Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything.

Two Men Walked into a Bar.

Malcolm Reynolds walked down a short flight of stairs and into the cavernous space below. The lights seemed to flicker as he entered. The room's inhabitants favoured him with brief stares before returning to their business. The lights flickered again. A small man strode toward him, his eyes blazing with purpose. He looked Mal up and down before shoving him out of the way and kicking a grey and sparking box attached to the wall.

"Damn generator," he mumbled, "that's the last time I buy something off the back of a guys boat." He looked at Mal with an air of suspicion, "What can I help you with?"

Mal looked down at the man and turned on the charm. "I have a small ship and a small crew and we were lookin' for some work. I heard that this fine establishment was the place to come for that sort of business."

The man snorted his disdain and headed back toward the bar. Mal followed at a distance, slowly surveying the patrons, trying to decide who would be most likely to need something moved. He found a seat at the bar and sat there, planning his next move.

"I can't help it Princess," a voice sounded from the doorway, "If she won't go, we can't go, understand?" The voice was overly casual with a hint of annoyance.

The voice that floated back wasn't hinting. "So you're going to fix it by going into a bar?"

"I have my ways Princess." The conversation ended in a scream of frustration from the female accompanied by a similar noise from the male as he entered the building. He swaggered across the floor, oblivious to the dozens of eyes following him and took the seat next to Mal.

"I hear you're having some troubles with your ship," Mal commented.

"You heard right pal," the man answered.

Mal nodded slightly, "I've got the best mechanic in the 'verse on my crew, she don't come cheap mind, but she'd get you flyin' again soon enough."

The strangers look hardened, "I'm sure she would, but I don't trust strangers with my ship." Mal sagged slightly, having lost the opportunity to earn some money. "Besides," the stranger continued "I have a perfectly capable mechanic working on her right now." A dull thud accompanied by a plaintive moan floated in from outside. The stranger looked panicked, Mal smirked.

"He sounds very capable," Mal commented.

The stranger ignored the sarcasm, "Oh, he is. Gotten her out of worse scrapes than this, I can assure you."

"So you've had trouble before?"

"Oh, you know," he said casually, leaning back on his stool, "the line of work I'm in can be mighty dangerous."

Again Mal smirked, "And what line of work might that be?"

"I transport valuable and much sort after goods to their rightful destination."

"So you're a smuggler."

The stranger looked hurt, "You make it sound s cheap and nasty. Its a lot more honourable than that." Mal continued to smirk at him. "And what line of work would you be involved in?"

Mal's face took on the expression of a cornered rodent, "Oh you know, a very important and dangerous one."

The stranger raised his eyebrows, "Smuggling, huh?"

"Or whatever else might be going at the time."

The stranger's face registered recognition at his comment. "Is that what you're doing on this piece of rock?"

Mal glanced around the dimly lit establishment, "Well there isn't really anything else going for it."

The stranger nodded, "I know what you mean, I'm more comfortable off planet, or would be if we could just get her going."

"I meant what I said a'fore, about my mechanic. She wouldn't come for free mind, but I wouldn't trust my ship with anybody else."

"Thanks for the offer, but the Millennium Falcon's pretty special to me, it just wouldn't feel right to have some stranger take a look at her."

Despite the seriousness of the strangers tone Mal started to laugh. The stranger glared at him defensively. "I'm sorry, it's... it's just… the Millennium Falcon?" His words were overtaken by more laughter until the stranger shot him a look of such venom that Mal instantly sobered up. He swallowed uncomfortably. "Just seems a mighty strange name for a ship, Mr..?"

"Solo," he offered sharply, "Han Solo."

This time Mal suppressed his laughter, "It just seems like you were grasping at straws when you named her."

Solo raised an eyebrow, "And I suppose yours has a better name."

"Serenity did seem to be the perfect name for her."

"And how did you come across that name?" Solo asked slyly, as if waiting for a chance to laugh back at Mal.

Mall took a long sip of his drink before answering, looking straight ahead he did. "Serenity Valley. There was a battle there, a terrible one, other side of the 'verse."

Solo looked surprised, "I haven't heard of it."

"You probably wouldn't have," Mal answered, shooting a sideways glance at Solo, "Not a man whose business is as classy as yours." He smiled without looking at him, pausing before continuing. "You wouldn't happen to know of any work for me and my crew?" He looked at Solo. Solo shrugged.

"Not much work for anyone around here." Solo answered. "I wouldn't stay too long either, things won't get better anytime soon."

"I don't intend to stay anywhere long, I'm happiest on the move."

"I know what that's like, although it more 'on the run' than 'on the move', if you understand."

Mal laughed, "A little too well."

The men fell silent, drinking and thinking. There was another crash from outside, another plaintive moan, a female's cry of annoyance. Solo turned to Mal, hesitated. There was another bang. Solo looked at Mal, leaned back so he didn't look to eager. "So this mechanic of yours..."

Mal arched an eyebrow.

"The best in the galaxy?"

Mal nodded. The noises from outside became more urgent, Solo turned a pained expression to the doorway then back at Mal.

"How much?"