The Wisdom of Kaylee

A Firefly Ficlet – by Aaron Cronin

The usual disclaimer: Firefly, the Serenity, and all its passengers and crew are not my property, and I am not obtaining any financial remuneration from this production – or as Jayne would say, "I ain't getting no money outta this, am I?" So park the lawyers, okay?

Author's notes: this is a stand-alone piece, taking place after the events of the TV show and film, and about a year after the story in the comic Float Out. Also, this is my first Firefly fanfic (in fact, it's my first published fanfic of any kind that isn't Iron Man), so please, be gentle …

Kaylee heard the noise before she saw who was making it. In fact, she saw the audience for it before she saw who was making it.

She'd spent the entire morning up to her waist in one of the engines, rewiring a cranky power transmission node that by all rights should have been swapped out a year ago. Actually, if she'd had her way by the time she was finished, it would've been replaced, then dropped on the ground, kicked, shot, shot again, jumped up and down on several times – and finally, the pieces would be swept up, tied into a gunny sack and shoved out into space once they cleared atmo. Except it'd be a waste of a perfectly good gunny sack.

She was tired. She was overheated. She was streaked with grease and dust and probably a little dried battery acid. The skin on her fingers was worn and scraped from messing with all those wires, and she had a small bruise above one eyebrow from where a bracket on the node had come loose and hit her. She needed a shower, a big meal, two cups of strong tea laced liberally with ng ka py, and about three hours with Simon and without clothing – in that order of appearance, if not importance.

So the noise she was hearing was pretty much the last one she was in the mood to hear when she reached the second-floor landing of the cargo hold. Namely, Mal and Inara bickering. Again.

"Four days there and four days back, with no layover." Inara was clearly steaming.

And Mal seemed to be enjoying it. "Look, that's the job we were offered, that's the job we've got. His customers are in a hurry, so we are too."

"'We.' Meaning 'you.'"

"Meaning me, and the crew, and the ship."

"And apparently I'm not considered part of 'the crew,' since I found out about this two minutes ago – and less than two hours before takeoff. Even though 'the ship' includes my shuttle."

"And I may remind you that it's my shuttle, which you rent. An important distinction, which you've got a habit of forgetting when you get on your high horse."

"Which I needed to mount, so I wouldn't get trampled by yours …"

"Well, lady, I'd say you're the expert on mounting around here …"

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew – except for River, since it was her turn today to try and convert some of the ship's generic protein supplies into a passable lunch – was standing around watching the action. And quietly commenting on it.

"A credit says Mal stomps off first," Jayne whispered to Oliver, the pilot they'd hired the previous month.

Oliver, a friend of a friend of a close enemy of Badger's, looked like the trial-size version of a standard pilot – three-quarters of the height, though just as wide. He pondered it for a second before muttering, "eh, I dunno …"

"Do either of them ever win an argument with the other?" Simon asked Zoe in honest bewilderment.

Zoe shook her head. "Those two are like nuclear war – no winners, just survivors."

The combatants were oblivious to the crowd. "So exactly how am I supposed to conduct my business when I won't have any contact with civilization for over a week?" Inara snapped.

Mal crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, I don't claim to know your business – run it however you see fit. I'm just trying to take care of my business here."

"Well, some of us try to keep our business to what is generally regarded as legal …"

"Like whoring."

"Call it what you will – at least I don't break out in a cold sweat every time an Alliance vessel comes on the view screen."

"Well, if you feel that consorting with the likes of us petty thieves is beneath you, perhaps you should look for lodgings elsewhere."

Inara was silent for a few seconds. She looked like he'd just slapped her. "Is that what you want, Mal?" she asked, her voice quiet and low.

"Question is, is that what you want?" Mal responded in the same tone.

"I asked you first …"

And that was the point at which Kaylee lost it. "Oh, for crying out loud!"

Everyone – including Mal and Inara – stopped talking and turned to look at her.

Kaylee grumbled and crossed her own arms before continuing. "Everybody on this ship knows how you two feel about each other, and yet all you do about it is call each other names like a couple of five-year-olds! And we have to listen to it!" She rolled her eyes. "Both of you need to … need to just go get married and make babies!" She waved a hand at them dismissively and stomped away.

Everyone stared after her in stunned silence as she left. Mal pointed at the door she'd exited, mouth hanging open, while Inara was frozen with her brow furrowed in shock. They turned their heads at about the same time to look at each other ...

… and they kept looking at each other, as both their expressions softened …

… slowly Inara extended a hand …

… Mal took it in his …

… and without another word being spoken, by anyone, the two of them walked to Inara's shuttle, went inside, and closed – and locked – the door behind them.

The four remaining crew members stared after them, in various stages of surprise and bemusement. Finally it was Jayne who broke the silence. "'Bout gorram time. Wonder what's for lunch." And turning on his heel, he headed down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Eventually the others followed. And an hour and a half later, with no word having come from the shuttle, Zoe threw up her hands and launched Serenity herself.

"That was eleven months ago." Simon lifted up the baby boy in its blanket, and rubbed his own nose against the smaller one's. "It took them a couple of months to get it right, but eventually they did. And that is the story of how you, Hoban Derrial Reynolds, came to be. All thanks to the good advice of a very wise woman." He looked across the medical bay at Kaylee, who was leaning against a counter and blushing furiously.

Zoe, standing next to Kaylee and holding her own five-month-old, Tracey, shook her head and shoulders in suppressed laughter.

A soft groan from the medbay's bed caught everyone's attention. "Well, Hobey, looks like Momma's waking up …"

On cue, Hoban began to make discontented noises.

Inara wrenched herself into a sitting position and made "gimme here" motions with her hands. "I think I know what he wants." She took Hoban in one arm, while opening the top of her robe with the other hand. And she was right – before even getting the chance to cry, her baby was happily sucking down his afternoon snack. "How long was I asleep? And where's Mal?"

"About four hours," Simon said in response to the first question.

"And Mal's been and gone twice already while you were out," Kaylee finished, walking over to Simon. "He'd have stayed down here, except all of us were here, and 'somebody has to fly this rutting ship.' That's a quote," she added with a smile.

"But now that you're awake, I'm going to relieve him and send him back down," Zoe said, hoisting Tracey higher on her shoulder. She headed out the door, then paused and turned to Simon and Kaylee. "You know, Wash and I have done our part. Now Mal and Inara have done theirs." She patted Simon heavily on the shoulder with her free hand. "Your guys' turn." And off she went.

Kaylee pointed at the door she'd exited, mouth hanging open, while Simon froze with his brow furrowed in shock. They turned their heads at about the same time to look at each other ...