(Written 6/3/04)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. No infringement is intended on the rights of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, or 20th Century Fox TV.

No archiving, please. Feedback welcome.

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"History"

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Zoe didn't so much as blink when he told her, but he saw something stir in the depths of her eyes nonetheless--a reaction no one else in the 'verse would have noticed. An acknowledgment that neither distance nor time would ever take them far from that place.

Then her lips pressed together in a faint, ironical smile and she nodded. "Good choice, sir." She looked at the dust and debris, the traces of rust and marks of old corrosion everywhere around them. "The colors even match," she noted drily.

Mal relaxed, knowing he'd won this round. "She'll be a good ship, Zoe. Man let 'er go for a song, so there's plenty enough cash to get her fixed up and hire us a crew. And see there?" He pointed along the way past the shabby infirmary. "Passenger rooms. There's always folks needin' to get from one place to another if we can't find cargo to haul."

"Of course, sir," Zoe said, shaking her head as she stepped away from him and around the bits of broken furniture that littered the floor of the wide area at the bottom of the stairs. She tried the door set into the far wall and it opened with a loud, reluctant creak.

Under the noise Mal heard something behind him in the cargo bay. He whirled around, missing Zoe's horrified gasp and the disgusted look she threw at him as she slammed the door shut.

Hand on his gun, Mal peered cautiously around the edge of the hatch. Loose cables draped from the catwalks stirred in the breeze blowing in through the open lock, but he swore he'd heard something different. Footsteps dragging against metal, the harsh breaths of a person in pain...

The bay was empty. The breeze was warm and fresh, making dust motes sparkle and dance in the sunlight pouring in from outside.

But cold sweat was trickling down Mal's back. His visio