It happens when the others are off ship; stopped at one of the less seedy border moons after almost a month cooped up on his boat, Mal grudgingly grants a full day's shore leave. And though he lets them go with the usual empty threats to pull anchor at the stroke of six pm, he can't help but enjoy Kaylee's parting smile as a sign of what they have all missed, and that it might just make the journey ahead that little bit easier.

Standing at the gantry he watches them depart--Jayne almost running to find the nearest bar, a short distance behind walks Zoe, laughing at something Kaylee is saying, the young mechanic herself with one slender arm hooked through Simon's, and last of all River, trailing in her brother's shadow, blue dress flapping gently in the morning sun. And he grants himself a moment of regret that he had been so eager to let them go and tend to Serenity himself, alone; but it is fleeting, and it passes quickly. Right now Mal needs the quiet. Later, he thinks, maybe after it ain't so glaring hot out, he'll go find Jayne and a drink with his name on it. But probably just the drink. He doesn't hold too much hope that the mercenary has planned on simply propping up the bar of one establishment, when there are no doubt other establishments about eager to offer a different trade--and that's a scene right now Mal don't want to think too heavily on.

Or maybe he'll just stay put. The 'verse is chock full of maybes. But at least for the time being it's quiet.

He steps back, makes to move to the controls and close up, when he notices, in the distance, River whispering into Kaylee's ear. She looks up and in Mal's direction; he wants to get inside so he waves her off, but she is already walking back.

He watches her move, light, effortless steps, and suppresses a sigh. "Don't want to go sightseeing?"

"Too much sun. Smells funny." She doesn't look at him, wandering delicately past on those big boots of hers up the gantry and into the cargo hold.

Mal isn't surprised, not really. Ever since she installed herself as a fixture in the cockpit with a permanence almost rivalling Wash's dinosaurs, River Tam has been more alive, more normal, than he'd ever thought possible. Such a contrast to his first sight of her; out of the deep freeze, all naked white limbs, screaming, sobbing into her brother's arms. And then the weeks and months after, when he came to realise what a precious thing it was to have a simple life, a normal childhood, and enemies that at least killed for the sake of an honest killing. Not like River, who heard everything but could not stop hearing. Not like River, who felt all the pain, but could not heal. For Mal, it has been an agonising experience watching her haul this burden across the 'verse, trailing in his endless search for a life stretched far from the arms of the law. And it still is, sometimes, but more often than not he will catch himself looking at her across the cockpit as they fly, silent as a shadow into the dark unknown, and think perhaps it's his burden too. And that perhaps he don't mind it being that way.

"Well, seein' as you're now intent on stayin' put, you might as well give me a hand..." Mal trails off, turning from the now closed doors to find the cargo hold empty and silent. He thinks he can just see a flicker of blue dress disappear off the catwalk and into the bowels of the ship, and shakes his head wearily at the empty space.

Maybe he'll get that peace and quiet after all.

--

He gets his wish in the end--for more than two hours Mal has the ship to himself. He doesn't know where River is hiding, and for the moment, isn't too bothered with her whereabouts. Let her find solace in the nooks and enclaves, the coolest, darkest corners so abundant in the fireflies, where a girl might hide away to her heart's content. But when the third hour passes without sight or sound of her, he begins to feel a mite concerned.

Actually, he's more curious than concerned. He's certainly known her to quite literally blend into the ship--he can think of one not so alive bounty hunter who could most definitely testify to that fact--but never for this long a time. He is also a little worried at her mood. The way she avoided his eyes on coming back, it was almost a semblance of the old River, when the crazy had outweighed the sanity in her needy, confused, brilliant brain. Not that she weren't needy, confused and brilliant still, but he understands those things to have an certain element of control nowadays, and has no wish for that control to go AWOL again.

He stands up from where he has been securing the latest haul back into their cases, ready for shipment, and wanders over to the comm.

"This is the captain..." he begins automatically, before realising how silly it sounds when it's just the two of them. He clears his throat, and continues in a less formal fashion. "Uh...River? I'm pretty much finished here, so I was gonna maybe head out and get some lunch. So if you wanna join me, that would...that would be grand."

He clicks the comm off, giving the piece of equipment a scowl. That would be grand? Well, if that don't bring her out in a peal of giggles, nothing will. He waits for a minute, expecting to hear the sound of her boots on the catwalk. Or not. That girl is capable of sneaking up on him just as much as she is creating a racket.

Five minutes, he thinks. She's got five minutes to peel herself from the walls and then I'm going.

After three minutes he gives up and, ignoring his growling stomach, goes looking for her.

--

"...So if you wanna join me, that would...that would be grand."

Under Kaylee's bedspread she presses a finger to the worn cotton sheet and listens to the captain's voice waft through the darkness. She can smell Simon; she can smell her brother's linen shirt and satin-lined waistcoat. She can hear Kaylee's laughter, the damp warmth of her breath and her longing.

River wants something. Unfortunately, though, she doesn't quite know what that something is.

Her stomach rumbles; it wants to take up Mal's invitation. River wrinkles her nose with displeasure. She doesn't feel like co-operating with her body right now, and she certainly doesn't want to go outside again. So she lies very still, waiting for the voice to return.

She has decided she likes that voice. She likes how is can sound rough and angry and hurt and strong all at the same time. She likes its snappish way of telling her off when she makes Serenity hang on the edge of a turn, toying with the stars around and wanting to chase, chase like River, and then the voice is all slow down, girl, this ain't a game. So River frowns and Serenity slows and Mal is silent and grumpy again, but smiling a little, from a distance.

For a moment she wonders why that is, and then it comes, all in a rush, making her fingers and toes curl together. She wants suddenly to reach out and hug that voice to her chest. It's the voice that lulls her in dreams where she's running and hiding and get out, get out now! but she can't, because she's stuck, because she's one piece of a girl that needs to break into a million tiny stars. But Mal growls at her--he is disapproving and doesn't understand or remember like River can. Only his voice, like now, calling as if it were a game, but River is very small, deep down, hidden with Kaylee and Simon, hidden in the soft frivolity of their happiness in a world of cotton and satin-lined waistcoats, and love.

She tosses the sheets aside, jumps up and clicks on the comm.

Count to one thousand. One thousand bullets, one thousand kisses. They're all one and the same.

"Come to the bridge," she says. And then she turns it off.

Before she leaves she folds the bedspread back, pats the appliqué patches down again with care. Wrinkles tell secrets.

--

Mal is standing in the galley when her voice breaks the silence. He had been on his way to the crew's quarters when he became somewhat distracted by the sight of an apple sitting on the bench. Now he wonders briefly why it has lasted on its own for this long--what with a generally hungry crew and a general pittance in the way of rations--then he remembers Jayne taking a bite that morning and spitting it out with a look of distaste. So he picks up the apple, turns it around. True enough, there's a small chunk out of one side, but otherwise it looks fine. He cuts the flesh out around the bite and takes the apple with him to the bridge, and to River.

He thinks about the sound of her voice, calling him. He thinks back to how she spoke to them all, caught in their own little corners of the ship. And how with that voice alone she trapped Early.

She sounds...he's not sure, but there is a sense and reason to it, an understanding, that he finds sits well with her.

Or maybe it's just hunger pains--jabbing at his body and making him think that this girl, that River Tam, might actually be the one part of Serenity Mal has always thought was entirely his.

He wonders if it might be fear.

He walks out of the galley. No. Not fear. But, maybe, like the long gone bounty hunter, just a touch of nervousness, if only for what he might find when he gets there.

--

We're both fools. Fools apart on a sinking ship.

She plays with this thought, watching the door of the bridge.

It hasn't opened yet. He is probably twenty seconds away, but it might as well be a lifetime. She wants to hear him again. Heavy, grumpy footfalls on the catwalk, Mal's voice an angry burst with each thud.

What's a fool except the reflection in the eyes of another? Well, it isn't River. It might be the captain, though. She can't be certain, when there's still distance between then, when there are still parts of Serenity where River can't go. The places she is afraid of, the places that are nothing but Mal.

"River?"

She pads silently to the door, presses her fingertips to its cold, knobbly surface. She can feel his heartbeat; it rushes through his voice and into her nails like fire.

"River?" This time the handle moves. Locked. "River, this ain't a time for hide and seek. Get this door open, would you?"

We're fools apart, she thinks, but together we're a ghost and a memory lost.

"River." Definitely angry. Like she wanted, but now it scares her. He bangs hard where her ear is pressed, frozen with panic and oh, god, what am I doing--

She steps back, releases the lock and he is there--there--hands clasping her wrists with an iron grip, face a breath's shot away from hers.

"Found you," she whispers.

Mal lets go, moves his hands to her face, gently, the anger dissolving in an instant, his heated shout an echo flying fast.

It is an echo of loneliness. Serenity is laughing at the pair of them. They are both fools. Little girls and their little games.

"It's...River, it's not--" He's lost for words; she looks down, but thinks again of the voice, Mal, and offers thoughts of her own where his have run away.

"It's not a game," she finishes.

"No."

In his voice is a whisper of hurt. To River's ears it is a sound unfamiliar, and yet it is overwhelming in a way that makes her think of home, and the stars. In some ways, it is not unlike hope.

He is staring at her now, a little confusion and embarrassment sweeping across his features. She wonders if he realises how badly she wants to be a part of him.

Or that she knows he is thinking the same thing.

Through the door, over his shoulder, she spots something on the metal flooring. "Dropped your lunch?" She smiles.

"Oh..." He lets her go, turns around and bends over to pick up the apple. "Yeah, kind of." Holds it out to her, a peace offering. "Here."

River takes a small bite, like a mouse. She chews and presses the fruit back in Mal's hand. "Yuck."

He laughs. He can't stop laughing. The apple drops out of his hand and before she can speak he reaches out and pulls her close.

Count to one thousand. River breathes into his chest, into the buckles and buttons and brown, fuzzy warmth. She waits for the voice, waits for him to say her name, to chastise her, to call her little one and albatross and things she's heard again and again but can never hear enough. But Mal tilts her chin up, stares into her eyes--what fools we both are--and smiles. Only smiles.

Count to one thousand. And then start again.