"
Bristow smiled, dry and quick. Then the door burst open and he whirled around like he'd been expecting it. Two men rushed in and he whirled the chain around and knocked out the second before he was properly in the room. Mal shouted, "hey!" and threw himself to the side more by reflex than anything else; Bristow was already on the first guy. Three blows and a crunching noise, and he lay on the floor. Bristow had both men's guns and the keys in his hand while Mal was still catching his breath. He unchained himself and stood up.
"Hey," Mal said. "You gonna leave me here?"
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Bristow asked.
"You don't really went to leave me alone here with that wife of yours, do you? Handsome woman like that, and all."
"Don't flatter yourself," Bristow said. But he came over and unchained Mal anyway.
That's all I've got. But there should be rescuing. And Sydney and River should work together.