A Little Gem of Innocence
Title: A Little Gem of Innocence
Author: terimaru
Genre: gen - some firearm references
Pairing: Mal/Inara with Zoe and Alleyne
Summary: Mal works on Alley's firearms skills
Special thanks to
homespunfic
quillscribe and
__dream_on for their insights and betas.
"This is what it takes to be a hero - a little gem of innocence inside you that makes you want to believe that there still exists a right and wrong, that decency will somehow triumph in the end." Lise Hand
~*~
Zoë slid into the porch rocker next to Inara, leaning over to run a finger down Matthew’s chubby, toddler's cheek, then waited as Inara expertly shifted the slumbering child into Zoë’s waiting arms. It was a move they’d perfected through the years. Zoë sat back, aligning his small body along hers, loving the feel of his stocky weight.
He never woke, just stirred a little and resumed soft, snuffling, baby snores through his open mouth. Mal’s youngest could sleep through an Alliance carpet-bombing.
Today, he only had to sleep through target practice. Zoë could see them, a small and tall figure, down behind the shed where they all practiced shooting.
She allowed herself a smile as she saw Mal use his foot to gently kick Alley’s feet into a wider stance, and square up her shoulders with his big hands.
She glanced at Inara with a look of sympathy. This was hard on her. Zoë knew it. Mal knew it. But Inara was strong.
Zoë had had several occasions over the years to appreciate the iron will and obstinacy the woman could display when she thought herself on the right side of an argument. Zoë’d been afraid that Mal’s teaching Alley to shoot would bring out those traits. Inara had, again, surprised her.
“Alley excited?”
“She’s beside herself. ‘Gleeful’ would be the word I’d use.” Inara sighed. “My daughter is seven years old and learning to shoot a revolver today. It’s not exactly one of those moments I’ll want to scrapbook.”
Her resignation, tinged with dry humor, made Zoë smile.
“She’s got her daddy’s love of firearms, that’s for sure. Says she’s a natural with that .22 rifle.”
“Oh, he’s having the time of his life with her. She shot the top off of an old pop bottle yesterday, without a scope, and I could see his chest swell from here.”
They shared a quiet laugh at Mal’s adoration and pride for his daughter.
“I wondered for a while if Matthew might not come between ‘em. Some men tend to gravitate toward sons,” Zoë said softly while noting that Alley had a damn good stance. She smiled in approval as Mal patted her under the elbows, admonishing her to keep them up and stiff.
Mal fell back into his sergeant role when he worked with his girl on firearms. Didn't bark out orders, but he got all serious-like; no play. Then again, teaching your daughter to defend her life and that of her little brother wasn’t anything to induce humor.
“I know. I worried about the dynamics of a second child myself. Alley has always had everyone on the ship at her beck and call. I was afraid the competition would be too much, but it’s worked out well. Mal’s crazy about Matthew, but there’s a special bond between him and Alleyne that I don’t think anything can break. It melts my heart to see it.”
She took her eyes off her daughter to glance at Zoë.
“Of course, Mal’s used to being surrounded by strong women. He will certainly expect his daughter to live up to certain standards”
There was no censure in her words, but Zoë could hear the worry. Raising children out on the Rim was not for the faint hearted.
“Know it’s hard, lettin’ her do this,” Zoë reasoned, “but she needs to learn. With all of us teachin’ her through the years, she’s ready for handguns. Children out here don’t have the luxury of remainin’ innocent.”
“I know,” Inara agreed. “You’re right on both counts. It is difficult to watch - and she does need to learn. But she’s so little and that gun’s so big and dangerous.
Mal’s been patient with my reluctance; but he started learning how to shoot at five, and now he’s insisting that she’s old enough. I finally decided to just get out of the way and let them go at it. He has complete faith in her and I can’t talk any sense into either one of them."
“Tryin’ to talk sense into Mal always has been like tryin’ to teach a pig to sing, Inara. It wastes your time - and it annoys the pig. Never did meet a more stubborn man.”
Inara grinned wryly at her friend. "Who has? But since it’s saved his life a time or two: long live stubbornness. And pardon the pun, since Avery is all about them, but that apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She might look like me, but under that skin, she’s Malcolm Reynolds made over - as Abigail likes to say,” Inara added fondly.
“Does seem to have a stubborn streak a mile wide, but she’s got your charm to make it go down a mite smoother.”
They watched as Mal took a step back and Alley got ready to shoot. They both wore hearing protectors in their ears, and Mal had made Alley put on River’s goggles as well, much to her disgust.
“At least he’s teaching her to use both hands. She’s not going to like that. She wants to shoot like you and Mal.”
“Best way for a woman to shoot. Anybody really, if you want to hit somethin’. Alley’s not going to have the upper-arm strength to shoot one-handed accurate-like for a long time yet. She's too slender. ‘Sides, he’s just teaching her what to do in an emergency.”
“I pray every night that we never have that kind of emergency," Inara said heavily.
Zoë simply nodded in agreement, falling silent to watch the two figures in the distance. As they quieted, the only noise in the hot, summer afternoon was the creaking of their rocking chairs, the spitting bark of the revolver, and Mal’s voice carrying faintly on the apple and cordite-scented breeze.
~*~
Mal studied the target rings as he tore the paper from the hay bale, then squatted down with it by Alley’s side. He’d seen new recruits do worse, he thought absently; at least she’d hit the paper a few times.
“Ain’t bad." He pointed out her grouping, a series of bullet holes about three inches apart, and only relatively near the center.
“Little loose, little high. You ain’t gonna have the control with a revolver that you’ve got with a rifle, dong ma? Revolver’s gonna kick up when you fire.”
He demonstrated with his right hand, his eyes on Alley’s to make sure she understood. Mal’s chest tightened with pride when she simply nodded. Kid was bright, even if she was his, he thought. Course, she’d been brought up around guns and their rules, and God only knew what Jayne had taught her when he watched her for them. He glanced down at the revolver she held, noting that she had her finger off the trigger just like she’d been taught.
“Remember now, Alley, there’s more to it than pointin’ that gun and firin’. Not that you ain’t gettin’ good at that. You got talent. You gotta be aware of what's goin' on around you, but you’ve still got to keep your focus on the target. Now, tell me our rules.”
“Okay, Pa.” Alley took a deep breath. This was old hat to her, she’d had her father, Zoë, and Jayne all drilling her on this stuff since she first started re-assembling Vera while blindfolded - not that Pa or Aunt Zoë knew about that. She rattled off the first rule by rote, never missing a word.
“Be sure you’ve identified your target beyond any doubt. Just as important, be aware of the area beyond your target. Observe your area of fire before you shoot. Never fire in toward people or any other potential for mishap. Don’t never pull a gun unless you mean to use it. Think first. Shoot second. Go for a body shot. Shoot to kill. Don’t never tell Momma the rules.”
Mal grinned and ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl. Now put your safety on and check your action. Eject your old shells and reload - and tell me which way we point the revolver while reloading and carrying.”
“Toward our head, right?” Alley said, glancing sidelong at him with her mother’s dark eyes.
“Gorram insubordination is a spankin’ offence, Miss Smartass Alleyne,” he growled at her, but his eyes sparkled with humor as he said it. They didn’t tell Momma about the cussin’ either - neither of them wanted the ‘language’ talk.
“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.” Alley loved this game she played with her father.
She had a knack for mimicry. She could do everybody on the ship and a lot of Paraiso's townfolk as well. Her favorite though was Aunt Zoë. She was going to be just like her Aunt Zoë when she grew up. Well, she might wear some lip paint, and maybe wear a dress once in a while, but other than that she intended to be just like her.
Mal just shook his head, trying to look stern and failing miserably. How could he fuss when she was so damn cute? He wished every day his mother could have known his children.
“Now we was discussin’ the primary rule of gun safety, I do believe.”
She responded promptly, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back, finger extended and away from the trigger, still in Zoë mode.
“Always keep your firearm pointed in a safe direction, sir.”
“Which is?” he prompted.
“A direction where the barrel is pointed so that even if it was to go off, it won’t cause no damage nor injury, sir. This is dictated by common sense and differerin’ circumstances. You, personally, recommend ‘down’ as a direction at all times, sir.”
He nodded, impressed as hell, but not letting it show. Young’un’s head stayed swelled too much as it was, with all the people in Paraiso spoiling her and always telling her how smart she was. Course, he agreed with them, but he didn’t think all that spoiling was a good thing.
Parents had to set boundaries. His boundaries were just different than the average father’s. His were based on keeping his children alive. That meant teaching Alley how to take care of herself and little Matthew.
Never could tell what might come at a body out here. He’d die trying to protect them all, but he couldn’t be there for them every minute, and at the rate they were growing up they’d be out on their own before he and Inara knew what hit them. His children would leave him knowing how to take care of themselves, and each other, if they never learned anything else.
“Ain’t a lot you can accidentally shoot pointin’ down, unless it’s your own foot; and that’ll just teach you to be more careful with that trigger finger.
Now, let’s get back here and work on this target groupin’. This time keep those elbows locked and your wrists stiffer.”
He tacked up a clean target and they walked back to their shooting line.
Mal glanced down as Alley slipped her small hand into his, her other carrying the gun pointed down, her trigger finger extended. She’d put the safety on, just like Mal had told her.
He squeezed her hand, lightly reassuring her. She felt things in the odd way that children did, his Alleyne. Sensed it when people hurt, or grieved, or, like her mother, worried.
She glanced back at the house, seeing her mother and Zoë on the porch.
“Heard you and Momma arguin’ about me doin’ this. I know she don’t like it.”
“We wa’n’t arguin’, little girl, or fightin’; we was jus discussin’. This ain’t an easy thing for your ma, and it ain’t an easy thing for me.
Your mother grew up in a softer place, a softer time. There’s a lot of places to live where little girls don’t need to learn to shoot. I think maybe that’s what’s on her mind.
She ain’t upset with you, and it’s nothin’ you need to worry about. Just ain’t an easy thing, is all.”
“I know, Pa, but we know it’s a necessary thing, don’t we? If we want to keep our freedom.”
Mal stopped and, again, knelt down in front of his daughter. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth any more than he could prevent the love that flooded through him every time he looked at her.
Though he’d never acknowledged it to anyone other than Inara, he considered her and Matt miracles. He’d never come closer to reconciling himself with God than he had the day she wrapped her tiny fist around his finger the first time and stole his heart completely. It hadn’t healed up his conflict with his god, but it hadn’t hurt it none either.
“Now look at you, Miss Alleyne. All of seven years old-”
“Nearly eight.”
“All of seven years old - nearly eight - and sharper than an upholstery tack. How’d you get so worldly and knowledgeable?”
“Oh, Pa, you’re just teasin’ me now.”
She threw her arm around his neck and pulled him to her for a hug, her gun arm still in its proper position.
Mal pulled her closer, removing her handgun and placing it in his holster. He missed her baby scent, he thought nostalgically. She’d started to use a touch of Inara’s honeysuckle scent that they made down at Abel’s store.
She was growing up so fast. Seemed like every day she did something new or learned something new about the world that just left him amazed.
Of course, she’d had a slew of teachers, practically fighting for her attention from the time she’d been born. Not having any experience with babies, they’d treated her like a little adult from the time she could talk.
Inara had taken over her academic education with the help of the Cortex. Before they’d settled on Avery, she had been able to read and write simple words. She now had classes online, and at the school in Paraiso that Inara had started up to teach the town kids there.
Kaylee’d had her handing her tools and cleaning up around the engine room until she could handle a spanner pretty well, and knew some of the engine parts that he couldn’t name. Not that he’d ever admit that.
Alley had a real love for Simon’s infirmary. She’d spent a lot of time in there as well. Watching closely as Simon had patched them up, asking a million questions - and being gently escorted out by Simon, who seemed to think children were small, walking germ factories.
Zoë had given her a crash course in field bandaging and she’d gone through a month-long phase of wrapping Jayne up until he’d come to resemble a mummy.
Zoë had also taught her some simple hand-to-hand combat tricks like sticking her fingers in opponents' eyes, and a few street-fighting techniques that made even Mal wince.
What Jayne had taught her, Malcolm did not even want to know, and never asked. He did however, confiscate and move a few small throwing knives to the weapons lock up, much to Alley’s dismay.
River let her sit on her lap while she piloted the ship, but Alley had little interest in flying Serenity. She just wanted to play with the dinosaurs. The goldfish bowl in her room was decorated with some of the tiny carnivores that she’d carefully arranged in the aquarium gravel for her two fish, and she had a nice collection on the shelves.
Mal, himself, had had taken on the hardest job, the ugly job, of explaining about the world. He loved her and he loved her innocence. So without trying to destroy that, they had long talks.
Talks about what could happen if someone boarded the ship, what could occur if someone shot at them, what she and Matthew were to do in those events.
Talks about how in the real world, unlike the fairy tales that Kaylee told her, things mostly didn’t run smooth, that bad things happened to good people, and that the good side, the right side, sometimes didn’t win.
Then they had longer talks about how even knowing all that, a body had to do the best they could do, and be the bravest they could be - that anyone could do anything if they did it one thing at a time. ‘Let's do the thing’ became their motto.
They toured Serenity and, later, the house, finding hidey-holes and discussing contingency plans in case of emergencies. Mal had hard-hitting conversations with her about how she was to get Matthew and hide him, protecting him and her, and not come out no matter what she might hear. He’d made her cry and then he’d made her stop. He’d been tough on her - he’d had to do be.
His gift to them both would be teaching them to love life and live it each day to the fullest; to find the courage to do what you had to do for that moment; and to not be, like he had been until Inara, afraid to love just cause you might lose a thing.
So he and Alley had a sort of double life on Serenity and on Avery. When he was with the crew, he was her loving, cuddly, sometimes stern father; but when they were alone, she was an equal. He never pulled punches and because of that, she grew up being just a little cynical and a lot world-wise.
Her soft hug pulled him back to the present. He squeezed her to him, hiding his face in the curls that were so much like her mother’s, and tried not to let on to himself that he was praying for her.
“It is necessary, little girl. I hope you never have to use that gun, but if you do-”
She jumped neatly in. “Remember the rules.”
She pulled gently away from him, and took the gun carefully out of his holster, knocking off the safety. She stood in her shooting stance just like her Aunt Zoë had shown her, and she pointed her gun at the target - then she grinned at her father and winked.
“Pa, let’s do the thing.”
Author: terimaru
Genre: gen - some firearm references
Pairing: Mal/Inara with Zoe and Alleyne
Summary: Mal works on Alley's firearms skills
Special thanks to
homespunfic
quillscribe and
__dream_on for their insights and betas.
"This is what it takes to be a hero - a little gem of innocence inside you that makes you want to believe that there still exists a right and wrong, that decency will somehow triumph in the end." Lise Hand
~*~
Zoë slid into the porch rocker next to Inara, leaning over to run a finger down Matthew’s chubby, toddler's cheek, then waited as Inara expertly shifted the slumbering child into Zoë’s waiting arms. It was a move they’d perfected through the years. Zoë sat back, aligning his small body along hers, loving the feel of his stocky weight.
He never woke, just stirred a little and resumed soft, snuffling, baby snores through his open mouth. Mal’s youngest could sleep through an Alliance carpet-bombing.
Today, he only had to sleep through target practice. Zoë could see them, a small and tall figure, down behind the shed where they all practiced shooting.
She allowed herself a smile as she saw Mal use his foot to gently kick Alley’s feet into a wider stance, and square up her shoulders with his big hands.
She glanced at Inara with a look of sympathy. This was hard on her. Zoë knew it. Mal knew it. But Inara was strong.
Zoë had had several occasions over the years to appreciate the iron will and obstinacy the woman could display when she thought herself on the right side of an argument. Zoë’d been afraid that Mal’s teaching Alley to shoot would bring out those traits. Inara had, again, surprised her.
“Alley excited?”
“She’s beside herself. ‘Gleeful’ would be the word I’d use.” Inara sighed. “My daughter is seven years old and learning to shoot a revolver today. It’s not exactly one of those moments I’ll want to scrapbook.”
Her resignation, tinged with dry humor, made Zoë smile.
“She’s got her daddy’s love of firearms, that’s for sure. Says she’s a natural with that .22 rifle.”
“Oh, he’s having the time of his life with her. She shot the top off of an old pop bottle yesterday, without a scope, and I could see his chest swell from here.”
They shared a quiet laugh at Mal’s adoration and pride for his daughter.
“I wondered for a while if Matthew might not come between ‘em. Some men tend to gravitate toward sons,” Zoë said softly while noting that Alley had a damn good stance. She smiled in approval as Mal patted her under the elbows, admonishing her to keep them up and stiff.
Mal fell back into his sergeant role when he worked with his girl on firearms. Didn't bark out orders, but he got all serious-like; no play. Then again, teaching your daughter to defend her life and that of her little brother wasn’t anything to induce humor.
“I know. I worried about the dynamics of a second child myself. Alley has always had everyone on the ship at her beck and call. I was afraid the competition would be too much, but it’s worked out well. Mal’s crazy about Matthew, but there’s a special bond between him and Alleyne that I don’t think anything can break. It melts my heart to see it.”
She took her eyes off her daughter to glance at Zoë.
“Of course, Mal’s used to being surrounded by strong women. He will certainly expect his daughter to live up to certain standards”
There was no censure in her words, but Zoë could hear the worry. Raising children out on the Rim was not for the faint hearted.
“Know it’s hard, lettin’ her do this,” Zoë reasoned, “but she needs to learn. With all of us teachin’ her through the years, she’s ready for handguns. Children out here don’t have the luxury of remainin’ innocent.”
“I know,” Inara agreed. “You’re right on both counts. It is difficult to watch - and she does need to learn. But she’s so little and that gun’s so big and dangerous.
Mal’s been patient with my reluctance; but he started learning how to shoot at five, and now he’s insisting that she’s old enough. I finally decided to just get out of the way and let them go at it. He has complete faith in her and I can’t talk any sense into either one of them."
“Tryin’ to talk sense into Mal always has been like tryin’ to teach a pig to sing, Inara. It wastes your time - and it annoys the pig. Never did meet a more stubborn man.”
Inara grinned wryly at her friend. "Who has? But since it’s saved his life a time or two: long live stubbornness. And pardon the pun, since Avery is all about them, but that apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She might look like me, but under that skin, she’s Malcolm Reynolds made over - as Abigail likes to say,” Inara added fondly.
“Does seem to have a stubborn streak a mile wide, but she’s got your charm to make it go down a mite smoother.”
They watched as Mal took a step back and Alley got ready to shoot. They both wore hearing protectors in their ears, and Mal had made Alley put on River’s goggles as well, much to her disgust.
“At least he’s teaching her to use both hands. She’s not going to like that. She wants to shoot like you and Mal.”
“Best way for a woman to shoot. Anybody really, if you want to hit somethin’. Alley’s not going to have the upper-arm strength to shoot one-handed accurate-like for a long time yet. She's too slender. ‘Sides, he’s just teaching her what to do in an emergency.”
“I pray every night that we never have that kind of emergency," Inara said heavily.
Zoë simply nodded in agreement, falling silent to watch the two figures in the distance. As they quieted, the only noise in the hot, summer afternoon was the creaking of their rocking chairs, the spitting bark of the revolver, and Mal’s voice carrying faintly on the apple and cordite-scented breeze.
~*~
Mal studied the target rings as he tore the paper from the hay bale, then squatted down with it by Alley’s side. He’d seen new recruits do worse, he thought absently; at least she’d hit the paper a few times.
“Ain’t bad." He pointed out her grouping, a series of bullet holes about three inches apart, and only relatively near the center.
“Little loose, little high. You ain’t gonna have the control with a revolver that you’ve got with a rifle, dong ma? Revolver’s gonna kick up when you fire.”
He demonstrated with his right hand, his eyes on Alley’s to make sure she understood. Mal’s chest tightened with pride when she simply nodded. Kid was bright, even if she was his, he thought. Course, she’d been brought up around guns and their rules, and God only knew what Jayne had taught her when he watched her for them. He glanced down at the revolver she held, noting that she had her finger off the trigger just like she’d been taught.
“Remember now, Alley, there’s more to it than pointin’ that gun and firin’. Not that you ain’t gettin’ good at that. You got talent. You gotta be aware of what's goin' on around you, but you’ve still got to keep your focus on the target. Now, tell me our rules.”
“Okay, Pa.” Alley took a deep breath. This was old hat to her, she’d had her father, Zoë, and Jayne all drilling her on this stuff since she first started re-assembling Vera while blindfolded - not that Pa or Aunt Zoë knew about that. She rattled off the first rule by rote, never missing a word.
“Be sure you’ve identified your target beyond any doubt. Just as important, be aware of the area beyond your target. Observe your area of fire before you shoot. Never fire in toward people or any other potential for mishap. Don’t never pull a gun unless you mean to use it. Think first. Shoot second. Go for a body shot. Shoot to kill. Don’t never tell Momma the rules.”
Mal grinned and ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl. Now put your safety on and check your action. Eject your old shells and reload - and tell me which way we point the revolver while reloading and carrying.”
“Toward our head, right?” Alley said, glancing sidelong at him with her mother’s dark eyes.
“Gorram insubordination is a spankin’ offence, Miss Smartass Alleyne,” he growled at her, but his eyes sparkled with humor as he said it. They didn’t tell Momma about the cussin’ either - neither of them wanted the ‘language’ talk.
“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.” Alley loved this game she played with her father.
She had a knack for mimicry. She could do everybody on the ship and a lot of Paraiso's townfolk as well. Her favorite though was Aunt Zoë. She was going to be just like her Aunt Zoë when she grew up. Well, she might wear some lip paint, and maybe wear a dress once in a while, but other than that she intended to be just like her.
Mal just shook his head, trying to look stern and failing miserably. How could he fuss when she was so damn cute? He wished every day his mother could have known his children.
“Now we was discussin’ the primary rule of gun safety, I do believe.”
She responded promptly, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back, finger extended and away from the trigger, still in Zoë mode.
“Always keep your firearm pointed in a safe direction, sir.”
“Which is?” he prompted.
“A direction where the barrel is pointed so that even if it was to go off, it won’t cause no damage nor injury, sir. This is dictated by common sense and differerin’ circumstances. You, personally, recommend ‘down’ as a direction at all times, sir.”
He nodded, impressed as hell, but not letting it show. Young’un’s head stayed swelled too much as it was, with all the people in Paraiso spoiling her and always telling her how smart she was. Course, he agreed with them, but he didn’t think all that spoiling was a good thing.
Parents had to set boundaries. His boundaries were just different than the average father’s. His were based on keeping his children alive. That meant teaching Alley how to take care of herself and little Matthew.
Never could tell what might come at a body out here. He’d die trying to protect them all, but he couldn’t be there for them every minute, and at the rate they were growing up they’d be out on their own before he and Inara knew what hit them. His children would leave him knowing how to take care of themselves, and each other, if they never learned anything else.
“Ain’t a lot you can accidentally shoot pointin’ down, unless it’s your own foot; and that’ll just teach you to be more careful with that trigger finger.
Now, let’s get back here and work on this target groupin’. This time keep those elbows locked and your wrists stiffer.”
He tacked up a clean target and they walked back to their shooting line.
Mal glanced down as Alley slipped her small hand into his, her other carrying the gun pointed down, her trigger finger extended. She’d put the safety on, just like Mal had told her.
He squeezed her hand, lightly reassuring her. She felt things in the odd way that children did, his Alleyne. Sensed it when people hurt, or grieved, or, like her mother, worried.
She glanced back at the house, seeing her mother and Zoë on the porch.
“Heard you and Momma arguin’ about me doin’ this. I know she don’t like it.”
“We wa’n’t arguin’, little girl, or fightin’; we was jus discussin’. This ain’t an easy thing for your ma, and it ain’t an easy thing for me.
Your mother grew up in a softer place, a softer time. There’s a lot of places to live where little girls don’t need to learn to shoot. I think maybe that’s what’s on her mind.
She ain’t upset with you, and it’s nothin’ you need to worry about. Just ain’t an easy thing, is all.”
“I know, Pa, but we know it’s a necessary thing, don’t we? If we want to keep our freedom.”
Mal stopped and, again, knelt down in front of his daughter. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth any more than he could prevent the love that flooded through him every time he looked at her.
Though he’d never acknowledged it to anyone other than Inara, he considered her and Matt miracles. He’d never come closer to reconciling himself with God than he had the day she wrapped her tiny fist around his finger the first time and stole his heart completely. It hadn’t healed up his conflict with his god, but it hadn’t hurt it none either.
“Now look at you, Miss Alleyne. All of seven years old-”
“Nearly eight.”
“All of seven years old - nearly eight - and sharper than an upholstery tack. How’d you get so worldly and knowledgeable?”
“Oh, Pa, you’re just teasin’ me now.”
She threw her arm around his neck and pulled him to her for a hug, her gun arm still in its proper position.
Mal pulled her closer, removing her handgun and placing it in his holster. He missed her baby scent, he thought nostalgically. She’d started to use a touch of Inara’s honeysuckle scent that they made down at Abel’s store.
She was growing up so fast. Seemed like every day she did something new or learned something new about the world that just left him amazed.
Of course, she’d had a slew of teachers, practically fighting for her attention from the time she’d been born. Not having any experience with babies, they’d treated her like a little adult from the time she could talk.
Inara had taken over her academic education with the help of the Cortex. Before they’d settled on Avery, she had been able to read and write simple words. She now had classes online, and at the school in Paraiso that Inara had started up to teach the town kids there.
Kaylee’d had her handing her tools and cleaning up around the engine room until she could handle a spanner pretty well, and knew some of the engine parts that he couldn’t name. Not that he’d ever admit that.
Alley had a real love for Simon’s infirmary. She’d spent a lot of time in there as well. Watching closely as Simon had patched them up, asking a million questions - and being gently escorted out by Simon, who seemed to think children were small, walking germ factories.
Zoë had given her a crash course in field bandaging and she’d gone through a month-long phase of wrapping Jayne up until he’d come to resemble a mummy.
Zoë had also taught her some simple hand-to-hand combat tricks like sticking her fingers in opponents' eyes, and a few street-fighting techniques that made even Mal wince.
What Jayne had taught her, Malcolm did not even want to know, and never asked. He did however, confiscate and move a few small throwing knives to the weapons lock up, much to Alley’s dismay.
River let her sit on her lap while she piloted the ship, but Alley had little interest in flying Serenity. She just wanted to play with the dinosaurs. The goldfish bowl in her room was decorated with some of the tiny carnivores that she’d carefully arranged in the aquarium gravel for her two fish, and she had a nice collection on the shelves.
Mal, himself, had had taken on the hardest job, the ugly job, of explaining about the world. He loved her and he loved her innocence. So without trying to destroy that, they had long talks.
Talks about what could happen if someone boarded the ship, what could occur if someone shot at them, what she and Matthew were to do in those events.
Talks about how in the real world, unlike the fairy tales that Kaylee told her, things mostly didn’t run smooth, that bad things happened to good people, and that the good side, the right side, sometimes didn’t win.
Then they had longer talks about how even knowing all that, a body had to do the best they could do, and be the bravest they could be - that anyone could do anything if they did it one thing at a time. ‘Let's do the thing’ became their motto.
They toured Serenity and, later, the house, finding hidey-holes and discussing contingency plans in case of emergencies. Mal had hard-hitting conversations with her about how she was to get Matthew and hide him, protecting him and her, and not come out no matter what she might hear. He’d made her cry and then he’d made her stop. He’d been tough on her - he’d had to do be.
His gift to them both would be teaching them to love life and live it each day to the fullest; to find the courage to do what you had to do for that moment; and to not be, like he had been until Inara, afraid to love just cause you might lose a thing.
So he and Alley had a sort of double life on Serenity and on Avery. When he was with the crew, he was her loving, cuddly, sometimes stern father; but when they were alone, she was an equal. He never pulled punches and because of that, she grew up being just a little cynical and a lot world-wise.
Her soft hug pulled him back to the present. He squeezed her to him, hiding his face in the curls that were so much like her mother’s, and tried not to let on to himself that he was praying for her.
“It is necessary, little girl. I hope you never have to use that gun, but if you do-”
She jumped neatly in. “Remember the rules.”
She pulled gently away from him, and took the gun carefully out of his holster, knocking off the safety. She stood in her shooting stance just like her Aunt Zoë had shown her, and she pointed her gun at the target - then she grinned at her father and winked.
“Pa, let’s do the thing.”