Part 1 - Rapture

Malcolm Reynolds upset a delicate balance when he retired as captain. He knew what his leaving would do but he was sixty-one-years-old and just wanted someplace warm and solid on which to enjoy the rest of his days. He was too damn old to be zippin' about the 'verse anymore, gorramit, and ever since Jayne and River settled down on Haven with their twins, since the doc and Kaylee took that long vacation to the core to settle the Tam estate after the death of the doc's parents and Inara took to visiting old Companionin' friends at the same time, nothing had been the same. Mal was alone on Serenity with all the kids for nearly two months. It was a damn terrifyin' experience and made him realize how useless he'd become.

He could barely keep up with the kids, his host of old injuries always aching and making him painfully aware of every gun shot and stab wound he'd ever received. Sam, Jay, and Mac were all strong, vital young men and could have new cargo sorted, stored, and secured before he'd even managed to slowly bend his stiff back to pick up one ruttin' box.

Louisa's piloting was legendary, but that didn't mean it wasn't nauseating; she sent him heaving for the bowl three times in less than five minutes on one memorable occasion. Baby Washburne, her and Mac's two-year-old boy, had been sitting on the pilot's lap, happily laughing and clapping his pudgy hands. Everyone in that whole damn family turned out nuttier than squirrel turd.

Speakin' of irritating families, the Tam girls were largely responsible for his frequent headaches and ulcers.

Jessie and Angie were quick and talented as their mama when it came to the engine, but they were less skilled (or maybe it was just that he was gettin' dense in his old age) at translating into Captain-Dummy Speak. Jessie was also just turned twenty and gettin' real friendly with the menfolk on the worlds they visited during their Supply Corps runs; Mal was sick a' findin' her half-naked all over his ship and 'specially sick a' her givin' him the cold shoulder every time he shot at the whole-naked fellas he found her with. Angie was nineteen and sensitive; seemed like something--most often Jay's big mouth--was always upsettin' her. Mal had never been good at dealin' with tears and never knew how to react to suddenly bein' hit with an armful of blubbery strawberry blonde. He tended to usually make the situation a whole lot worse.

Rosie was like a saner, more innocent version of River, quirky and dreamy and introverted and geniusy. When she started in on talk about physics or ethics or morality or spirituality or some fantastical story she thought up out of the blue, well, it was all Mal could do just to try to stay awake.

Ginny, dark-haired and brilliant like her father, was just fifteen but already perfectly at home up to her elbows in other people's guts. Mal was gettin' kinda disturbed by the way she stared at him over the dinner table, like she was dissecting him with her clinical blue eyes and waiting patiently for him to die so she could have a real live (or not so live) cadaver to play with.

So, ya, retiring to Haven was probably his best bet. Inara was on board for the idea, and Simon and Kaylee were considering coming along as well. Rosie and Ginny were all set to be off to the core for some proper schoolin' soon, and their two elder sisters were more than enough mechanic for the boat to get by with. The rest... well, the rest were the gorram problem.

"Which one of us is captain when you leave?" Jay demanded hotly as he, Sam, and Louisa all cornered Mal in the mess.

The old browncoat froze, a long string of protein noodles hanging dumbly out of his wrinkled mouth as he grunted, "Huh?"

"I ain't takin' orders off either one a' your brats!!" Lou shouted, her voice sounding so much like Zoe's even while her bronze face echoed the father she never knew, "I changed their shitty diapers, Uncle Mal!! I was there when they were ruttin' circumcised!! It just ain't right!!"

"Hey now!" The soon-to-be-ex-captain interrupted, desperately trying to keep the situation from spinning out of his control, "Just wait one gorram second-"

"I'm the senior officer!!" Louie raged, powerful fists clenched tightly at her sides as she stomped her foot in frustration, a gesture of surprising immaturity from one usually so collected.

"So what?" Jay fired back, his mama's dark eyes spitting fire as he tossed light brown curls away from his wide, suntanned forehead, "We ain't your soldiers, Lieutenant!! Boat should go to me or Sam 'cuz our dad's the captain!! It's the law!! There's a gorram name for it!! Sammy, what's the name for it?"

Remaining passive in the face of the rage of his twin and surrogate-sister, Solomon Derrial "Sam" Reynolds coolly responded, "Think the word you're looking for is nepotism, Jamie."

James Quinn gave an emphatic nod, slinging a long arm around his slightly older, slightly shorter brother's shoulders as he proclaimed, "YA! Nepotism! The Law of Nepotism says one of us should be captain!"

"Chou-bi!!" Lou answered, oblivious to baby Washburne wandering into the room and slapping his hands over his big ole dumbo ears when he heard his mama curse; Louisa claimed that trainin' him to do that was a lot easier than trainin' herself to stop cursin' in front of him. "Nepotism ain't no law!!" The statuesque, near-Amazonian woman yelled, "And it's supposed to be a bad thing!! It means promotin' your own kin over folks who're more qualified to do the job!! And I am sure as hell more qualified to run this boat than the both a' you put together!!"

"How do you figure?" Jay mocked boldly. Mal could tell from just the tone in his voice, the cocky way his twenty-two-year-old son was standing that the boy was about to say something very stupid; he recognized the impending disaster from his own experiences gettin' into 'em. "Just 'cuz you served in the war don't make you any better than us!" The young man declared, stepping up so that he was eye-to-eye with the twenty-eight-year-old retired Air Force First Lieutenant, "'Sides, you got shot down and captured! How the hell is that an endorsement for puttin' you in charge-"

Unsurpringly, Louisa hauled off and punched him right in his big fat mouth before he could even finish the sentence. The force of the blow sent Jay flying backwards a good ten feet; Mal was amused to find that his boy had been knocked clean outta his boots. Just like her mama, Lou had a mean right hook.

"Yinmao!!" Louie shrieked as she launched herself at the dazed and only half-conscious Reynolds twin, proceeding to viciously beat the hell outta him, "Ni tzao sma? Ni-yow wuh-kai chang? Jiao ni sheng haizi mei pigu yan!!" Zoe's baby always had had a mouth on her, and she'd been sensitive about what went on during the Second Unification War ever since she'd served with distinction and honor and contributed greatly to an Independent victory. She certainly wasn't shy about her physical violence and Mal knew that the only reason Jay wasn't riddled with bullet holes was 'cuz he was her di-di; even that probably wouldn't save him for long seein' how she'd shot at her own husband for far less.

"ENOUGH, LOUIE!!" Malcolm Reynolds shouted at the top of his lungs. Elderly but still a figure of authority, he was instantly obeyed. Louisa got off Jay, kicking him hard in the ribs one last time before screaming "Gouzazhong!!" and stomping out of the mess.

Standing over his bleeding and groaning son, Mal gave a light chuckle. Jay glared, his eyes blackened and his teeth stained red from the blood leaking out of his crushed nose as he slurred, "You coulda jumped in sooner! Didn't hafta let her beat me so bad!"

"'Course I did," The gray-haired captain argued, giving his headstrong boy a hand to his feet, "Had all that and more comin' to ya. Louie is a gorram war hero and you ruttin' well know it. You got no right talkin' to her like that, 'specially not when you also know how upset she gets."

Jay continued to glare, lookin' pretty foolish with his left thumb and index finger shoved halfway up each of his swollen nostrils in an effort to stem the profuse blood flow. Not responding to his father's accusations, he turned and stomped off in the opposite direction Louisa went, whining, "GINNY!!! LOU BROKE MY NOSE!!" Ginger Marie Tam was filling in as the ship's medic in her father's absence and she was doing a very fine job of it. The brilliant brunette was scheduled to leave for an early acceptance MedAcad program shortly after she turned sixteen and the core wasn't gonna know what hit 'em.

Alone in the mess with the still stone-faced Sam and the still earmuffed baby Washburne, Mal gave a long sigh. He sat back down with his bowl of half-eaten noodles, motioned Louisa's boy over, pulled the toddler into his lap, and got comfortable before going back to his meal.

"Dad," Sam stated quietly, lookin' all manner a' serious as he took a seat on the other side of the table, "You gotta settle this before you can leave. Lou's not gonna take orders from me or Jay, and me and Jay won't take orders from her or from each other. The boat still needs a captain."

"I know," Mal responded, entertained by watching baby Washburne grabbing handfuls of noodles out of his bowl. The two-year-old was a miniature copy of his father, with the same strong square jaw and "ruttin' ridiculous blonde curls," as Louisa fondly referred to them. He had his mama's soft blue eyes though, the eyes she got from her own daddy. "I'll think a' something," The man assured, smiling into Sam's stony face, "Now why don't you go see to your brother? Try to get him to keep that big mouth a' his shut?"

Sam smirked, his mama's dark hair falling across his forehead and into his icy blue eyes as he stood and answered, "Ya. Like that's ever gonna happen."

Nobody but Mac and baby Washburne voluntarily interacted with Louisa during the following week. She made Angie cry twice (on accident), pulled her weapon on Jay no less than a dozen times (all definitely on purpose), and once on Uncle Mal when he threatened to take the ruttin' thing away from her. She was not a happy lieutenant.

Louie loved her family; that wasn't the problem. The problem was that she was a born leader and had an independent streak a mile long. She'd been a sergeant during the war, flight chief of the legendary 92nd Airborne Attack Squadron, the Lean, Mean, Serene as they were called. Taking orders off Uncle Mal was one thing, he was Uncle Mal, but taking 'em off Sam or Jay... well, that was an entirely different matter. No way in hell Lou was gonna tolerate having those brats put in charge of her. No, sir.

When she finally set the boat down on Hera, the pilot was, as Rosie bluntly put it, "growlier than Uncle Jayne when he hasn't been sexed in a month." The captain issue was bugging her, but that was only part of it. Hera was the site of Serenity Valley; it was the planet she'd been shot down on during the war, the one where she'd been imprisoned and beaten and raped in the Alliance camp at Lazarus. The place crawlin' with bad memories.

She wouldn't have even got off Serenity if it hadn't been for Jessie and Angie. The pair of stand-in mechanics begged her to accompany them on a trip to a local junkyard in search of parts. Louisa would have said no, except that they both went and got all misty-eyed on her, sayin' that they didn't know the world too well and would feel a lot safer with their shiong-tsan jie-jie along to protect them. Ruttin' Tam girls and their misty eyes...

It was hot. Hera was a desert planet, with sweltering days and freezing cold nights that Louisa remembered all too vividly. She was in a real foul mood, sweating inside her heavy second-hand brown coat as she followed Jessie and Angie through the heaps and heaps of scrap. Their chattering was starting to give her a throbbing ache right between her eyes and carrying baby Washburne was making her arm tired and her old injuries throb.

She didn't want to put him down though. Her precious er-zi could get hurt wandering around all of that sharp, rusted metal, and holding him close, burying her face against his unnaturally soft curls was helping Louisa to keep calm, keep her waking nightmares at bay. She sort of wished she would have just swallowed her pride and asked Mac to come hold her hand...

But suddenly she heard, "HEY!! YOU!!" The loud voice had her bristling and defensive before she'd even turned to see where it had come from; that part didn't matter so much seein' as she could hear two sets of frantic footsteps and heavy breathing comin' her way.

Jessie and Angie were far enough away to be safe for the moment, but Lou quickly set baby Washburne down on the ground. "Go hide," She stated simply, the toddler dutifully nodding his big ole melon of a head, popping his thumb into his mouth as he took off for cover just like he'd been taught. Made Louie pretty gorram proud a' his smarts.

But there was no time to dwell. Hand on the butt of the pistol always strapped to her hip, Lou turned around and, like always, was fully prepared to shoot somebody if she needed to.

Only she turned and instead of finding a threat, she found a dopey-lookin' pair of redheads who could only have been a father and son. The younger man was far in the lead, arm waving up over his head and his heavily freckled face split by an excited grin. The old man was puffing along a ways behind him.

"Heya, Sarge!" The younger man shouted as he arrived right in front of Lou. Seeming to suddenly remember himself, he quickly snapped into a full-proper military salute--it still looked strange with him still grinnin' like he was--and reported, "Private Triller, Ma'am! Hundred-Thirty-First Mobile Infantry Brigade! It is an honor to see you again!"

"I know you?" Lou inquired suspiciously, giving him a quick, calculating once over as she slid the safety of her gun back on.

That's when she noticed it: the long, jagged scar on the left side of his face. It started at the back of his big jaw and shot straight up into his on-end ginger hair. Even though she couldn't see, Lou instantly knew that the scar didn't stop until nearly the top of his right ear.

"You were in Lazarus," Louisa blurted out, growing pale and physically ill because she absolutely did remember this soldier. She'd come across him in one of the cells as she'd been limping through the camp unlocking them all. At the time, she hadn't even been able to tell he had red hair. His head was cracked wide open, a gaping piece of skull missing to expose the bloody, shredded pulp that was left of his brains. She'd been amazed when she discovered that the unfortunate boy was even still alive and sure he wouldn't stay that way long. She'd later heard from the medics who were airlifting her and him off of the world that Private Triller had had an Alliance cruiser clip his head as it was crashing. A body just didn't live through that sort of trauma. With the amount of suffering it would involve, maybe they just weren't supposed to.

Louisa was sure he'd died, but there he was.

"Yup!" The man reported brightly, seeming so very young. He was barely eighteen when she met him, a totally green recruit, so he could've only been about twenty-five on that day. "I was in Lazarus," The young man continued as his father finally arrived all out of breath, "And I remember you! You're Sarge Washburne! You saved us all!"

Louisa hated that she could feel her face get hot. "Just did what had to be done," She claimed quietly. After a momentary pause, she added, "I didn't think you'd made it, Private. Last I saw, most of your head was MIA."

Private Triller laughed, giving the side of his cranium a sharp rap. It echoed like the hull of a ship would under the same treatment. "Got a plate in there," He reported proudly, "Nearly a square foot a' steel and a few dozen bolts. It's a real wonder I don't pick up no cortex signals with it."

Lou smirked in that uncomfortable way a person does when something's funny that ought not to be.

"Doc's on Greenleaf fixed me up real fine!" Private Triller continued to babble, "They said it was a miracle I even lived! I been home since the war, helpin' my Pa run the junkyard. Got married a few years ago and just had a baby girl with my wife not quite three months ago. We named her after you, Sarge."

"What in the ruttin' hell for?" Louie gaped before she could stop herself, only vaguely aware of her mouth hanging open dumbly.

Private Triller looked slightly confused, answering, "'Cuz you saved me, Sarge. You saved all that was left of my entire brigade and scores of others. Most men in this town were enlisted and locked up at Lazarus and you saved 'em all. Ain't nothin' in any of our lives would've been possible without you."

Louisa's face turned a lot redder.

"OH!" Private Triller suddenly cried out, seeming to get distracted from the conversation by his bolt of inspiration as he slapped his hand to his forehead with a dull metallic ring, "I got somethin' for ya back home! Wait right here and I'll run get it!" He was off like a shot, goofy and awkward and odd as all get out.

His father was left, another redhead with a funny-lookin' face, though a much calmer demeanor. He had wrinkles around the corners of his eyes and silver around his temples. His smile was warm as he offered his hand out to Louisa. "Thank you, Ma'am," He said, serious and heartfelt reverence in his voice and kind brown eyes, "I know Joshua'd pro'ly be dead now if it hadn't been for what you did. My family owes you a great debt."

"That ain't necessary," Louisa claimed, uncomfortable at the praise, dropping the old man's hand as she turned around in search of baby Washburne. She caught a flash of his gold curls peeking 'round the corner of an open hatch door. The boy disappeared quickly when he saw his mama glance his way, not wanting to get scolded for not staying well enough hid.

Louisa tried not to smirk as she went after him, calling, "It's ok to come out, baby."

"Not a baby," The toddler vehemently insisted as his sweet little fawn freckled face appeared scowling in the doorway.

Smiling, Louie soothed, "'Course not. I'm sorry, Burne. I forgot how big you'd gotten."

The boy gave an emphatic nod before running right into his mama's waiting arms. Snuggling comfortably against her side, he rested his head on Lou's strong shoulder as he pointed towards the junked-out remains of the craft he'd been hiding in and inquired curiously, "What's that one called, Mama?"

Eager to educate her son about ships, Louie expertly looked over the mangled wreck before reporting delightedly, "Why, that's a 02-M18 Seraph class long-range fighter!" She took a step back to admire the three pairs of angel wing gun turrets bolted seamlessly on either side of the graceful round cockpit, as well as the radiation halo set into the back engine bay that was supposed to be quite a sight when it was glowin' white hot.

"Haven't ever come across one a' these for real," The pilot remarked to the old man, practically salivating and already half in love with the boat, "Just in books... she's gorgeous."

"Ya," The old man agreed wisely, pleased that someone else could appreciate the craft, "She's a relic from the first war. Dragged her in outta one a' the far gulleys a ways back. Been here over thirty years but nobody ever gives her a second glance and I can't bring myself to crush her."

Lou nodded, "Some folks can't see past the need for a new coat a' paint and some hard work... think she'll still fly?"

"P'rhaps," The old man mused, "But you'd have to have one helluva mechanic to get her up in the sky again."

Lou grinned broadly and excitedly squeezed baby Washburne just a little tighter, commenting, "Good thing I know two who happen to be nearby."

Jessie and Angie were pretty far into a squabble over whether or not they would need to patch or replace the cracked left-side cooling block of the old Seraph when Private Triller finally came back. He had a big hunk of flat metal in one hand and was dragging a pretty brunette woman who was holding a pretty cinnamon-haired baby with the other. What Louisa suspected to be half the ruttin' town was following along behind him.

"Hey, Sarge!" Triller called, waving the warped metal panel up over his cracked head, "I found it!"

"Great," Lou muttered nervously; she didn't like being the center of attention like she obviously was just then.

But the redhead didn't seem to notice her squirming, proudly presenting the woman and girl as he chirped, "I'd like you to meet my wife, Vivi-Anna, and baby Louisa Suzanna Triller."

Willing the redness out of her face yet again, Lou gave a stoic nod of greeting, gripping her son to her like a lifeline as she responded, "Nice to meet ya'll. This is my boy, Washburne, and those two lovely redheads back there are my sisters, Jessie and Angie."

"HI!!" Sunshine and Strawberries Tam chirped together, their argument and task apparently forgotten as they came running up to the crowd of new folks. Jessie was already makin' eyes at three or four handsome young men all at once, Angie shyly blushing at the similar looks comin' her way.

"I hope you'll stay for dinner," Vivi-Anna offered kindly, brown eyes huge and glassy as she stared up at Louisa like she was an angel herself. The petite woman gave a watery smile before adding, "We'd be real honored."

"'Course we'll stay!" Jessie sang out happily, completely interrupting Lou as she'd been about to politely decline, "That's so kind a' ya!"

"We just gotta let the rest of our crew know where we are," Angie added, smiling softly, putting a comforting hand on Louisa's shoulder when she saw how uncomfortable her big sister was getting.

Vivi-Anna beamed, hugging her baby as she stated, "You tell 'em to come on down, too. Any friends of Sarge Washburne's are friends of ours."

Private Triller gave a bright nod, grinning proudly. After just a moment, he went a slapped himself on the forehead again, the metallic ring echoing through the air again as he stated, "I plumb forgot. Here, Sarge. I got this for ya."

He held out the sheet of metal, smilin' that stupid smile a' his until Lou seized the scrap from him just to get him to stop pointin' the ruttin' thing at her. The metal was thick, heavy steel. She turned it over and her breath caught in her throat.

Louisa's boat during the war was a 01-B25 Widow class stealth bomber. Lou named him Dino and loved him with all her heart. When she got shot down on Hera, Dino and all the crew, the mechanic and two gunners, Scotty, Paloma, and Jun-Chen, were killed. Except for Louisa. Louisa got to watch them die, pull a huge chunk of shrapnel out of her own leg, and then leave them all behind to limp off in the direction of the gunfire.

She'd thought she'd lost them all, that she'd never see a single one ever again.

And then Private Triller handed her the hand-painted nameplate off her boat, the last little salvageable bit of him in the whole 'verse.

"DINO" it said in bold, bright green letters that could be read from a few dozen yards off. Even if they couldn't, the picture of the ferocious t-rex right under it was a dead giveaway. Lou painted the sign herself just after she was commissioned the elegant little bomber, for the first time in her life appreciating the usefulness of Aunt River's art lessons.

Staring at it then in the junkyard, having a piece of Dino back after all those years... it felt like a dream, felt like she was about to get pulled under by the rush of memories, both good and bad, long days laughing with a good group of friends and getting tore to shreds as she fought her way out of a red hot coffin of collapsing metal familiar body parts. She didn't know what to say, couldn't make anything come out her mouth, was only vaguely aware of the whole crowd of townfolk gettin' real quite as they waited and waited for her to react.

"DINOSAUR!!" Baby Washburne called out, squirming excitedly in his mama's embrace and grounding her firmly in the present as he reached his pudgy little hands out for the picture of one of his favorite creatures.

That got Lou to smiling, to kissing her boy's cheek as she held the piece of metal closer to him and agreed, "Ya! Dinosaur! This is the dinosaur off mama's plane!" Heart bursting as she watched baby Washburne cooing over the picture, Louie turned back to Private Triller and sincerely stated, "Thank you."

Dinner with the Triller's turned out to be a far quieter affair than Louisa originally feared. Vivi-Anna was a wonderful cook, Mac, Uncle Mal, and Double-Trouble weren't too embarrassing, and baby Washburne was absolutely fascinated with baby Louisa.

Aside from the fact that he kept curiously asking why she had his mama's name, the boy just loved fussing at how little she was, making her laugh with funny faces, and babbling on and on to her about dinosaurs and spaceships even though all the adults said she couldn't understand him quite yet. After dessert, he climbed into his daddy's lap and politely requested a little sister of his own.

Mac cracked the hell up, breathlessly responding, "I'll be sure 'n do my part to make that happen someday, little man!"

In the midst of Private Triller delighting everyone with his story of survival, Louisa grabbed Mac's hand. She sent him a Look and quietly dragged him out of the house completely unnoticed by the rest of their party.

"You ok, wifey?" The merc inquired lovingly, wrapping his arms around his beautiful warrior woman without a care as to where she was leading him.

"Fine, husband," Lou responded softly, leaning into the embrace as she steered them carefully through the moonlit scrapyard, "Just got somethin' to show ya."

They walked along in a comfortable silence for a bit and then before either of 'em knew it, they were standing before the dark, looming shape of a junked ship. Mac could see the longing in his wife's beautiful blue eyes, tenderly kissing her temple as he asked, "What'm I lookin' at?"

Snapping herself out of an uncharacteristic daydream, Lou gave his hand a firm squeeze and pulled him inside the open hatch door as she answered, "This is a 02-M18 Seraph class long-range fighter."

"Shiny," Mac remarked skeptically, trying very hard not to shriek in an unmanly fashion when some kinda small rodent skittered across his foot.

"She was an Independent boat," Lou stated enthusiastically, "They were only manufactured briefly during the first war. The factories that made 'em were owned by a few high-ranking Independent officers and instigators so they got seized and demolished by Blue Sun after the takeover. Thanks to most of the few that were made gettin' shot down in combat, there ain't a lot of 'em left."

She paused briefly, pulling Mac up a rickety set of stairs at the far end of the bay, reverently running her fingers over the once-sleek metal railings as she continued, "This class is what Uncle Mal means when he talks about the angels. They were designed to support small crews on long interplanetary missions, with docking capabilities to larger carriers. Got three bunks, a galley, a living room, two bathrooms with showers, and, my personal favorite, six outside gun turrets and a pretty decent-sized missile payload bay, which was what we just walked through."

"That's nice, sweet pea," Mac responded, not really understanding why Louie was so fascinated, well, other than that she was brainy and loved spaceships. He was just about to ask her why she was showing him all this when they suddenly arrived in a round, spacious bridge.

The paneled bubble windshield was huge, taking up most of the front wall, and the cockpit was high enough off the ground so that they were able to look out over all the junk to a gorgeous view of the stars and moons all glowing deep against the craggy horizon.

"Whoa," Mac stated, clearly impressed. He'd never seen a boat with such an open bridge design and it was definitely real pretty. Just imagining what the Black would look like from the spot he was standing, like a person was standing out in the middle of nothing, was mind-blowing. Before he could say that, Lou pushed him backwards down into the pilot's chair and straddled his lap. When she started kissin' his neck and grindin' herself against him, Mac completely forgot about the beautiful view outside; he had all the beautiful view he would ever need right there with him.

"Jesus, Louie," The merc groaned, unsure if he meant it to be a swear or a prayer to the goddess hovering over him as he felt her hot flesh beneath his suddenly clumsy hands. He did worship the fiery pilot, had since almost the first time she shot him down, but there were also times, a lot a' ruttin' times, when she confused the hell outta him. Right then was one a' those times... not that he was complainin' about bein' dragged into a junked out ship and attacked sexually. No, sir.

"So?" She asked expectantly as her nimble, very talented fingers made short work of the big black buttons down the front of his green and maroon tie-dyed shirt.

As was always Louisa's effect on him, he barely had the presence of mind to grunt, "Huh?"

Mac could've sworn he saw the gorram woman smirk in the dark before she bent down to nip at his earlobe, to respond in that low, raspy whisper she knew damn well turned him into a helpless puddle a' goo. "The boat," She stated very slowly, explicitly, enunciating ever syllable perfectly as her graceful fingers skimmed downwards to unbuckle his gunbelt, "What do you think of the boat?"

"You expect me to think while you're doin' that?" He groaned, utterly mindless as her body pressed tight against his, lost in the heady scent and intense heat wrapping around him like an incredibly sexy blanket.

Slowing her movements, the pilot pulled away slightly and teased, "Should I stop then, husband?"

"NO!" Mac cried out, wishing his voice wouldn't have cracked so loudly and shrilly as he grabbed her and yanked her back against his broad, solid chest. Their lips met hard. Mac loved Louisa's lips; they were soft and full and looked so incredibly beautiful twisted into that gorgeous, laughing smile. His hands scrambled to divest her of as much clothing as he could, as quickly as possible. "Boat's shiny," He joked, his voice still a bit strained as he mouthed the words against one perfectly sculpted collarbone, "I particularly enjoy its gettin'-the-wife-to-sex-me feature."

"I was hopin' you'd say that," Louie teased breathlessly, leaning into Mac as he drew his mouth down her long, slender sternum, as he tossed her shirt over his shoulder and trapped her backside in his big hands, lest she try escapin' again, "'Cuz Pop Triller offered her to us for a steal."

It took a few moments for the statement to penetrate his lust-addled mind but, when it did, the merc briefly halted his movements, looking up at her as he dumbly grunted, "Huh?"

"She's ours if we want her," Lou answered, smiling, a hopeful, excited gleam in her soft blue eyes as she toyed with the blonde curls brushing the back of his neck, "Thought I'd get your input."

"You want the boat," Mac announced bluntly, hands beginning to move over his wife's body of their own free will, "And you're actually askin' me 'fore you buy her?"

Throwing her head back with laughter, the pilot responded, "Figured puttin' a ring on my finger warrants you gettin' a vote in these types a' matters. Though I really don't know why I'm botherin'. Burne loves her, too, so you're already outnumbered."

Mac smirked, staring up at his warrior woman's slightly apprehensive face with the knowledge that, no matter what she said, she really did value his opinion. It meant a lot coming from the most stubborn, fiercely independent person he'd ever known. "Can we really afford this?" He asked quietly.

"Not payin' for the parts or labor to fix her, ya," Lou stated happily, otherworldly silhouette backlit by the bright moons and stars outside, "The Triller's say they ain't takin' a cent off us for parts and I had to strongarm Pop just to make him to take payment for the boat herself. Jessie and Angie are so excited about gettin' a new toy they're gonna work practically for free."

"W-What about Serenity?" Mac questioned, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull as Louisa started moving again, started grinding down on him in that ruttin' perfect way he took as yet more proof that they were destined for only each other.

Surrendering into utter bliss as her dreams began looking like realities, as the ecstasy began to carry her away, Retired United Republic of Independent Worlds Air Force First Lieutenant Louisa Agnes Serenity Washburne-Machado bent to capture her husbands thick, slightly-chapped lips, whispering against them, "She'll understand."

Uncle Mal flipped a lid when Louisa announced her decision later that night. He went all red and blustery as he bellowed, "Threatenin' to leave ain't gonna make me put you in charge a' the ship!"

"Ain't a threat," Lou responded coolly, "It's the plan. 'Sides, we ain't leavin'. Not really. More like movin' in next door."

"Huh?" the old captain grunted in confusion.

Louie smirked, elaborating, "Jay totaled the spare shuttle last year and you never got 'round to findin' a replacement. Jessie and Angie say they can modify the Seraph's port-side carrier-docking hatch to fit with Serenity."

"But..." Mal gaped, "But... why?"

"I know you wanna give Serenity to the twins," The young pilot answered calmly, a hint of a smile in her voice, "As young, inexperienced, and ruttin' dumb they are, they're still your blood. That's alright. I'm just not gonna trust my family to 'em, least not 'til they understand that bein' a leader ain't just about bossin' folks around."

By the end of the explanation, Uncle Mal had a deep, contemplative frown on his wrinkled face. Lou made some good points, and he really couldn't make her do anything she didn't want. She was grown, after all, and did have her own family to consider. She had to do what was best for them and if she believed that not putting them in the care of Sam and Jay Reynolds was best, well, then that was her choice.

"'Sides," She added, an impish smirk twisting her features, making her look so much like Wash that it was almost scary, "The Seraph's got guns and you say no every time I ask to strap some to Serenity."

Suddenly, Mal couldn't stop laughing. Louisa might've had Wash's face, but she had so much of her mama in her that it was... well, pretty damn scary but also just a tiny bit comforting. Felt nice to think that Zoe, the best and most loyal friend he ever had, lived on through her baby girl even years after she'd passed.

"Alright," Mal finally chuckled, "Two things and then we're shiny."

"Shoot," Lou chirped happily.

The old man held out a gnarled finger, listing seriously, "First, you gotta teach both Sam and Jay to pilot Serenity without crashin' her."

Snorting, the woman rolled her eyes, "Well, I'll try, but I can hardly be held responsible if Jay decides it's a good idea to fly with some farm girl suckin' his xiao di-di again."

Mal's eyes bugged out of his head; he choked violently on his own spit before shouting, "THAT'S how he crashed the shuttle? He told me the engine failed!! Bu-yao-lian hwoon dahn!! I am gonna kill that gorram boy!!"

With a mischievous smirk, Louie prompted, "He's all yours. Now, what's second?"

After taking a brief moment to collect himself from the shock he'd just suffered, the old browncoat grumbled, "Second is that you look out for everyone. You're the oldest and the only one really knows firsthand how to handle the worst trouble. I want Sam and Jay to learn how to run things on their own, together, but not if it puts them or the girls in danger, so you take over if it ever gets to that point, dong ma?"

"Done," Lou agreed with a broad grin, jumping down off the counter in the Triller's kitchen, "Now, if you'll excuse me, the husband and I are gonna go think of names for our new boat."

Forever coveting the first night they spent together in the brilliant, moonlit cockpit, Mac and Louisa settled on Rapture.

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Translations -

chou-bi - stinking cunt

yinmao - pubic hair

ni tzao sma? ni-yow wuh-kai chang? - you want a bullet? you want a bullet right through your throat?

jiao ni sheng haizi mei pigu yan - may your child be born with an imperforate anus

di-di - younger brother

gouzazhong - mongrel dog

shiong-tsan jie-jie - ass-kicking older sister

er-zi - son

xiao di-di - cock (lit. little younger brother)

bu-yao-lian hwoon dahn - shameless son of a bitch

dong ma - understand

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Author's notes -

Seraph - (plural: Seraphim) a member of the highest order or angels, often represented as a child's head with three pairs of wings; one of the celestial beings hovering above God's throne in Isiah's vision.

Rapture - the state of being transported by a lofty emotion; ecstasy; an expression of ecstasy or passion; the transporting of a person from one place to another, especially to heaven; the state of being carried away by an overwhelming emotion; a state of elated bliss.