Day 14 [2014] . Where Two or More are Gathered Together . Firefly x Sleepy Hollow x Mummy
Title: Where Two or More are Gathered Together
Author: jedibuttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not
Rating: PG-13
Prompt/Prompter: vialethe, who asked for: "A continuation of the existing universe you've created for me. How does Mal react to being a Witness?"
Spoilers: Post-Serenity, with a touch of Mal/River; very post-series for Sleepy Hollow & The Mummy.
Notes: Ugh, work stress has been eating my brain. Still aiming to finish, though! Follows two older Wishlist fics for the same requester; see link in prompt. Mouseover translations. Oh, and about the kilij - see Ardeth's battle scenes in TMR. (Also fills joss100 #2.68, Lost. Not that I'm crossposting there anymore - the comm seems dead.)
Summary: Does a man really need to believe in destiny to do what's needful to be done? Luckily for Mal, he's not alone in asking that question. 2800w.
Over the months since the O'Connells had set up in Serenity's second shuttle, they'd seldom stayed in the Black for more than a week or two at a stretch. They'd remain aboard just long enough for passage to a new planet, then set down on that world a spell, waving the crew along on their merry. The next time Serenity passed through they'd lift back aboard and liven up the dinner table with a round of fresh stories; then they'd disembark at the next stop and start the cycle over again.
They weren't particular as to destination, neither... just so long as there was somewhat there for the missus to explore. They'd slept through five centuries before River found 'em sealed in a sarcophagus in a shipment of Earth-That-Was antiquities, and Evelyn O'Connell was a historian, of the sort that dug up bits of the past to put on display. Not just valuables, neither, but everyday fèiwù, too-- more like the luggage on that Reaver-hit ship Serenity had found than Durran Haymer's rare and very shiny collection. So if she and her husband wanted to spend their days unearthing relics from the Early Migration? Long as they paid the rent on time-- and nowise brought to his attention the contents of that magvault in their shuttle-- Mal figured it was their business.
He'd got fair used to their comings and goings, in fact; often looked forward to the days they joined up with the crew. But ever since Serenity's latest pair of passengers had joined them, the pattern had shifted: Rick and Evy hadn't undocked once, not at the planet Serenity visited after that pickup, nor the station after that, nor their current harbor on the moon famed for being the third place human feet touched after leaving Sol. Mal had been certain sure Nova Luna would draw Evy's attention like sweets did Alleyne Washburne's sticky toddler fingers, but though she'd headed for the local market in River's company eagerly enough while the others had gone about the ship's illicit business, she'd made none of the usual noises about settling in for a spell.
Mal took a long draught from the jug of rotgut he'd borrowed from Jayne's stash, then slid it across the table to Evy's slightly more practical husband. "Your wife's not a subtle woman," he said.
Rick lifted the jug with a slightly abashed expression. "No; no, she's not," he replied, wrinkling his nose at the taste as he took a swallow. "Can you blame her, though? If either of us had had any clue what the hell we'd stumbled into that first time we found Imhotep, there'd have been a lot fewer Medjai mourning husbands and sons before we got ourselves straightened out. And a lot less confusion when the damned flashbacks started. And to hear the Cranes tell it, they spent several years being led around by the nose-- in separate centuries, no less-- because a bunch of busybodies in the know decided they should be protected from the truth 'til the time was right. Like a pair of virgins, kept in the dark 'til the wedding night, and about as well prepared. Even Ichabod's first wife was in on it-- which, I don't mind saying, is some messed up shit. Uh, no offense," he added hastily, looking toward the door to the aft passage as Abbie appeared, on her way up from the passenger rooms.
"No, no, I agree," she drawled, mouth curled in a wry smile as she took a seat toward the foot of the table, reaching over to snag the jug from Rick. "Don't tell Ichabod I said that, though; he's still a little sensitive on the subject of Katrina. No matter how long you live, you never quite forget your worst regrets."
"I hear you," Mal nodded solemnly. "Some things... well, they leave a mark you can't never erase."
"Which is why," Rick spoke up again, taking the jug back, "Evy wants to make sure you and River have an easier time of it."
Mal snorted. "If she wanted me to have an easier time of it, she should have found me fifteen years ago. I aimed to be a teacher before the War. Babe in a basket, near as makes no never mind, and a believer through and through. Might have swallowed all this gŏushĭ a damned sight easier back then. Don't really need to believe in 'destiny' to do what's needful to be done, though, do I?"
"Fifteen years ago, River would have been what, five?" Rick scoffed, raising a provoking eyebrow. "Might have been kind of hard to fight a war with a kid at your side."
"That's your best answer?" Abbie scoffed, wryly.
Rick lifted his hands from the table, palms out, and continued. "Hey. I'm just saying. You and River met when you did, the way you did, for a reason. But so far, you've mostly just been reacting to what's happened since. You'll never really get out ahead of it all 'til you go all in. Back me up here," he glanced to Abbie.
"Can't really argue," she shrugged. "It's been a long time for me, but I still remember how lost I felt that first year or so; like I was playing catch up most of the time. I never quite knew what the hell was going on, and Ichabod's loyalties were understandably pretty torn at times. It led to some pretty painful mistakes on our part before we got our acts together."
Mal fetched the jug for another pull to help wash that statement down. "Look, even if I buy this whole gorram tale about the yāoguài and the prophecies, what makes you think it's any more than dumb luck, Simon bringing his sister aboard my ship? Who's to say someone else might not've helped 'em just the same, maybe even without getting a passel of innocents killed along the way? What makes me this so-called Witness, 'stead of someone like her brother who's been there all along? Might as well say I'm a dirty old man humoring his crazy pilot; all comes out the same in the wash."
Rick's expression shifted, then, suddenly reminding Mal of Book: filled with uncomfortable conviction. "You know, I was a soldier myself, back in the day. A lot of men under my command got killed because our colonel made a really, truly stupid decision. And I went along with it, up until it all fell apart. I wasted the next few months making stupid decisions of my own, trying to forget everything that happened. But after I met Evy-- well, I spent the next several years asking myself similar questions. It wasn't 'til our son Alex got dragged into it and Evy died that first time that I finally bought into the whole destiny thing for myself. In my case, it was quite literally the writing on the wall."
"For us, it was Washington's Bible," Abbie nodded, taking her turn with the jug. "I guess we were lucky to have it from the start. Had a little trouble deciphering what it told us sometimes-- or believing it-- but at least we had that guidance. No idea what your sign will be, Mal; but trust me, it'll come."
Now that he thought on it, Mal wasn't so sure it hadn't done already; that frozen moment in the Maidenhead when he and River had pointed their weapons at each other and failed to fire was still etched in his mind in crystalline clarity. It had been the pivot point between everything that had come before and everything that come after, to which Book's last words had been echo and confirmation.
"Still. Why me?" he shook his head.
Rick shrugged, lifting the jug again, then squinted into its depths with a frown. "I pretty much figured it had something to do with balance-- especially since we woke up here and compared notes with you guys. Hey, you got any more where this came from?"
Mal remembered the flash of bemused recognition when the O'Connells' coffin had first opened; recalled seeing himself in Abbie as well, commiserating with the level-headed woman over River and Ichabod's rather excitable first meeting. The warriors and their geniuses, each deadly in their own way. Man and woman; older and younger; differently experienced; instinct versus logic. Yin and yang; complementary talents rather than matched sets. And he had been irrationally drawn to River from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, in a way that had nothing to do with her outer package. He hadn't noticed her, even subconsciously, that way until... well, until they'd weathered their first tribulation: facing each other as equals, bloodied and triumphant, on Mr. Universe's moon.
"Try the cubby one down, there on the end," he pointed toward the kitchen area. "Think Kaylee stowed some of her engine wine in there. And-- fine, you might could have a point."
"Might?" Rick smirked, getting up to investigate the cupboards. "All right, all right; we'll cut the destiny talk for now. Just-- humor her, all right? Evy means well. Most of the time. Though... if she tells you no harm ever came from doing something...."
Rick's face was turned away as he rummaged for the wine jar, but from the amused expression on Abbie's face, Mal figured the sentiment was something they all had in common. "I think I can parse the rest of it for myself," he replied, dryly.
"Are you sure? Because I wouldn't mind hearing exactly what my husband thinks of me," a tart voice interjected, climbing up the stairs from the cargo area below.
"Evy! We were just... uh...." Rick turned toward his wife, setting the wine jar down on the counter, expression all wide-eyed innocence.
"Yes? You were just what?" The slightly prettier O'Connell replied, kohl-rimmed eyes twinkling as she approached him. "Explaining to the good Captain how little you deserve the gift I found for you today?"
"Talking about destiny, and how little I deserve you," Rick covered quickly, eyeing the bit of rough, recycled paper wrapping sticking up behind one petite shoulder. "What's this about a gift?"
River, dressed much like the older woman in snug trousers and a flowy blouse that day, met Mal's eyes as she followed Evy into the dining area. There was a solemnness to her gaze that he couldn't quite decrypt... but it was the wrong moment to ask. He nudged out the chair beside his with one booted toe as her path split from Evy's and figured on prying it out of her later. She had a net bag filled with perishables over one shoulder, but nothing particularly unusual; she dropped it on the table, then leaned into him, slim hands braced against his chest as she offered him a peck.
"Smart man," Evy said lowly, accompanied by soft sounds of greeting; but Mal didn't turn to watch, too engrossed in his own moment of reunion. It was still too rare to him, this business of casual and enduring romantic affection, to take so much as a second of it for granted.
River's eyes were a mite shinier when she pulled back to curl up in her seat, kicking off her boots to tuck bared toes up under her and reaching out to tangle the fingers of one hand in amongst Mal's. But their attention was swiftly diverted back to the O'Connells as Evy unstrapped the package slung over her back and held it toward her husband.
"Here," Evy said. "You'll never believe what I found in the market."
Rick stared at the yard-long, slim object in its paper shroud, then up at his wife's face and frowned, reaching out to touch one of her hands rather than accept the gift. "Evy?" he said, concern thick in his voice. "Your fingers are like ice-- and they're trembling."
Evy swallowed, smile faltering. Then she shook her head and pushed the thing more firmly into Rick's grasp. "Oh, for heaven's sake, just take it. It's not bad; it's just... well, you'll see," she said. "I know we haven't talked much about what we left behind, but...."
Rick's expression was wary as he walked back over to the table, setting the long, narrow package down and flipping open his ever-present flick knife to snap the twine securing the wrappings. He pocketed the knife again and carefully began pulling the leaves of rough paper apart-- then caught his breath in a rough gasp, lifting a sword the like of which Mal had never laid eyes on before.
The Operative was the only opponent Mal'd ever fought who used bladed weapons that size as a primary weapon, and that had been a straight blade, modern make, with a nylon-wrapped handle and holes in the steel to lighten the weight. He'd got a pretty good look at it when the man had run him through. The blade in Rick's hand had more of an S-curve to it, with a flared point and a wooden grip; it was tarnished and nicked and not at all shuài, but somehow gave off an immense sense of age.
"A kilij," Ichabod Crane said, joining the others in the room; probably drawn away from whatever he'd been up to by the noise of Evy and River's return. "An ancient weapon, a symbol of power and kingdom to the Turks and several related cultures. Eventually abandoned for Western-type cavalry sabers and smallswords, which was unfortunate; that change, and the introduction of industrialized European steels to the Ottoman market, caused a great decline in traditional swordsmithing in the region. I take it this one has some particular significance?"
Rick swallowed, and turned the sword to trace a row of almost-indecipherable symbols that had been etched into the blade; he took a shaky breath, then nodded up at his wife. "Yeah. It's Medjai."
"Your people?" Ichabod asked, sympathetically.
"The style and script are unmistakable," Evy agreed, laying a hand over Rick's. Then she turned to Mal. "When you woke us-- River told Rick that he was the last; that there were no more travelers from the East. We feared that meant none of the Medjai had made it off Earth. That they had all chosen to stay, guarding that which could not be allowed to follow humanity to the stars. But this sword-- I've been over all the known Earth-That-Was artefacts on the Cortex looking for clues to what happened to our family, and while I've uncovered a few familiar... items... from Egypt, none were recognizably Medjai."
"Given how little the early settlers were allowed to bring with them, to which I can attest first hand... this is a working weapon, not a museum piece. If someone made room for this in their personal baggage allotment, it's because it meant something," Ichabod assured her.
That struck a chord for Mal; he rubbed absently at the ridge of scar the Operative's sword had left behind, wondering what he'd give to happen across something from his mother's ranch. Weren't much left of the planet he'd been raised on after the Alliance had got through with it; it was as far beyond his reach as Earth was from the O'Connells.
...And that was enough on that subject; time to lift the mood a mite.
"Conjure you'll want to be staying here a while then, to look about some more," he offered casually, locking eyes with Rick. Turning the conversation back on its beginnings.
"Of course, we'll-- what?" Evy began, cutting off at Rick's indignant snort of laughter.
"Oh, nothing, it's just...." Rick shook his head, grinning. "Guess this calls for a celebration, all round. We were just getting out the wine. Wanna join in?"
"Ooh, I don't know-- you know how much of a lightweight I am," Evy replied-- but she wasn't trembling anymore, and she wasn't frowning, neither.
"And I must protest the usage of the term 'wine'; that beverage is nothing of the sort," Ichabod added wryly.
Mal grinned, squeezing River's hand as he watched the others loosening up-- then glanced away at the weight of other eyes on him. "What?"
Abbie just shook her head, grinning back. "Oh, nothing. Just-- I'm glad you guys are the ones who found our crates; I'd almost forgotten what it was like."
"What what was like?" Mal tilted his head at her.
River casually uncurled one leg and kicked him hard in the shin.
"What? And also, ow," he complained, caught by surprise.
"It's all right, River," Abbie laughed, gently. "I know he knows; and I'll say it. Team. Family. We've all lost a lot, but we've found each other, too."
"Now that's a sentiment I will drink to," Evy said.
"To family," her husband echoed, and unsealed the jar of engine wine.
-x-
Author: jedibuttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not
Rating: PG-13
Prompt/Prompter: vialethe, who asked for: "A continuation of the existing universe you've created for me. How does Mal react to being a Witness?"
Spoilers: Post-Serenity, with a touch of Mal/River; very post-series for Sleepy Hollow & The Mummy.
Notes: Ugh, work stress has been eating my brain. Still aiming to finish, though! Follows two older Wishlist fics for the same requester; see link in prompt. Mouseover translations. Oh, and about the kilij - see Ardeth's battle scenes in TMR. (Also fills joss100 #2.68, Lost. Not that I'm crossposting there anymore - the comm seems dead.)
Summary: Does a man really need to believe in destiny to do what's needful to be done? Luckily for Mal, he's not alone in asking that question. 2800w.
Over the months since the O'Connells had set up in Serenity's second shuttle, they'd seldom stayed in the Black for more than a week or two at a stretch. They'd remain aboard just long enough for passage to a new planet, then set down on that world a spell, waving the crew along on their merry. The next time Serenity passed through they'd lift back aboard and liven up the dinner table with a round of fresh stories; then they'd disembark at the next stop and start the cycle over again.
They weren't particular as to destination, neither... just so long as there was somewhat there for the missus to explore. They'd slept through five centuries before River found 'em sealed in a sarcophagus in a shipment of Earth-That-Was antiquities, and Evelyn O'Connell was a historian, of the sort that dug up bits of the past to put on display. Not just valuables, neither, but everyday fèiwù, too-- more like the luggage on that Reaver-hit ship Serenity had found than Durran Haymer's rare and very shiny collection. So if she and her husband wanted to spend their days unearthing relics from the Early Migration? Long as they paid the rent on time-- and nowise brought to his attention the contents of that magvault in their shuttle-- Mal figured it was their business.
He'd got fair used to their comings and goings, in fact; often looked forward to the days they joined up with the crew. But ever since Serenity's latest pair of passengers had joined them, the pattern had shifted: Rick and Evy hadn't undocked once, not at the planet Serenity visited after that pickup, nor the station after that, nor their current harbor on the moon famed for being the third place human feet touched after leaving Sol. Mal had been certain sure Nova Luna would draw Evy's attention like sweets did Alleyne Washburne's sticky toddler fingers, but though she'd headed for the local market in River's company eagerly enough while the others had gone about the ship's illicit business, she'd made none of the usual noises about settling in for a spell.
Mal took a long draught from the jug of rotgut he'd borrowed from Jayne's stash, then slid it across the table to Evy's slightly more practical husband. "Your wife's not a subtle woman," he said.
Rick lifted the jug with a slightly abashed expression. "No; no, she's not," he replied, wrinkling his nose at the taste as he took a swallow. "Can you blame her, though? If either of us had had any clue what the hell we'd stumbled into that first time we found Imhotep, there'd have been a lot fewer Medjai mourning husbands and sons before we got ourselves straightened out. And a lot less confusion when the damned flashbacks started. And to hear the Cranes tell it, they spent several years being led around by the nose-- in separate centuries, no less-- because a bunch of busybodies in the know decided they should be protected from the truth 'til the time was right. Like a pair of virgins, kept in the dark 'til the wedding night, and about as well prepared. Even Ichabod's first wife was in on it-- which, I don't mind saying, is some messed up shit. Uh, no offense," he added hastily, looking toward the door to the aft passage as Abbie appeared, on her way up from the passenger rooms.
"No, no, I agree," she drawled, mouth curled in a wry smile as she took a seat toward the foot of the table, reaching over to snag the jug from Rick. "Don't tell Ichabod I said that, though; he's still a little sensitive on the subject of Katrina. No matter how long you live, you never quite forget your worst regrets."
"I hear you," Mal nodded solemnly. "Some things... well, they leave a mark you can't never erase."
"Which is why," Rick spoke up again, taking the jug back, "Evy wants to make sure you and River have an easier time of it."
Mal snorted. "If she wanted me to have an easier time of it, she should have found me fifteen years ago. I aimed to be a teacher before the War. Babe in a basket, near as makes no never mind, and a believer through and through. Might have swallowed all this gŏushĭ a damned sight easier back then. Don't really need to believe in 'destiny' to do what's needful to be done, though, do I?"
"Fifteen years ago, River would have been what, five?" Rick scoffed, raising a provoking eyebrow. "Might have been kind of hard to fight a war with a kid at your side."
"That's your best answer?" Abbie scoffed, wryly.
Rick lifted his hands from the table, palms out, and continued. "Hey. I'm just saying. You and River met when you did, the way you did, for a reason. But so far, you've mostly just been reacting to what's happened since. You'll never really get out ahead of it all 'til you go all in. Back me up here," he glanced to Abbie.
"Can't really argue," she shrugged. "It's been a long time for me, but I still remember how lost I felt that first year or so; like I was playing catch up most of the time. I never quite knew what the hell was going on, and Ichabod's loyalties were understandably pretty torn at times. It led to some pretty painful mistakes on our part before we got our acts together."
Mal fetched the jug for another pull to help wash that statement down. "Look, even if I buy this whole gorram tale about the yāoguài and the prophecies, what makes you think it's any more than dumb luck, Simon bringing his sister aboard my ship? Who's to say someone else might not've helped 'em just the same, maybe even without getting a passel of innocents killed along the way? What makes me this so-called Witness, 'stead of someone like her brother who's been there all along? Might as well say I'm a dirty old man humoring his crazy pilot; all comes out the same in the wash."
Rick's expression shifted, then, suddenly reminding Mal of Book: filled with uncomfortable conviction. "You know, I was a soldier myself, back in the day. A lot of men under my command got killed because our colonel made a really, truly stupid decision. And I went along with it, up until it all fell apart. I wasted the next few months making stupid decisions of my own, trying to forget everything that happened. But after I met Evy-- well, I spent the next several years asking myself similar questions. It wasn't 'til our son Alex got dragged into it and Evy died that first time that I finally bought into the whole destiny thing for myself. In my case, it was quite literally the writing on the wall."
"For us, it was Washington's Bible," Abbie nodded, taking her turn with the jug. "I guess we were lucky to have it from the start. Had a little trouble deciphering what it told us sometimes-- or believing it-- but at least we had that guidance. No idea what your sign will be, Mal; but trust me, it'll come."
Now that he thought on it, Mal wasn't so sure it hadn't done already; that frozen moment in the Maidenhead when he and River had pointed their weapons at each other and failed to fire was still etched in his mind in crystalline clarity. It had been the pivot point between everything that had come before and everything that come after, to which Book's last words had been echo and confirmation.
"Still. Why me?" he shook his head.
Rick shrugged, lifting the jug again, then squinted into its depths with a frown. "I pretty much figured it had something to do with balance-- especially since we woke up here and compared notes with you guys. Hey, you got any more where this came from?"
Mal remembered the flash of bemused recognition when the O'Connells' coffin had first opened; recalled seeing himself in Abbie as well, commiserating with the level-headed woman over River and Ichabod's rather excitable first meeting. The warriors and their geniuses, each deadly in their own way. Man and woman; older and younger; differently experienced; instinct versus logic. Yin and yang; complementary talents rather than matched sets. And he had been irrationally drawn to River from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, in a way that had nothing to do with her outer package. He hadn't noticed her, even subconsciously, that way until... well, until they'd weathered their first tribulation: facing each other as equals, bloodied and triumphant, on Mr. Universe's moon.
"Try the cubby one down, there on the end," he pointed toward the kitchen area. "Think Kaylee stowed some of her engine wine in there. And-- fine, you might could have a point."
"Might?" Rick smirked, getting up to investigate the cupboards. "All right, all right; we'll cut the destiny talk for now. Just-- humor her, all right? Evy means well. Most of the time. Though... if she tells you no harm ever came from doing something...."
Rick's face was turned away as he rummaged for the wine jar, but from the amused expression on Abbie's face, Mal figured the sentiment was something they all had in common. "I think I can parse the rest of it for myself," he replied, dryly.
"Are you sure? Because I wouldn't mind hearing exactly what my husband thinks of me," a tart voice interjected, climbing up the stairs from the cargo area below.
"Evy! We were just... uh...." Rick turned toward his wife, setting the wine jar down on the counter, expression all wide-eyed innocence.
"Yes? You were just what?" The slightly prettier O'Connell replied, kohl-rimmed eyes twinkling as she approached him. "Explaining to the good Captain how little you deserve the gift I found for you today?"
"Talking about destiny, and how little I deserve you," Rick covered quickly, eyeing the bit of rough, recycled paper wrapping sticking up behind one petite shoulder. "What's this about a gift?"
River, dressed much like the older woman in snug trousers and a flowy blouse that day, met Mal's eyes as she followed Evy into the dining area. There was a solemnness to her gaze that he couldn't quite decrypt... but it was the wrong moment to ask. He nudged out the chair beside his with one booted toe as her path split from Evy's and figured on prying it out of her later. She had a net bag filled with perishables over one shoulder, but nothing particularly unusual; she dropped it on the table, then leaned into him, slim hands braced against his chest as she offered him a peck.
"Smart man," Evy said lowly, accompanied by soft sounds of greeting; but Mal didn't turn to watch, too engrossed in his own moment of reunion. It was still too rare to him, this business of casual and enduring romantic affection, to take so much as a second of it for granted.
River's eyes were a mite shinier when she pulled back to curl up in her seat, kicking off her boots to tuck bared toes up under her and reaching out to tangle the fingers of one hand in amongst Mal's. But their attention was swiftly diverted back to the O'Connells as Evy unstrapped the package slung over her back and held it toward her husband.
"Here," Evy said. "You'll never believe what I found in the market."
Rick stared at the yard-long, slim object in its paper shroud, then up at his wife's face and frowned, reaching out to touch one of her hands rather than accept the gift. "Evy?" he said, concern thick in his voice. "Your fingers are like ice-- and they're trembling."
Evy swallowed, smile faltering. Then she shook her head and pushed the thing more firmly into Rick's grasp. "Oh, for heaven's sake, just take it. It's not bad; it's just... well, you'll see," she said. "I know we haven't talked much about what we left behind, but...."
Rick's expression was wary as he walked back over to the table, setting the long, narrow package down and flipping open his ever-present flick knife to snap the twine securing the wrappings. He pocketed the knife again and carefully began pulling the leaves of rough paper apart-- then caught his breath in a rough gasp, lifting a sword the like of which Mal had never laid eyes on before.
The Operative was the only opponent Mal'd ever fought who used bladed weapons that size as a primary weapon, and that had been a straight blade, modern make, with a nylon-wrapped handle and holes in the steel to lighten the weight. He'd got a pretty good look at it when the man had run him through. The blade in Rick's hand had more of an S-curve to it, with a flared point and a wooden grip; it was tarnished and nicked and not at all shuài, but somehow gave off an immense sense of age.
"A kilij," Ichabod Crane said, joining the others in the room; probably drawn away from whatever he'd been up to by the noise of Evy and River's return. "An ancient weapon, a symbol of power and kingdom to the Turks and several related cultures. Eventually abandoned for Western-type cavalry sabers and smallswords, which was unfortunate; that change, and the introduction of industrialized European steels to the Ottoman market, caused a great decline in traditional swordsmithing in the region. I take it this one has some particular significance?"
Rick swallowed, and turned the sword to trace a row of almost-indecipherable symbols that had been etched into the blade; he took a shaky breath, then nodded up at his wife. "Yeah. It's Medjai."
"Your people?" Ichabod asked, sympathetically.
"The style and script are unmistakable," Evy agreed, laying a hand over Rick's. Then she turned to Mal. "When you woke us-- River told Rick that he was the last; that there were no more travelers from the East. We feared that meant none of the Medjai had made it off Earth. That they had all chosen to stay, guarding that which could not be allowed to follow humanity to the stars. But this sword-- I've been over all the known Earth-That-Was artefacts on the Cortex looking for clues to what happened to our family, and while I've uncovered a few familiar... items... from Egypt, none were recognizably Medjai."
"Given how little the early settlers were allowed to bring with them, to which I can attest first hand... this is a working weapon, not a museum piece. If someone made room for this in their personal baggage allotment, it's because it meant something," Ichabod assured her.
That struck a chord for Mal; he rubbed absently at the ridge of scar the Operative's sword had left behind, wondering what he'd give to happen across something from his mother's ranch. Weren't much left of the planet he'd been raised on after the Alliance had got through with it; it was as far beyond his reach as Earth was from the O'Connells.
...And that was enough on that subject; time to lift the mood a mite.
"Conjure you'll want to be staying here a while then, to look about some more," he offered casually, locking eyes with Rick. Turning the conversation back on its beginnings.
"Of course, we'll-- what?" Evy began, cutting off at Rick's indignant snort of laughter.
"Oh, nothing, it's just...." Rick shook his head, grinning. "Guess this calls for a celebration, all round. We were just getting out the wine. Wanna join in?"
"Ooh, I don't know-- you know how much of a lightweight I am," Evy replied-- but she wasn't trembling anymore, and she wasn't frowning, neither.
"And I must protest the usage of the term 'wine'; that beverage is nothing of the sort," Ichabod added wryly.
Mal grinned, squeezing River's hand as he watched the others loosening up-- then glanced away at the weight of other eyes on him. "What?"
Abbie just shook her head, grinning back. "Oh, nothing. Just-- I'm glad you guys are the ones who found our crates; I'd almost forgotten what it was like."
"What what was like?" Mal tilted his head at her.
River casually uncurled one leg and kicked him hard in the shin.
"What? And also, ow," he complained, caught by surprise.
"It's all right, River," Abbie laughed, gently. "I know he knows; and I'll say it. Team. Family. We've all lost a lot, but we've found each other, too."
"Now that's a sentiment I will drink to," Evy said.
"To family," her husband echoed, and unsealed the jar of engine wine.
-x-