Fú wú chóng zhì, huò bú dān xíng -- Fortune seldom repeats; troubles never occur alone.

**

The girl has beautiful eyes; dark and shining, long lashes black and soft against fine, alabaster skin. She peers across the small table at the man with the stylus and pen, and her eyes burn with an eagerness to please, to impress. He can see they have within their depths a slight fragility, a tiny hint of fear that shows how keenly she is aware of her gift--that a mind so valued by this man and his kind should not be imprisoned by one so young.

Awareness. It is a palpable thing, not easily broken; this one is truly an asset. The long, detailed map of her destiny they will never reveal, but she must be awake to its ramifications. So they have to take care.

All around them, the ice is thin.

The man offers a small smile, encouraging her to open up. He knows he must keep her focused. "You're very intuitive."

She cocks her head, bird-like, and presses her lips together shyly. "Simon says I was born with a third eye," she says, letting white teeth show. The man tightens the grip on his pen, shifting his weight slightly in the rigid chair. "He hates when I can tell which girl he likes."

He nods carefully, trying to appear neutral. It doesn't feel right, really.

They continue 'chatting'. He presses her about her brother, and can hear the pride in her voice, the fraternal longing already missed. The girl is so fast to prove her own stake by pouring her love into this boy, that the man, after a moment, feels the time is right to place the first pin onto the map.

And so he tells her.

When he has finished the girl remains silent, looking down at the table with a great stillness in her body. The long stream of her hair gleams in the dim light, and the man with the pen watches, presses dry fingers on the edge of the stylus and for a time wonders if she hears his breath catch with anticipation. All around them, and they are sitting on ice so thin he can feel the cracks open within his bones.

At last the beautiful eyes lift up, hopeful gaze touching his own with an impish, sweet civility, and she smiles.

"Would I still be allowed to dance?"

**

"Sir..."

Zoe's voice came so close at his shoulder that Mal almost jumped. He had been sitting alone on the bridge for some time, just watching the stars, but his mind, having adjusted to the quiet, not to mention the late hour, had wandered away somewhere else entirely. He made to admonish her but decided it wasn't worth the angst; he blinked a few times instead, focusing weary eyes at his second-in-command before the strong smell hit his nostrils. A little piece of heaven thrown in as a bonus come the last job, real coffee was damned valuable, and a welcome sight.

"Well, ain't that the thing." He took the offered mug, turning the chipped side away. That is, the least chipped side. "Thank you."

She didn't smile, but her eyes regarded him kindly. "Looked like you needed it, sir. Not much up here to keep you awake."

"No." He shrugged wearily. "No, very true. Actually I was thinkin' of turnin' in."

"River not around?"

Mal shook his head. He sipped at the coffee, letting it warm his throat. "I sent her away. Girl'd spend the night here if she could. She...likes to talk. Figured it wouldn't hurt lendin' my ear, just a sounding board, if you like. Seems to keep that mind of hers easy."

He felt Zoe's eyes on him, knew if he turned he'd see an eyebrow cocked skyward. "I'm sure it does. You're getting to be a good influence there."

Mal grunted. "If only. Ain't all sweetness and shine, y'know. Think I slipped back into her bad books, orderin' her to her room like that."

Zoe could be all sorts of things, could hide her true feelings just as effectively as Mal, but there was no mistaking the weary resignation in her gaze at yet another man not being able to look beyond the outer. Trying and failing to ignore this he ploughed ahead. "Okay, maybe putting it like that weren't such an idea. It just came out."

"She's not a little girl, sir."

Mal frowned into his coffee. "No. Don't think she ever was."

He knew what she was aiming at, but was too tired to reason right now. Truth was, it had been more than a long day, and River's usual chatter had been so random that the girl had finally succeeded in tripping the edge of his patience. The result being that Mal had been forced to snap her shut, she'd flitted off in a huff, and since then he'd been sitting alone on the bridge, trying not to feel guilty. Trying not to hear River's vacant tone in the silence, or picture her black eyes in the space outside.

He rubbed a weary palm over his forehead, realising it had been a relief of sorts for Zoe to have interrupted him, and turned to tell her so only to find empty space and the faint echo of her boots down the catwalk. Swallowing the dregs from his mug, he scrolled through their flight plan, and satisfied they'd fly through the night invisible to prying eyes, flicked the autopilot on and stood up.

Not much up here to keep you awake. Zoe was right--they had less to fear these days, that he'd admit. And the fact that he'd stayed up long into the night with thoughts no more addling than how he'd come to protect and piss off in equal measures this strange, exceptional girl, who needed about as much governing as Zoe herself...well, it was hardly written into his job description.

And god knows Zoe needed protecting just as much as she needed pity, especially now. She hardly needed Mal's worrying over River to add to her own battles, but she had taken the time to listen, and for that he was grateful.

He paused at the hatchway, surveying the dark landscape for a moment before stepping out. Not that it weren't too long a time, he thought, following the corridors to the galley with the intention of rinsing out his mug, knowing he'd just as likely throw it into the sink for whoever was on rota to wash-up the next morning. We are talkin' 'bout Zoe, remember.

And just as well, too. Mal's quota for handling girl-troubles had just about reached its capacity. No, let Zoe be Zoe, and he'd be a happy man.

**

They were giggling at the sink. Her brother had reaped the rewards of his yearlong crush and now he and Kaylee were bumping heads over the breakfast dishes. And giggling.

It made River want to throw her plate at them.

She knew deep down what it was, why the grip she had on her fork was making white streaks on her skin. It had absolutely nothing to do with Simon, or Kaylee. Or that they were laughing, and touching, and happy.

At least, it hadn't at first.

What she knew were facts simple and persistent. She took her medication (she hated, would always hate); she ate her meals (reconstituted protein--sometimes worse than the drugs); she flew the ship (better times, almost happy, if she ever really knew happiness); she helped on jobs (grumpy Simon, belligerent Mal, sinful River). What she knew were the cycles of the day, how she fared with the others, how she left her memories in the dark and always, always feared their origins. This is what River knew, because until now she hadn't had the chance to think any other way.

But these two--here was a tableau entirely new to a girl who had never really known childhood, or girlhood, or adolescence...and it made her wonder.

She loosened her monkey-grip on the plate, tilting it instead towards her brother's outstretched hand. "Full up, mei-mei?" he asked, slipping the piece of crockery sideways to Kaylee without needing to look. Of course, River thought. They are already learning each other. Bits and pieces of learning, him and her, you and me, dripping slowly into one big pool.

"Yes, Simon," she replied, deadpan. "It was delicious. I like my carbohydrates with sugar."

His mouth formed to laugh at her, but Kaylee caught his eye and the pair of them smiled secretly and River was forgotten.

The more I recover the easier it is for him to reach outside our fragile world. She turned away, worried a groove in the tabletop with a fingernail, and listened to the others talk.

"We still on for that run in Fortune today?" Zoe looked across the table to Mal, who was fishing the last scraps off his own dish.

He nodded. "Gotta contact Zefrich, shore up our rendezvous, but it's lookin' pretty much settled." A smile teased the corners of his mouth as he caught Kaylee's eye and passed the plate into her outstretched hand. "And a pretty cut the old man's promised. He owes us, and knows it too."

Zoe didn't return the smile. Her eyes, River noticed, were hard and unwavering, despite the softness in her tone. "We can trust him to keep his word, sir?"

There were little paths in the woodgrain, running in chestnut swirls and knots. River passed the ball of her thumb over the ridges and hollows, following from the smallest point outward in ever increasing circles, and listened to the pause before Mal's reply.

"No." His voice was blunt, matching Zoe's. "But we got no choice. At least...right now we don't. You know that."

Of course she did. They all did. River could see the arguments listing themselves on the captain's behalf: Serenity needed repairs, they needed supplies. They needed a distraction. "I'd like to see the sky again," she said suddenly. Her thumb finished its exploration of the tabletop and jutted in to land at the cuff of Mal's rolled-up sleeve. She peered up at him. "I'd like to come. I'll watch this Zefrich. I'll tell you when the trust disappears." She held his gaze for a moment longer before adding quietly, "I'm sorry I ran away."

There was a pause. She could feel curious eyes on the two of them, knowing the keenest belonged to her brother, who had turned from Kaylee and the dishes and had his frown pinned on River.

"'S okay," Mal said quickly. "You weren't in the wrong...just had me on a bad night, is all."

River blinked and smiled slightly. "It's better for me that way, I think. You--" She broke off, aware that everyone was still watching them. "I can come, then?"

"Captain, do you really need her?" This was from Simon, still frowning and now wiping a row of cutlery methodically with an old dishcloth. "She hasn't been planet-side for a long time--none of us have. Does she have to break the ice by jumping feet first into an afternoon of crime?"

"Hey, we going swimmin'?" Jayne piped up, pointing a crust of bread in Mal's direction. "'Cause I ain't so crash hot in the wadin' hole, know what I mean?"

"Prospero's a gorramn desert moon, Jayne," Mal said evenly. "Ain't seen a drop for years." He looked up at Simon. "We need your sister on this job. She's better at holdin' her own than you give her credit, so I'd be appreciative if you'd kindly accept this as fact and let her be."

Curious as to how much of an argument her brother would go for, while at the same time knowing he was just as likely to lose, River shot him a level gaze. "I'll be okay, Simon." She lifted her arm from where it rested beside Mal, draped it suddenly over the captain's shoulder and smiled brightly. "We're a team."

This time there were raised eyebrows all round. "Right..." Mal eyed her awkwardly, edged quickly out of her handhold. "Well. I'd, uh, best make that call."

River watched him leave, wondering once again why everything she said or did seemed to create such reactions. She turned back to the table, playing her long fingers for a moment across the grain like a piano. The others slowly followed Mal's lead and made their way out. Simon, his gaze still on River, moved reluctantly away from the sink, while Kaylee, humming softly, rung out a rag and began wiping the wood in long, even strokes, eventually forcing River to give up her tabletop concerto.

You'll have to let me go one day, Simon, she thought, walking out of the galley on bare feet, enjoying the tune the mechanic was humming. By the time she lost sound of them she had it already committed to memory.

**

"Mister Reynolds, if I didn't know better, I'd be thinkin' you're expectin' the worst from an old man like me."

Mal hid his grimace and aimed a thin smile towards the camera, wondering if Isack Zefrich was really as blind as he claimed. "Now, Zef, you know I--"

"I know you ain't got no qualms lookin' a man in the eye and tellin' a bald faced lie in a shot..." The grey-bearded figure on the screen shrugged and offered a gap-toothed grin. "But seein' as I can barely see the look of distaste you're most likely givin' me through this good for nothin' device, I'll just have to take y' word for it."

There was movement behind Mal as River wandered in and curled herself into a ball in the co-pilot's seat. She took one look at Zefrich on the noisy monitor and wrinkled her nose, almost as if she could smell the old miser even from space. Mal had to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling again. He shook his head and turned back. "We past the pleasantries? Look, I'd like to firm our position on this. The load is hid out back of the courthouse, right?"

Zefrich laughed. "You'll find it easy enough. But mind, it ain't gonna be a swift one-two--there's plenty o' folk don't wanna see them cases move."

"Don't worry 'bout that, we're covered." Mal folded his arms across his chest. "And you'll meet us at the shipyards?"

"I'll be there. You can take your fifteen and run. You won't hear no argument from me. I owe y'from the last time we swapped tales. I won't go back on a deal once shaken."

"Good to hear."

He reached over and switched the comm off. The old man was just the same as he'd last encountered him, if a little more screwy in that grey head of his. Still, a cut of fifteen was a damn sight better than they'd seen lately. It would get them some much needed supplies, and moreover, some healthy distance.

"He's lying."

Mal nearly jumped in his seat. He'd forgotten River was still there. "Gorramn it, girl," he muttered. Then her words hit him. "He's what?"

"Lying." She peered carefully into his eyes, cocked her head to one side. "And you know it, too."

He suppressed a sigh, leaned back and offered the ceiling a weary stare. "Guess if you look hard enough," he admitted with a shrug, "there's untruths to be found 'neath every man's word."

"But you're still going."

Mal turned, looking at her square on. "Are you and Zoe gorramn echoes of each other now?"

"I'm not disagreeing with you," she replied quickly, the sharpness of her tone making him sit up. "Jobs are scarce commodities. They don't want you to win, they want you gone. But you're stronger. And you also know I can see them think before they act, cut them down before they touch metal. That's why you need me."

There was a moment of silence. Mal watched the yellow moon hover at them through the view screen. Prospero. A place he'd rather not be heading for. After a time he said, "You know your brother don't trust me takin' you on these jaunts out in the real world, and I'm startin' to see his point. River, one day we're gonna fall and not get up, an' I don't want you to see that. I need you down there, you're right about that, but you ain't cut out for this." He looked over to where she sat, legs tucked into a pale curve beneath her chin. "What you are, what you could be...it's a waste."

She held his gaze, parted her lips so they brushed against her knee, then slipped off the seat in one fluid movement. He wondered for a moment that she might run out, but instead she leant forward and touched a finger to his forehead. "Not in the way you think, Captain."

It was the manner in which she had addressed him, Mal thought after she left, that puzzled him the most. She almost never called him by his title. It reminded him of his time in the Valley, of raw and troubled recruits who looked up at him for reason, for guidance.

He wasn't sure if he was ready for this from a girl who could just as easily lead them all.

**

The shuttle that had belonged to Inara Serra, before the yearning for her home and companion sisters had called once too strongly, was rarely used these days. Mal claimed it was because he felt more at ease with the controls of Serenity's other transport, but Kaylee knew the real reason, and it had little to do with a sticky throttle.

Of course, she never said; it just wasn't mentioned. But she knew.

Inara was family. She always would be, but the not so nice fact was that they could happily have done without losing the rent on the shuttle. Serenity was in sore need of repairs--this pained the mechanic more than the lean rations, or going weeks at a time short of a job. A turnover here and there kept the ship on fresh legs, but Kaylee knew one day she'd stop and all the wheedlin' in the 'verse wouldn't pick her up again.

My good girl's been on top for a long while. Kaylee had no doubt she'd be there at the end. The idea had been planted deep with the thrill of that first encounter; not Bester, not even Mal (though he'd played some part, one which Kaylee'd never admit to nowadays) had caught the eyes of that carefree girl as much as Serenity herself. This is our life. We're all in this together. Kaylee, it was fair to say, wore her heart on her sleeve, and if she could patch those feelings onto her clothes like the bear on her knee, the love of her home, her ship and surrogate family, she would do so in a flash. A souvenir of life, as it were, remembering those left behind.

And yet remembering could still sit alongside learning. Especially when it involved a certain doctor. As she knelt inside the small cockpit and ran her hands over the controls, Kaylee felt a smile tickle her lips. Over the past few months she had been finding out a lot of things about Simon, and they weren't all of them soft.

Now 'Nara, she thought wistfully, she knew a thing or two about boys and their little needs. She turned 'em pretty just by lookin' into their eyes. Such a pity...

She stopped needling the controls and stood up, lost in her thoughts. So many things were a pity, or had turned out so, Inara's departure right up there with the best--and worst--of them.

Can't go changin' people. Mal knew that more than anyone. Both of them had. Some things just weren't meant to be, and all the little hearts on Kaylee's old jumpsuit weren't going to make a mite of difference.

"Kaylee?"

She leant over to the comm and clicked it on. "I'm here, Cap'n."

"How's progress?"

Today's little jolly had turned Mal's feelings about the companion's old home into pretty much a moot issue--as it eventuated, they wouldn't be able to get Serenity in close enough to the vicinity of the township, and the load being too much for one shuttle meant commissioning the pair. Thus Kaylee had been handed the task of getting it cleaned up ready for the job. Which would have been quick and easy, had it not been for the fact that without an occupant, they had each of them taken to storing all sorts of miscellany picked up over the time since Miranda in that very shuttle. And so by default it had turned into a second cargo room--albeit a smallish one with the bonus ability to detach and fly off from the ship. The winged closet, River had called it once; a moniker that Kaylee recalled the captain not taking to all that warmly.

"Progress?" Kaylee mused. "Progress is shiny."

"Look," Mal said, "I'm gonna need that shuttle pretty clear for space. Can't you move some of that junk out?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not junk..."

"Well, whatever you want to call it, it needs a new home."

Mal's disembodied voice floated in the air with all the annoyance of a buzzing insect; this time the mechanic poked her tongue out for no one but the empty cabin to see. He was like a burr, her captain, all rough edges, and tended to fit the extremes of that character even more so on days when they had a job coming. Kaylee sighed, toyed with the idea of making a friendly argument of it but gave in. "'Kay then," she soothed, picturing Mal standing on the bridge with that boarish frown of his planted squarely on his face. "Won't be a tick."

"Fine." There was a click as Mal cut the line. Hands on her hips, Kaylee turned full circle, the bare walls meeting her gaze blankly. This shuttle...she kept it so pretty. Everything just so. Now look at it, she thought, bending to shift a box toward the hatch. You'd never believe a bona fide companion once called this home. And here we are turnin' it into an outfit of crime.

She ran a hand across the rough bulkhead, trying to recall it covered in swaths of silk and Inara's exotic fabrics. "Don't worry, I won't forget you," she murmured, unsure if she was speaking to the shuttle, or the memory of the companion herself. "Even if some folks do."

**

He stayed with River as they broke atmosphere. Not that he didn't trust her; she had developed such a clinical grasp of the mechanics, that in another lifetime--and perhaps had she not had the misfortune to be born with a certain kind of intuition and power--might have served her well as a career choice. But Wash had not yet been gone six months, and for the moment it kept Mal's mind easy to watch his boat safely into orbit. Let River keep learning, by all means, but neither of them were ready to fly solo just yet.

Serenity rattled slightly as she peeled out of the black vacuum of space and into atmosphere. They were settling into turbulent air now, and with River's taking over the steering leaving him temporarily a passenger in his own bridge, Mal glanced outside. There was something about the skies on these desert moons--maybe it was the wide-open spaces devoid of any cloud, the harsh red land blanketed by such a perfect, liquid blue--but they never failed to amaze him. And Prospero was one of the most unforgiving. Eyes pinned to the scarred landscape, he spoke up. "How we doing?"

"Be through in a few minutes." Mal listened, not without some amusement, at the sound of switches being flicked and co-ordinates entered with practiced fingers. He wondered for a moment what his own fate might have been had he been blessed with a fraction of the genius this strange girl wore like a second skin. Blessed to all hell, more like, he thought immediately. That ain't no way to live a life. Give me bullets over a syringe, I know what I'd be choosing.

He picked restlessly at a loose thread on the armrest. "Gonna be a real scorcher down there. End of today, we'll all be wishin' we had gone swimming."

"You find oceans unnerving," said River matter-of-factly. "Drier is safer."

"Drier is safer when we're not puttin' out the trash," Mal countered, thinking of Saffron...or Bridget, or Yolanda, or whatever that crazy woman was calling herself nowadays.

There was a pause, then River added, "And when you're fully clothed."

He could have sworn she was hiding a smirk behind that wall of hair. Mal aimed a glare at the side of her head. "Yes, well, we won't be forgetting that day any time soon."

She turned and looked at him. If she had been feigning amusement the girl was a terrific mime; her expression was a study in seriousness, eyes bright and focused. And it occurred to him that perhaps he should be leaving the memory of Inara's disposal of Saffron, and the literally...well, naked conversation he and the companion had subsequently shared, for a time when the number of readers in his vicinity equalled zero.

"Where do you want us?"

For some reason River's voice seemed to be coming out from behind Inara's veil. Mal blinked and shook his head. He'd need to start doing a better job of this memory-cloaking if he and the said reader were going to have any success today. "Where do I...? No, uh, slow her down a mite," he said, standing up and planting himself behind River's shoulder. He hoped the authority in his tone might just drag the conversation back onto a more business-like keel. "We're staying at altitude. Just need to set up the run so Kaylee won't have too much to worry her once we take the shuttles out."

"Dang ran. You're the boss."

She really was being unnervingly cheery this morning. He frowned at the top of her dark head and wondered briefly if it would last to the day's end, finding himself at the same time unsure if he really wanted things to go that way. In fact--

"Mal." River swung around in her seat, jerking the armrest fair into his thigh. He muffled a strangled yelp and jumped backwards. "You're hovering."

And you're acting the farthest to crazy I've seen near a fortnight. With a grimace he righted himself and rubbed his leg. "Fine. I can see when I'm not wanted. Lock us down and be ready to meet me at transport one in twenty." He pointed a finger at the sly grin that had jumped onto her lips. "And wipe that smirk off your face--we've got a job to do, and it ain't one for gigglin'."

To see the way her mouth popped open at his sheer gall in telling her off very nearly undid his attempt to be serious. His near-smile was gone, however, and the moment quashed firmly as River regained her composure and poked her tongue out at him. "Don't be a boob," she admonished blithely, swinging the seat back around.

"That's Captain Boob to you, missy." But his attempt to respond in kind fell flat; she was studiously ignoring him now.

It was, Mal mused wearily as he turned suit and clomped on heavy boots out of the hatch, a genuine toss up; the irony being if she was straight out crazy, at least he knew where he stood. It had never occurred to him that the hardest condition to handle in this fiercely intelligent girl--who was too rapidly leaving that girlhood behind--might just be plain normal.

**

There is a change in her now, like the weather. He can see it beneath her skin.

Some people, keen to the superficial and trained to notice such flaws, would say there is now a paleness, a waning of the beauty so stark when she had first arrived, that she really is a different girl. Almost as if she is a jigsaw, and there are now pieces missing.

The man disagrees with this theory. He wouldn't call the change spectacular, but he would call it promising.

"I don't think...." Words seem heavy on her lips. She may have been cut there; the skin looks bruised. This is of no concern to the man, though. Epidermal layers are unimportant--like certain emotions, they lean to the peripheral. She drags her gaze away from her hands, tries again. "I'm sorry. I think there's been an error."

She still clings, stubbornly, with childlike fragility to the old world. He wonders how long it will take for her to forget it was ever there.

**

There was no sound here, no voices. Just air, clean and light. Hot on her bare arms; hot on the gun at her hip.

She closed her eyes and turned them to the sky.

"Don't stare at the sun too long, sweetheart. Give you a headache."

River smiled, eyes still closed, happy to have the warmth on her face. "Not staring," she murmured to herself. "Wishing."

There was a thud behind her as Mal locked up the transport. She heard his footfalls in the sand and then he was at her shoulder, puffing slightly in the warm air. "Thought all you girls wished upon the stars," he said, brushing off his hands. They stood there in silence for a moment, and then he was touching her gently on the arm. "C'mon. Can't stand round sightseeing. Gotta go see where Zoe's parked. Woman threatened me with lettin' Jayne drive if I didn't land us too far apart, an' seeing as we're not quite where I wanted us to be, I'm a little worried that plan was actually seen through."

She turned and followed in his path. "We're in the wrong spot?"

"No, no. Not at all." He squinted back at her quizzical expression. "Well...not technically."

"So we're just lost."

"We are not lost."

River narrowed her eyes, skipping forward in the feathery sand so they were walking side by side. "Should've let me fly," she said after a while, and peered carefully up at him, at the light speckled through his hair.

He grunted in response, fished out an earpiece from his coat pocket and twisted it in. "Zoe..."

They were in a small valley, a sun-baked depression in the heart of a wide expanse of nothing. Fortune, the township they were headed for, was--according to Mal as they had flown down--somewhere to the northwest, but for all River could see, it might as well have been in another part of the galaxy. She saw no signs of civilisation, no roads, fences or livestock. Just sand and rock. Small clumps of vegetation. Mal's shadow, the tail of his brown coat flapping against her wrist. And the sky. So much sky it could be a living thing, its breath the hot wind at her skin. It could be talking to her, River thought, if she listened hard enough. "Jealous of the stars," she said softly, looking into the blue and seeing every colour but, "for they catch all the dreams."

Mal frowned at her, too preoccupied to untangle the girl's random offerings. "What's that mean when it's at home? Zoe." He pulled the earpiece out and gave it a shake. "Piece of lièzhì crap..."

"They're not here."

"Huh? Of course they're--Zoe!" He pulled up suddenly, covering his ear. "Yeah, I've been tryin'...what?"

He paused, listening intently. River watched his face as his expression flitted from misunderstanding to anger, until it finally settled on tired resignation. After a moment he released the earpiece, straightened and looked at her. "That son of a bitch."

"Who?"

"Zefrich. That gorramn son of a bitch got a better deal. Last minute, according to Zoe. 'Course he's lying."

"How did they--"

"Intercepted a wave while we were out of range." He stood very still, then whipped in a circle and kicked violently at the sand, making her jump. "Gôushî bùrú liúmáng!"

"Mal," she said. "Don't...it's just a job."

He glared at her, frustration boiling over. "Scarce commodities, remember? Your words, little albatross. Your words."

She had been improving, with Simon's help and her own resolve, to gradually block out the cries and murmurings of every incidental creature, but Malcolm Reynolds she never could. River had never felt the desire to screen herself from his thoughts, nor wanted it. They were not always pleasant, but they did not induce fear as she had been conditioned to. They were a promise, like Mal himself, one that whispered to River in the starry afterglow of her dreams of a life cast not by terror and anguish, but with home, with Serenity, with love.

She edged closer to him as they followed their path back to the shuttle, stumbling over sand that had somehow, mockingly, turned into rock; hard like the stony gaze in Mal's eyes, hard like the angry thud of his boots. River wondered if she been barefoot, how the burning sand might now screen out the jagged cut of his thoughts as they fought, bare-knuckled, in the pit of her brain.

"Stop that," he said roughly.

"Can't." She tried to check his stride by tugging at his sleeve. He shook her away. "Mal..."

He snorted, suddenly amused. "Feel like a little detour?" He smiled quickly, turning at last in River's direction; and perhaps it was the way his eyes pressed into hers, but she all at once felt a sensation like a burning jolt in the ribcage, and somehow found her own lips parting in response.

Almost, she thought, as if they had arrived in black and white, and he was seeing her, just as she could see the gold and the blue around them, in colour for the first time.

"The question is redundant. You should not have to ask." She spoke softly, gazed at him through half-lidded eyes, and swallowed at the lump of understanding as it fell whole and hot through her body.

"Well..." He looked away, clicked open the cartridge of his old gun, flipped it lovingly, once, twice. Back it went to his side, with a snap that echoed satisfyingly loud in River's ears. "Guess that's a yes."

**

She was settled snugly beneath the engine, filing down a bolthead so it could be screwed in, when Kaylee heard the wave come through. Leaning out, she yelled in the direction of the hatchway. "Simon, would you answer that?"

There was a pause, followed shortly by the sound of footfalls on the catwalk. From her position down below, she could just make out the toe of one of Simon's boots as he stepped into the engine room.

"Kaylee?"

"We got a...dammit..." The screw dropped from her grasp, skittering across the floor. Kaylee sighed and yanked herself partway out, only to be met with the young doctor's face smiling at her from above. She shoved a grease-stained hand in his line of vision and grunted as he pulled her to her feet. "Simon. That's probably the cap'n."

He frowned. "But shouldn't they be in the middle of...not entirely legal business dealings?"

"Yeah-huh." Kaylee nodded sagely, dropping his hand. "So's it'd be a good idea to answer the wave, don't you think?"

"Oh. Right." He turned and jogged out. She watched him leave, hoping he didn't forget to wash the grease off before it transferred itself onto his crisp white shirt. Simon was so...proper. And clean. It seemed a right shame to sully that perfectly starched outer shell. Spot of dirt didn't worry the mechanic in the slightest--way she saw it, what fit naturally in Serenity's veins was her oxygen too, no matter how rusty it was. Kaylee ignored the oil just as Simon probably ignored the blood. Though, she mused, wiping her hands on an old rag, he did manage to stay pretty darn clean even in the middle of fishing the odd bullet out of Mal's body.

Speaking of which...

She headed out of the engine room, down towards the bridge, pulling the hair that had worked itself free back into a messy ponytail. "Is it them?"

He was hunched over the pilot's seat, staring the camera, but it was Zoe's face that filled the monitor. "Where's River?" she heard him say, deep frown lines working themselves across his brow. "If the deal's vanished why aren't you all turning around and coming back?"

Kaylee felt her stomach drop. "What's going on?"

"It's okay--" Zoe's voice was faint, the image cracking intermittently. Her eyes found Kaylee over Simon's shoulder. "Kaylee," she said. "There's been a small development. Nothing to worry about--"

"What do you mean 'nothing to worry about'?" Simon's voice jumped an octave. "That yúchûn captain of yours has only cow-roped my sister into fighting his little one act rebellion--"

"Hey, he ain't stupid," Kaylee said, but her voice was too small, lost underneath Simon's. Zoe, for her part, actually appeared vaguely amused as she waited for the doctor to run out of steam.

"Look," Zoe said, this time less cosily and more as if they were raw recruits frothing at the mouth at the first crack of gunfire. "I have no doubt Captain'd like nothing better than to see Zefrich get a little back for shirting us out of a job, but he's not so stupid he'd walk straight under the old man's feet."

"You think?" Simon muttered under his breath.

"So are you coming back then?" Kalyee asked, still feeling the worry, heavy and solid at her breastbone.

Zoe shook her head. "Not just yet, hon. We'll stick close for the time, case anything shakes."

She pulled gently at Simon, seeing the hard lines still about his mouth. "Well, okay," she said, trying to match Zoe's steady gaze. "Guess we'll...see you when we see you."

The picture dropped off. Kaylee stood, staring at the dark screen for a moment, then turned to Simon. Her mouth opened to speak, but she couldn't quite think of what to say.

He stood very still, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," she almost blurted, at last. "Cap'n..." She trailed off, trying another tack. "Well, look, if Zoe says there's nothin' to worry about, then I believe her."

At this Simon looked up. "Oh. Yes, well I'm completely assured. I keep thinking of that nice, safe track record Captain Reynolds has." He spun on one heel and strode out of the small bridge, his voice echoing sharply off the bulkhead. At the hatchway he paused, turned back and shot her a rather hard stare. "And do you know, Kaylee, I keep coming up with a blank."

**

At the sound of Zoe's boots exiting the transport, Jayne turned around. "He mad?"

She tossed him a withering stare. "Help me lock up this thing, would you? Door sticks like a dog."

What could only be described as a look of smug amusement flitted momentarily over the big mercenary's face. "Thought he would be," he chuckled. "Hell, I'd be. Missin' out on seein' what new and exiting ways that crazy chick can kill all those innocent townsfolk."

"Jayne."

"What's Mal gonna do anyway?" he grumbled, stepping over to the transport and yanking the door shut with an almighty thump. "Roll up to old man Zefrich an' demand he give us our job back? Just get his ass kicked. Again."

Zoe raised a hand to shade her eyes from the glaring sun, watching Jayne as he transferred ammunition from his gun belt to a seemingly endless line of armaments strapped to various parts of his person. She honestly didn't know what Mal had planned on doing, what he expected to get out of Isack Zefrich, if indeed he really wanted anything at all. Not to mention why he had thought it proper in the slightest to haul River along. Fine when there had been the job going--the girl was frighteningly competent, and had developed such an otherworldly sense of rapport with Mal, that Zoe held no fears for her safety. But Mal in this sort of mood was an almost unknown quantity.

It made her more than a mite uncomfortable, actually, and she also didn't like the fact that they were split up like this.

Her earpiece buzzed. She pressed a hand over her free ear to try and block out the racket Jayne was making with his guns. "Yeah?"

There was a ripple of feedback, making her wince. "Zoe." It was Mal, but only barely.

"Sir," she said, "I don't think this is such a good--"

"You let Kaylee know?"

"Yes, they know. Not too happy. Can't say I'm too happy either."

"Look, I just want a couple of hours. I need you and Jayne to meet us in town. Ain't no harm in that."

"So far," she said. "So far I ain't seen no harm in the slightest. But, sir, we got an employer now an ex-employer who's liable to see the under-truth, you go bargin' in after severance pay. Best you keep it well short of that stage, is my suggestion."

She could hear a vague puff of frustration beneath his voice. "I see your point, Zoe, don't think for a minute I don't. But this job was lined up near on a month ago, an' that old man owes us somethin' awful...even if he always was a bare-faced liar. So couple of hours, is all I'm asking."

Zoe sighed. "Right."

"And tell Jayne not to come dressed like he's tradin' arms off the back of a wagon."

"Yes, sir."

"Shiny."

She snapped the comm off. Zoe had the suspicion she was just a little wheel in the cog that drove her captain to do both the petty and the good. It was just the way things were, always had been. And truthfully, she never had felt it proper to stand against Mal. Stupid and stubborn to all hell as he could be, he was nothing if not a slave to the noble cause.

"Ain't we all," she murmured under her breath, at which Jayne looked up.

"We on?"

She shot him an amused glance and strapped her own gun firmly to her belt. "Looks like." Then Mal's addendum in reference to Jayne made her pause. "What's...Jayne, is that a grenade?"

He pulled the offending shape out of his pocket. "T'ain't nothin' but my lunch," he protested, waggling the roll before her. "I get hungry, okay?"

The guiltless look on his face was almost too much for Zoe to take; she turned away with a shake of her head. Her eyes were beginning to ache from the sun, and she just couldn't shrug off the dull feeling of worry sitting like a dead weight her stomach. But, she told herself ruefully, at least Jayne won't starve.

As assurances went, it didn't exactly drum up a whole lot of confidence. But it was a start.

**

For the tenth time in as many minutes Mal reached up and tugged irritably at the sweat stained collar of his shirt. As he did he sent a curse to whatever deities had ordained the rules that it could never be ten degrees cooler when you wanted it to be. It was spectacularly, unimaginably hot, and it wasn't even midday. His booted feet felt swollen to all hell and he seemed to have grown a few dozen more layers of skin, each conspiring to out perspire the other. Even the hairs on his head felt saturated.

He might have grown up on the plains, but this was life on another realm entirely. No wonder Zefrich had gone permanently grey and lost half his sight; man just wasn't built to live inside an oven.

"Too many layers," came a small voice beside him. "The skin can't breathe. You should take your coat off."

River, he noticed, appeared--infuriatingly--not to possess even a single sweat gland. Her hair shone like onyx, floating in a dark cloud down her shoulders. Skin glowing pinkly in the sunlight, blue dress pooling in waves around her thighs, she walked calmly and quietly beside him--and Mal, despite his discomfort and sudden fervent wish to be anywhere but here, couldn't help but be just a little awed at her peculiar, serene beauty. She slowed her stride and placed a hand on his arm, fingers curling at the rough brown fabric; his coat, the one that had seen him lose a war, and run from it again. That same old coat that had choked so many wounds, warmed him in the freeze of night and sheltered him from a thousand clean deaths.

"Darlin', this coat an' me don't part company." He reached down and quickly pulled her hand away.

"I know," she replied simply. "I was just thinking."

Their hands were still touching; he drew his own aside and moved to rest it at his gun. The metal there was cool, reassuringly so, the rivets and casing smooth and worn. "Shouldn't be too far," he said, thinking he'd better steer her off the subject of his clothing while he still had the chance. He looked up and nodded at the hill looming before them, drawing them both to a stop. "See that flag?"

"White seeking mercy. No sound to carry their message."

Mal closed his eyes briefly. "You couldn't just say yes, could you?" He tried again. "Well, see, when this little moon was terraformed way back when, the founding settlers placed white flags around the town. Not many of 'em still up and standin' these days, 'cept him right there. That's Fortune."

Immediately he spotted a frown on her lips. She must have felt him staring because she at once raised her eyes curiously. He smiled a little and the frown disappeared.

"What was it?"

Mal paused, momentarily stumped. "What was what now?"

"The fortune. There must have been one for them to name their town so."

He offered a shrug, and began moving forward again. "Not rightly sure on that. Heard a tale told years ago, some folks strikin' a vein of pure silver down in the valleys, but it weren't more'n a rumour. Most of 'em made good in the early days with cattle and such, but now they're just like the rest of us. Tryin' to salvage coin outta the petty and no-good trash that the rich men of this 'verse dump by the wayside." His eyes narrowed, partly from the glare on the horizon, but mostly from the memory of his pathetically trusting hand shaking Zefrich's across the wave back on Serenity. "As for fortune, well..." Mal laughed shortly. "It ain't a thing to wish for."

Her gaze was steady. "Don't wish," she repeated.

It struck Mal that if he tried hard enough, he could probably reach out and catch the flicker of belief in her eyes. He settled instead for her hand, this time taking it briefly with a gentle and honest deliberation. "No. You remember that."

"Stick to the stars, then?" She didn't smile, but she clasped his fingers softly.

He looked away. "The stars. Right."

They said no more, the sun and the heat forcing them into silence. At last Mal spotted the path he had been keeping an eye out for, snaking at a steep incline up the hill. They trudged forward in single file, towards the crest and the white flag of Fortune, tall and still in stark profile against the sky.

**

"Tell me what you see."

She doesn't; her mind is elsewhere. He can feel the words forming again: it's the Pax. Paxilon Hydroclorate. Pax in her brain, Pax in his heart. "You lost the first one," she murmurs, eyes flickering across his. "You cut too deep; he died on the table." She is turning stories into truths in her head, taking a small memory and letting it steep into lies. Something about the nurse crying; the man offering comfort. His lips press slightly at this. This girl thinks she knows...this girl is a mindset of sad, little dreams masquerading as fact. What she knows, the man won't say, but it isn't this.

She continues to stare past his gaze, quoting verbatim. "'We're doing such good work.'"

He hides the smile, tucks it deep inside where she cannot reach. Not a lie there.

After a moment she loses the unfocused voice--it is swallowed with the mouse, long gone now, like her name. She speaks in circles, a repetition the man is beginning to find vaguely tedious. Her brother. She wants to see her brother.

This need is bordering on the unsuitable. Still, she is in the early stages; they have time enough to draw it out. "Well, I'm...sure he's very busy."

"Yes..." He watches her focus stray once more to the table. Satisfied, he makes a note on the stylus, encouraged again by her growing submission. "Yes, I'm sure."

**

Zoe picked her way through the market stalls, weaving in between customers and men hollering about their wares. They were like ranchers calling out to their stock, branding and herding punters and browsers alike. She ducked to avoid a swinging canvas bag, slung over the shoulder of a wiry old woman, bent double and almost lost underneath.

Behind her she could hear Jayne swearing as he was set upon by a man carrying a tray of some unidentifiable produce. "Why'd Mal insist on meetin' here?" He shrugged off the man to one side as if he was simply batting away a fly. "Ain't it kinda...populated?"

Zoe scanned her eyes over the crowded street. "Think that's the idea."

She had expected to arrive here before Mal--from what she'd gathered he had slightly miscalculated his and River's own landing position, and so the two of them were still making distance from outside the town boundaries. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it meant in the meantime the pair of them would have to stay inconspicuous for a little longer than Zoe was rightly comfortable with.

"Gorramn it!"

She turned to see Jayne on all fours, his boot having caught in what appeared to be a barrel lid. Melons, as big as bowling balls, rolled and bumped in all directions down the street. The crowd scattered.

Inconspicuous. Yeah. She bit back a sigh. They weren't going to last five minutes, if this was the best they could come up with.

Murmuring an apology to the owner of the barrel, she hoisted the mercenary up by the elbow and marched him away down a side street. Zefrich, she knew, had business in this area, but Zoe had no intention of going within earshot of that man, not without Mal, at least. So she darted her eyes over the buildings until she spotted one that looked promising.

"C'mon," she said, leading the way.

Jayne must have sniffed out their destination, because a grin immediately appeared on his face. "Hey, 'bout time, too. I need a drink."

Inside, the bar was dark and sparsely filled; the few punters more interested in the light at the bottom of a glass than the sun and warmth outside, sat hunched in various solitary pockets about the room. Zoe quickly eyed them for any signs of hostility, drunken or otherwise, but not a second glance met hers as they stood at the open doorway. Satisfied that they wouldn't draw any more attention in here than they would anyplace else, she eyed Jayne and wandered in.

"Get somethin' for you folks?"

The woman tending the bar nodded at them pleasantly, but didn't smile. Her eyes were dark, as was the loose knot of hair piled on top of her head. Grey hairs shone in between the black, but her skin was clear, masking her age well.

Zoe nodded back. "Hâo, shuang. Please."

"Sure."

Bright sunlight peeked through the shutters and at the gap in the doorway, creating jagged, indirect patterns over the dusty boards and countertop. The woman set down two glasses, palming the coin Zoe offered.

"Day like today, you'd think all of Fortune were millin' about out there," she said, tiredness deep set in her voice. She peered at Zoe curiously. "You on the lookout for sellin', or just passin' through?"

Zoe shrugged, picking up the drinks, and offered the woman a vague smile. "Bit of both."

She had to search out the dark room for a moment until she finally spotted Jayne, hunched in the corner table. He was peering studiously outside, frowning.

"Here."

Without turning he reached out and scooped up the ale. In the half-light he appraised it, taking a slurp.

Zoe sat down. "Anything?"

"Yeah." Jayne raised an appreciative brow. "This ain't bad, for a backwater moon. Good head."

"Not the drink. I meant out there."

"Oh, right." He shrugged. "Nope. Still a bunch of desert-folk, sellin' stuff. Sellin' food, too. Guess I didn't need to pack provisions after all."

On the street, a woman in a bright shawl was holding up a cage, imitating the call of whatever was trapped inside. As they watched a small crowd gathered and the woman reached in and pulled out a tiny bird, no bigger than the breadth of her palm. A pair of children saw this and laughed, stretched eager fingers towards the fragile, wriggling creature, before they were pulled away by stern hands.

Zoe leaned back into the dusty leather, felt it creak beneath her. She let Jayne's voice fade away, her thoughts lost for a moment with the scene outside. "May be a bunch of desert-folk," she murmured, her eyes on the woman. "But at least one of 'em had provisions for us."

As if animated suddenly by this thought, Jayne sat up. "Hell yeah, an' ain't that the whole ruttin' truth. An' now here we are sittin' here like a pair o' lost sheep, all for some dumb notion that the one asshole who turned us away should be gettin' back what's due him in return." He took a long gulp of ale, swilled it around and roughly set the glass back on the table. A few heads in the darkened room turned, focusing bleary eyes at the mercenary. "As if he's gorramn unique in tossin' us off," he muttered. With a scowl he swivelled the glass, let it rock in his grasp. "All I know, it's makin' me more'n a mite unappreciative of my liquor here, an' that I do not like."

"Hey," Zoe snapped, leaning across the table. "All I know, that same asshole still has the goods on him--just wants to keep his dirty mitts on that cut he owes us."

Dark eyes glared at her. "You hope."

"Cap'n hopes," she corrected, but it was automatic, and even as the words left her mouth she could feel the uncertainly, burning with an unwelcome warmth like the hot sun outside.

When Jayne spoke again there was sarcasm in his voice, shaded with a hint of near-triumph. "No. I ain't so sure on that. I think Mal's been itchin' for a fight all along. Old man Zefrich just opened the door, sweet as you like."

She raised her own glass, took a sip. The ale was bitter; she could feel it settle uneasily in her stomach. There was a creak from a bar stool, the muted clink of glass knocking on wood. Zoe watched the bird fluttering in the cage--it shrunk pitifully away from the woman's hand, and she wondered what would happen to it if it was ever actually sold. "Well, then," she said, at last. "Best we hope he's in a welcoming mood."

**

Something was pulling at her dress. Something small. River looked down, saw that a child, a girl of no more than four or five years, had wrapped both chubby hands in the blue hem and was petting the silky fabric against her cheek. "Pretty," came the soft lisp, "pretty, pretty..." A pair of round grey eyes, clear as the sky, pinned themselves with a steady belonging to River's face.

So small, she thought sadly. And no fear. She should never have to know what it is to be lost in the world.

After finally reaching the outskirts of town, it had been more than a surprise to find what appeared to be the entire community congregated in the two or three streets that made up Fortune's central district. River, distracted at once through every sense available to her, had looked over to see the captain swallow a groan, close his eyes and mutter something unrepeatable in Chinese.

Is this the kind of detour you were talking about, Mal?

They had tried to stick fairly close to one another but the sheer number of people had eventually managed to separate them. Ignoring the pull at her dress, River turned and looked down the street. Finally she spotted him; he was a short distance away, moving through the crowd slowly. She could see his pointed, cautious gaze scanning the faces around, scanning the buildings, windows and doors. He was oblivious to her stopping, and for a moment she stood there just watching him, shoulders square and gait relaxed, and wondered if it was worth calling out before she lost sight of him entirely. But River knew if there was one thing Mal hated it was his name being broadcast mid-heist for all and sundry. She had been on enough jobs when Jayne had done so to know that fact well. No, the child must come first.

So she smiled, kneeled quietly down to the girl's level. "Be very careful."

"Why?"

This was spoken with ravenous awe, and the small hands clutched even tighter. "Because," River continued, in a whisper, "you'll disturb the moth, and he might never leave his home."

As she spoke she opened one hand slowly; a cocoon lay in the nub of her palm, warm from the sun and from River's skin. Beside her the little mouth opened in wonder. "Is he asleep?"

"Yes, deeply." River looked up, her attention caught by something in the distance: a woman, red-faced and flustered, was weaving back in their direction. She slipped the moth into the girl's hand, at the same time at last separating her hem out of the small, determined grip.

"Oh, praise the Lord." The woman rocked the child up and into the crook of her hip. She pressed the small body to her face, spoke fiercely into the dusty curls. "Don't you wander off, now, y'hear? It'll be my death, I say it will..."

"River."

At the sound of his voice the woman stepped away, and River, surprised a little herself, turned quickly on the spot, only to find Mal blocking her path, and closer--much closer--than she'd at first realised. Instinctively she ducked away, but he was faster; his arms caught her, protecting her with a slight awkwardness as they were brushed and jostled by fellow pedestrians. She felt him hesitate, and might have laughed at the irrationality of it all had she not been so aware of him, solid like a rock, heated not by the sun but by something else entirely. It was a feeling of utter strangeness.

She wondered for a moment why this was, and then it came to her. It was the feeling of being cocooned, of being trapped, like the moth, in this self-conscious embrace.

"I'm okay," she murmured, into his shirt. "Mal..."

At her words he stepped back. She felt a warmth about her body, lingering a little in the places where they had touched. He seemed to be searching for something in her eyes; there was a semblance of confusion, a clouded undercurrent fixed stubbornly in his gaze. It was almost unsettling.

"You'll make a liar of me," River said, folding her arms across her chest. She found that speaking helped; the rush of heat she could already feel disappearing. He frowned, at which she offered a smile, as repentance.

"Huh?"

She cocked her head. "You called out my name."

"Well, why in the hell not?" he grumbled, recovering his composure. "Now see, if I'd felt the need for a child-like view of the world, I'd have strung along that two bit tyke you were off playin' with just now, 'stead of you. I ain't got the while or the wherefore to be lookin' out every time you feel the urge to communicate with strangers. So...don't."

It was almost as if by berating her he was trying to neutralise everything else, including his own feelings. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

"Okay," she said eventually, wandering back into the crowd, "do we have a plan once we meet up?"

"Well..." He hesitated. "Kind of."

River stopped. "Kind of?"

Mal was silent. She frowned at him. "You do have a plan, right?"

"Always do."

"That's not an answer."

"An' you're not the one in charge." He brushed past her. "Now stay quiet and follow me. The emphasis there, sweetheart, bein' on follow." The look he gave her was clear; this was not a suggestion. "Not follow for two minutes, get distracted by a leaf or a beetle or a damn baby, wander off, and get your dreamy self lost again."

"Mal--"

He stopped, turned and placed both hands roughly on her shoulders. In that instant River froze, struck with what felt like a fist to her chest by the sudden, fierce intensity in his eyes. And the honesty. This, she realised, it was this that had impelled him hold her earlier, long after the excuse of protection had gone. "Look," he said. "Hard as it might be to believe, I ain't tryin' to shout orders at you. I don't want to be that person, but if wrappin' you in cotton wool is what I have to do...then I gotta do it. An' I know you ain't gonna take it. You're stubborn, see? Like your cranky old cap'n here. You don't know the risk till it hits you fair in the face, or, if you do, you choose not to think on it. But I can't do that. An' I can't let you do that." He looked away, blinked at the sunlight. "River, I'm not lookin' to...to lose you like a piece of cargo."

"I know."

He dropped his hands, smiled a little. "Well, you got a damn funny way of showin' it."

She wanted to thank him. She wanted him to take her hand again, like before, when they had walked together on the sandy, sparse plain, and had talked about flags and fortune. But excepting that brief note of understanding, she found the words stuck firmly in her throat.

"Mal!"

He exhaled sharply. "Son of a..."

A little way down the street, at the door of a tavern, stood Jayne. He was waving exuberantly, attracting not only their attention but that of almost everyone else in the general vicinity. "The day that goon don't call out my name on a job," Mal muttered, "the Alliance will be handin' out candy bars to little kiddies."

With a sigh he ploughed forward into the crowd. River followed. For some reason her mind went back to her arrival on Serenity, and how like a piece of cargo she had in fact been, trapped in her cryogenic box on that day when Mal Reynolds had opened her eyes to the world.

**

"What in the gorramn hell took you so long? You park on the wrong moon or something?"

The glare Mal aimed at Jayne for this remark could have quite easily frozen a bullet mid-shot. Zoe, squeezed into the corner of her bench-seat so that River could fit in beside her, was forced to look away to prevent herself from laughing.

"Or something," Mal snapped.

Jayne grinned. "Well I stand corrected. The A-Team wins again. Zoe, you an' me oughta be ashamed of ourselves--we don't deserve a part in this job. Oh, I'm sorry. I meant imaginary job."

Zoe winced. "Jayne..." She glanced apologetically at Mal, whose jaw was clenched so tightly she was surprised he could speak at all. "Sir, I'm sorry. It's just...we've kinda been stuck here a while."

"So I can see." Mal crossed his arms. "Been drinkin' some, too, has he?" He jerked his head towards the mercenary.

She folded her arms as well. "Actually, sir, no. He hasn't."

There was a moment of uneasy silence. At last Mal smiled. "Right. Well, seein' as we got the hellos down an' dusted, shall we turn to today's business?"

"Don'cha mean lack of it?"

It was considerably easier to ignore Jayne, Zoe decided, when she had support around her. Mal placed his hands on the table and continued as if the mercenary hadn't spoken. "Now, takin' into account the Gypsy Convention goin' on out there--which, before y'all go accusin' me for as well, I wasn't exactly aware of beforehand--you seen any of Zefrich's men about?"

"Not a one."

"Then I say it's time we went lookin'."

He stood up, scraping his chair back. Zoe stood as well, glaring at Jayne until he followed suit. She nudged River to move so she was able to escape the corner of the booth. "How far's your shuttle?" Mal asked.

"Half-mile east of the shipyards."

"Good."

"Sun." River's soft voice made them all turn. The girl hadn't moved, had only sat back down after letting Zoe out.

"I know," Mal replied, holding his hand out. "It's hotter'n a stovetop out there. C'mon..."

But she ignored him. "River?" Zoe said, not liking the way those dark eyes stayed open, unblinking. She eyed Mal questioningly. He stared back, shook his head. He made to move towards River, when the girl raised a hand.

She was pointing outside.

"Just a bird in a cage, little one," the captain said, kneeling down before her. Zoe was struck by the patience, the care in his voice. "Nothin' for you to worry 'bout."

"No," River said, imploringly. "The woman. Her dress."

Mal narrowed his eyes, peered out the window. "Look, I don't speak River-code. You're gonna have to--" Then he froze. "Oh hell...Zoe..."

"What?" She leaned past him. "I don't see a thing."

He turned back. "Uh...not wantin' to shatter our well of calm here, but we did sweep for boats before comin' in, right?"

"Sir?"

"Right?"

"Yes!" She sat down again, next to River, who had still not broken her gaze outside. "Course we did. Sir."

Mal leaned forward, hissed across the table. "Well then, care to explain why that damn bird-lady's got Alliance Insignia plastered all over her pretty little pinafore?"

Zoe stared back, shook her head. Then it hit her. Sun. Blue Sun. She inhaled sharply. "Wuh de tien, ah..."

Everything happened at once. In a rush of movement River rose from her seat, flinging herself bodily against Zoe's side. "Go!" she yelled, loud and shrill. "Go now!" In the confusion Zoe managed a glimpse out of the window, saw that the woman with the birds had her arm reached into another cage. But this was no wiry enclosure. It was solid, metallic, and when the woman pulled her hand out again she had a small canister clasped in her palm. Zoe gestured to Mal, to anyone, to everyone. "Down. Everybody get down!" And at the same time she heaved River against her, pulling them both under the table just as she spotted, out of the corner of her eye, the glittering arc of the projectile as it spun towards them. It struck, piercing the glass, shattering in a blinding white explosion, hot and bright in her eyes. River's voice, close to her ear, was still crying. "Qing Ri...Blue Sun, oh god, they lied, they lied--"

Too late. Zoe felt a slow and heavy lethargy fall upon her, felt her throat burn, saw grey spots floating in the air. And she felt movement--River rolling off her--and gazed in confusion as the girl stood up, clasped pale hands to her face as if in prayer, and moved slowly towards the door...

And then the light faded, everything faded, and Zoe heard nothing at all.

**

For almost a quarter of an hour he watches her.

It is cool in here. And quiet. Inside the room he listens to the soft hum of the air humidifiers and, further away, the muffled echo of footsteps up and down the corridor outside. Nobody enters, and for obvious reasons; the man knows that on the other side of the closed door a red light will be flickering on and off. A pulse, a warning. Do Not Enter: Observation Room Occupied.

Occupied by the prize of the Institute.

The star pupil. As she is constantly told, day upon day.

The door opens. Usually he is the only one with her, just the two of them, the table, his notes, her mind. It is his preference to talk to her alone. But today another doctor will be here. It has come from above the man's rank, so he cannot object. As much as he would like to, he has been told to let this woman in.

He stands still and waits as a pair of heels click sharply on the floor, coming to a stop beside him. The man nods politely.

"Session 165," she says. Her voice is raspy; there is a hint of an accent there, but rooted, he thinks, somewhere not in the cultural hubs of Sihnon or Osiris. When he looks across he is surprised to see a dark, swarthy complexion. Black eyes. She is older than he had expected. "She has been in there, what? Ten minutes already?"

"Fifteen," he corrects. "I'm about to start. Are you...?"

"No." Quick. "I only want to observe."

He nods again, wonders if that's the first lie she has told today, and carefully opens the inner door.

"Hello there."

Until now the girl has been standing motionless against the wall, but at his voice she jumps forward as if jolted with electricity. She begins to speak, random nonsense. Meaningless words: "...You think it's benign, that it has to be cut out, this system is simple--blanket folded plus, thus sheet pulled taught..." They come softly at first, then sharp and loud with a biting tongue, hair masking her profile in a black wedge as she paces the room. This movement causes her limbs to jerk erratically, and her voice is carried alongside, so that the words fly at the man from a cold whisper, to a high, sudden gunshot of noise, shrill and indescribably touched.

He lets her finish, aware of the pair of new eyes watching them. Gently, he asks, "Why did you cut up your mattress?"

Hands fall onto the table. The hair swings across one white cheek. There is a gleam in her eyes, exhaustion spent, tears smudging the black. She pronounces each word as if making him understand will keep the nightmares at bay. As if speaking is pain itself. "I...am...trying...to protect my SPINE."

"Are you worried you might be injured?"

She stares at him. Closes her eyes and lets the tears fall.

Later, she melts into screams, crashing her body against the table, clawing with sharp fingers at her neck. Fearing at last for her safety, he turns, presses a button, and within seconds two orderlies are in the room. They haul her out of another door, one that the people outside in the corridors will never know of or enter. She is a blur of hair and eyes and pale, pale skin, too small for the ugly hospital gown.

When she has gone the man turns. "She is improving," he says, looking past his reflection in the mirrored wall. "You may wonder on that, but she is."

No answer. He opens the inner door to speak again, but the woman has gone.

**

"Cap'n?"

Light. He could see a light, somewhere in the distance, flickering gently. And voices. Caught in his head, he found them intrusively bright and much too loud.

"Zoe, I think he's wakin' up...hey, cap'n, you hearin' me okay?"

He groaned. There was a heavy weight at his temple. It was cold, stinging a little but mostly numbing the swell of pain covering one side of his face. Pain that was telling him, with depressing familiarity, that he'd just been in the worst ruckus this side of the cosmos, and that there was not one iota of chance he was going to take any pleasure in the aftermath. With some difficulty he peeled an eye open, dried blood having stuck his lashes together. His entire sweep of vision seemed to be filled, inexplicably, with Jayne's face.

"Wha--" His voice gave out, a great cough rumbling from deep in his lungs. The more he coughed the more his throat burned, and that just made him want to cough even more. He closed the eye he had opened, let the comforting dark wash over him again.

The cold pressure on his face lifted, and a hand, gentle and warm, touched his shoulder. "Sir." It was Zoe's voice this time--the owner too, he assumed, of the hand. If not, then River had suddenly become all touchy-feely...

Mal sat up with a jerk. He blinked rapidly. The figures before him came slowly into focus. "River?"

"Something's happened, sir. You have to get up." There was a shadow of worry in Zoe's eyes. Mal swung his head, scanning the room. He knew already, without needing her words, how real and how bad this particular something was.

"Where is she?"

"Sir--"

"Where is she?"

He stood, shaking a little. The floor seemed to be a very long way down, and the air was close, stuffy. Zoe stared at him. "We don't know." She took a breath, trying obviously to pick her words out with care. "Last I saw, after the hit happened, she was up an' standin' fair in the middle of the room. Then she...walked away. I blacked out after that, sir. Can't remember anything till Jayne roused me an' I saw that you were still down, bleedin'. You'd hit your head on something."

She held out the bundle of cloth. He took it numbly; blood had seeped through and turned the ice cherry-pink. It felt heavy in his hand.

"How long've I been out?"

"Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Sir, I've asked around as well I could, nobody's seen her."

Mal stepped towards the door. "We gotta find Zefrich."

"Sir...wait--"

He twisted his head sharply. "I said..." The movement caused Zoe to blur a little in his eyes; he closed them until the dizziness faded. "I said we gotta find Zefrich. What in the hell are you still standin' there for? River--"

"Zefrich is dead."

Mal blinked. He looked down at the door handle, still held tightly in his grip, the skin at his knuckles pulled white and taut. There were bits of dirt stuck in messy clumps in his fingernails. And sand. Sand he thought he had brushed away, grains that had been caught in the palm of his hand. His hand...River's hand. "Dead?"

"Shot once point blank in the chest. Found in his rooms this morning, probably happened while we were all making tracks into town."

He could hear his own breathing, the air rattling in his lungs. It suddenly seemed very, very hard to think, to speak. He doubled over, coughed blindly against the doorframe. I had it all wrong. Weren't me they wanted. It was her, so they shot the old man. An' not a one of us saw it comin'...

"Bastards," he croaked. And then Zoe was at his side, her lips pressed in a straight line.

"Sir," she said firmly, "we have to go."

He stared past her, to Jayne. In his mind he was taking one of the mercenary's guns and cocking it with a cold, fast snap at that woman's face. Zoe placed a hand on his arm. Gentle. "Gonna get her back, sir."

But Mal only nodded. He feared his voice might betray him if he spoke.

**

They eventually found one of Zefrich's associates. A large, barrel-chested man with a haggard face, Buck Solomon stood hunched behind the maple desk in his employer's old office. He regarded the three of them with watery eyes, speaking slowly as if in a daze.

"So, y'all the outfit Isack were waitin' on, huh? Had a big'n for you, too, jus' sittin' there, easy as you like." He shrugged sadly. "Well, guess that's all gone to dirt now."

Mal shifted impatiently. The job seemed a million miles away now. Hard to believe how he'd taken against Zefrich, embarking on a harebrained notion of dumb revenge. And River...No, he thought, don't think on that, you couldn't know. He hated the fact that he was beginning to doubt his own belief, just as he hated the fact that they were still stuck in this godforsaken town, scratching foolishly around for clues.

What he really wanted was to be back on Serenity. Not that he was entirely sure what he was going to say to appease her brother, but at least there he knew they had a faint grasp of stability.

As for beyond that, well, he didn't know.

Of course, all of this he had spoken of as they had extracted themselves from the tavern and made their way down the street. But Zoe would hear none of it. Better, she argued, in the face of Mal's stubborn resolve, that they talk to Zefrich's men, find out what they knew of this woman.

"She ain't Alliance, sir," she had said. "At least, not the Alliance we know. Probably workin' outside the government ring. I think she may hold some part to the old order, but that whole jump on us, it was too..."

"Rough about the edges?"

"Right. Effective, but not Alliance-effective."

Mal, jaw clenched, stared hard at the ground. He had been thinking on that, too. And not liking one bit where his thoughts led him. "Effective enough to take River in broad daylight," he said.

There was doubt in her gaze then, and he knew why. River hadn't been taken. It was not possible to force that girl into anything. All of them knew that, and were fools to think otherwise. But the idea gnawed at him, and now, standing here with his hands balled anxiously in the folds of his coat, he thought again of Zoe's words: She walked away.

"That woman. Get her name?" he asked Solomon.

"Got a name, if it's any use to you. North. Miss Elma North. Can't say if that her real name, though. I'm guessin', now, it probably ain't."

"She talk to you?"

"No, Captain, she did not. An' you can ask that of any of us. Zef, he weren't no coward. He would've made to warn ya, 'cept...well, it ain't my place to say. Were an auspicious thing for her those markets were up'n tradin' this week. Lotsa folks come round Fortune special, jus' for this occasion, y'see." He stared at Mal, shook his head. "You people picked the wrong day for a job, that's all."

"That's all?" Mal took a step forward. "Some Alliance cast-off renegade, sittin' pretty under your nose, shoots dead your boss an' spells away a member of my crew...and you talk as if it were nothin' but broken cargo? That's all?"

He was almost shouting now. Zoe placed a hand on his arm just as he drew back his coat. Solomon pursed thin lips together. His impassive gaze took in each of the three of them, and he walked out from behind the desk and planted himself before Mal.

"Now. I've been a patient man so far, boy. Up-front, too. But you make one move for that shooter of yours an' I'll be forced to act otherwise. I suggest you make your ways off this moon, for I can't see that little one hid down this side of the world, when she's obviously got a bounty on her head some folks might see fair to be pullin' the wool over your eyes. But Zef, see, he weren't that man. An', god rest his soul, I'll turn him to the ground 'fore I say any to the contrary. You mark my words."

He stepped back, the watery eyes flint hard and dark. "If I were you, Captain Reynolds, I'd best start lookin' for your girl. Else you find prayin's all you have left."

**

They left the other shuttle behind. There was simply no other choice. He told himself that when this was all over he would return for it, but he knew the chance of there being anything to return to at all was disturbingly small. What sliver of hope he held now was focused entirely on River. It was his mistake in flying down, Mal thought. Let her foolish pilot live with the loss.

He plugged into the cortex as they flew towards Serenity, at the same time sending a short wave to Kaylee. And it was exactly that: short. He was going to have to do the explaining face to face. But Kaylee being Kaylee, he could tell that his attempt to be non-specific was having the opposite effect. Mal shook his head, tried in his voice to assure the mechanic that the situation was not hopeless.

"Anything?"

Zoe looked up from her monitor. "One ship. No signature on it. 'Bout an hour from our position. But she's empty, sir."

"What about North?"

"Solomon was right. Reckon it's a false name. But it's possible she's used it before."

"Doubt it, but give it a try. North's a pretty common handle; we'll need narrower parameters or we'll ping every second feed on the cortex."

"Understood."

Serenity loomed ahead; the comm crackled. "Ready to take you in." Kaylee hesitated, then added, "Glad you're back, Cap'n."

There was a vague ache still beating incessantly at his forehead. Hopeless. It's just a word. Means nothin' 'till you let it. Wiping the ball of his thumb wearily over his eyes, Mal turned to Zoe. "Transfer that feed over," he told her. "We'll continue looking once we're locked down." He pressed the comm. "Me too, Kaylee. Me too."

The shuttle flew on.

**

"Was she armed?"

Simon stared impatiently at Mal. Kaylee watched him carefully; the look in his eyes was impossible to read, and she was almost afraid the young doctor might snap at any moment--with words, or fists, or both. But he remained still and subdued. She wondered briefly if Zoe's standing so close to Mal had dictated the younger man's reaction, but she couldn't be sure. Her own mind was still reeling, and as she leaned against the side of the mule, eyes trained on the others, she felt a shiver crawl through her body.

"The hell sorta question's that?" Jayne grumbled. "Woman threw a ruttin' grenade at us."

"I meant River. Was River armed?"

Mal paused. She could see his hesitation, knew there could be no giving of lies here. But the question seemed to answer itself. "I see your thinkin', Doc," he said slowly, "an' yes, there's all manner of chance that woman's lying cold dead as we speak, just as there is your sister ain't never gonna touch that weapon at all."

He let this hang in the air. Simon's mouth pressed tightly with obvious frustration. Kaylee had without thinking placed a hand on his forearm, and he now seemed to be staring hard at her fingers, as if wondering who they belonged to. "You goin' back, then?" she asked, trying but unable to completely keep the tremor from her voice. "I--I mean, her ship--"

Mal stepped forward. He spoke gently. "We go together, Kaylee. Gonna take Serenity out, an' yes, go for her ship. I know it's small steps, possibly too small for the doc here, but right now it's all we got to go on."

Simon folded his arms, a solid, resolute stance in the face of their equally resolute leader. "You think this...this woman...has some connection to my sister. Then you're going to need my help." But a tear hung suddenly in the shadow of his lashes. For River, Kaylee thought. He's can't go through it again, alone.

"We got several searches runnin' through the cortex." For his part, the captain was doing a good job of hiding his own emotions, but there was a dullness in his eyes that seemed to strip naked everything else. River might be Simon's sister, might be their pilot, but Kaylee--always observant but never more so than after Miranda--knew that to Mal the girl was unique. "They're yours," he said. "If you think you might know where to look."

Simon nodded. Mal turned away, and in that moment of quiet as he looked at them both, she could see the answer was already there.

**

It is strange how a person under so much surveillance can disappear so easily.

For three nights now--nights when he should have been there, with her--the girl has been sedated. After the last incident, her medical supervisors thought it best that she be allowed to sleep, uninterrupted.

It could not have been done without force. He knows how such a mind races on kinetic, frantic energy, lost in a vibrant tangle of electric currents. Knows the unfortunate grip they must wield to get it--to get her--to rest. He wishes this was not so, though seeing, always seeing, the future where she never can. More than a girl, she is power. And of too great a value to lose.

So it is not her, but their visitor who keeps him busy. Because the mysterious doctor, whose name the man never did find out, has, it appears, quite literally vanished.

He queries the record of her visit, and is disturbed to find it, like her, also missing. He wonders briefly if he has not in fact been talking to ghosts.

"Surely she left something," he says to the section head of security, a tall, reed-thin man called Anders. "You must have some record of her signing in."

Futile. He wants to bite the words away even as he speaks. She was, after all, vetoed by those in positions far above his lowly state. But an operative, he thinks, an agent, would make no sense--surely the government cannot spy on itself.

Anders frowns. He is probably thinking the same thing himself. Frustrated, and a little embarrassed by it all, the man turns to go.

"You want a name?"

The man eyes a point several feet above their heads. He feels as if there are eyes in the ceiling.

"No, it doesn't matter," he says shortly. "I'll see myself out."

"Right."

But there is something in Anders' voice that makes him stop. For a moment he thinks he can see his own reflection, a pinprick of empathy in the other man's gaze. Two servants of this secret little world; their kinship something that the ones they work for will never understand. Anders speaks.

"Your doctor's name is North. I don't think we'll be seeing her again."

**

"Here we go..."

With a slow hiss the airlock released, and Zoe began tugging open the seal. For some reason watching this made Mal itch all over. An itch, he thought, too devoid of adrenaline to be fear, but it was a feeling he knew would be stuck with him until the moment he had sight of River again. He refused to think of it as guilt. Too much weight had to be given in to guilt.

Worry, however, was another thing. Worry was the pulse, the hum of knowing, of living, that made the grip he held to his gun tighten, and his impatience to get inside leap tenfold.

"We're in, sir." And she stepped back, making room for him.

No, worry was good. Because in Mal's mind to worry was to care, and to care was to hope. He looked at Zoe, saw in her own gaze River looking right back. And he knew then, was certain above anything Solomon had said, that they were looking in the right place.

The gap before them was dark, the gantry connecting Serenity with this unmanned vessel unlit and unwelcoming. Mal clicked on his torch.

"Right," he muttered. "Let's find out who the hell you are."

**

There are reasons, River thought, and answers for everything. But to understand them is harder than anything we know.

"You have me," she said, voice softer than a whisper.

Her earliest memories of Serenity were like a page of black and white photographs, stills of hope and of loss. In her mind she catalogued them: Mal shooting Dobson, Ariel and the hospital, Jayne's trickery and Simon's faith that she would--could--get better. The urge to cling to a normal life was of such great persuasion, that for River, being pulled from the darkness had left her having absolutely no faith in the courage of her brother or the promises he made. They were voices when she cried herself to sleep, equilibrium to her fear, and in those days River had not known their worth.

It had required steps much larger than this to finally understand--Early, Miranda, Wash. The Reavers. And Mal. With genuine feeling, with rare acceptance, she remembered how Mal, after Miranda, gave her his ship and by doing so gave her his trust as well. And in the tavern in Fortune, River had looked into the cage and the eyes of Elma North and had seen a darkened space, a desk and a man, coaxing lies out of a crazy little girl. She'd seen what Mal couldn't, and cried out in fear because she knew no other feeling from the part of her life that included this woman, and that room, and him.

So River did the only thing she knew would save them all. She let the prize be taken.

"You have me," she said, again. "But you don't know what I am."

A hand jerked her chin so she was staring into dark eyes. "Don't speak, girl."

Sunlight penetrated their shared look; old, unreadable stare against bright, knowing rebuke. River blinked, nodded into the claw-like grasp, and North let her go.

Walking out of that place was one of the hardest things she had ever done. The idea came in a spark of almost desperate, sudden impulse, but each step had felt to River like a betrayal, to herself, to Simon, to Mal. She didn't want to think of what they thought of her now; she wondered if that, more than anything, was what scared her the most.

If Elma North had been surprised at River's contact she hadn't let on--at least, not outwardly. Her hand had kept grip on the grenade, poised to throw as River walked calmly in true, measured steps across the street. The people around had scattered like wildfire, heated words sluiced with confusion and fear; but River kept her eyes on North, did not shrink or turn back. Behind her she could hear a cry--possibly Zoe--but she couldn't tell. She kept walking. She might not have known where she was going, but she knew why. And that was enough.

Now North gripped River by the elbow, aiming a stare at her as they trod over the rocky ground.

"This moon..." She spoke in a voice cut and dried by the sun, and with an accent, too deeply ingrained and stubborn to leave. "These people--if they knew what you were, I doubt you'd have even reached me. Ignorance, it's a dangerous thing, and you've the spark just right to set it off."

Through the sand and stone their boots kicked up dust, toned and translucent with shadow and with light. River watched the folds of her dress billow lightly in the warm breeze. "I'm curious," she said. "Might you say where you're leading us?"

North's grip tightened, a vice at her arm. "You never did learn to curb that tongue. Small wonder he failed so spectacularly."

River made to reply but closed her mouth. She looked up, at the same time smoothing her fingers carefully over her side, feeling the gun, still hidden, still tucked neatly at her hip. She thought of Mal, smiled despite herself--and in the distance, as silent as a moth in the desert wind, a flag, white and torn, flapped gently in reply.

**

"Sir."

He turned, following the beam from Zoe's torch.

"The cockpit?" Mal asked.

"Looks like."

They had traversed the length of the ship, small as it was, finding along the way a utility room, a tiny kitchen, and empty sleeping quarters for no more than two or three people. Now they had reaching the extremity of the dark corridor, the door to which Zoe's light now shone. Mal tried the handle. It felt stiff, heavy in his hand. But it wasn't locked.

He made to turn it but at the last moment let go; he leaned forward instead, peering at the tiny window, through glass at least two inches thick.

"Anything?"

Mal squinted. He thought he spotted a light, flickering on and off. "Can't tell."

"Just like the rest of this boat," Zoe muttered. "No sign of habitation. Whoever she is, she lived like a gorramn Shepard."

"Knew a Shepard once. One who weren't too studious of God's law all his life neither if I recall...but this woman, Zoe." He shook his head, pressed his fingers restlessly at the glass. He took hold of the handle, feeling it turn slowly, and with a grunt put his weight to it. "She ain't even close."

They stepped inside.

It was as if this tiny hub of the ship was as alive as the rest of her was empty. Mal turned full circle, taking in the banks of monitors, the illuminated control panels, fully integrated navigational system and communications array. On the monitors he could see various views of the outside--Serenity, or small glimpses of her, in most of the shots. In one he even spotted their own bridge, the small figures of Kaylee and Simon sitting inside. Mal frowned, searched the knobs and buttons before him, until he found what he was looking for.

"Kaylee?"

On the monitor the mechanic looked up. "Cap'n?"

"Looks like the comm's workin' fine, then."

"Any luck?"

He looked across at Zoe, busy at the other side of the room. In the shot he could see Simon, and although the resolution wasn't particularly good, he imagined he could still make out the young man's brow, furrowed with concentration. "Not yet," Mal said. "But now we've got it, might as well keep the line open case either of us find anything."

"Think we might have just done, Cap'n. Simon, he found...well, seems you were right."

Zoe looked up, meeting Mal's eyes. They waited together for Kaylee to continue, but it was Simon who spoke.

"It's not a false name at all. And she's a doctor."

"A doctor?"

"At the Institute," Simon said. His voice was tight. "River's Academy."

**

"It all happened years ago. Some trouble--covered up, naturally. You could say they developed a--talent--for doing that." At this strained note of sarcasm Kaylee looked over, watched him with a gentle, careful hesitation. Simon closed his eyes for a second, took a breath and then continued. "A death. There were waves all over the cortex about it. Not public, of course, but by then I had contacts that got me access to the internal lines, chatter all about the Institute that didn't get out to the population at large." He paused, his hand hovering over the screen. A picture of River looked back at him. Aged only fourteen and two months: her letter of acceptance, her official profile. Smiling proudly, the star pupil. "And it was buzzing."

Another pause. On the monitor River's gaze seemed to be pinned to Simon, as if he had been foremost in her thoughts when that picture had been taken. Kaylee gazed at it, feeling the pull and sharp, courageous bond between brother and sister. Blood, thicker always than water, but never more meaningful than now.

"River was, as you know, subjected to many tests, many treatments. Questions piled upon questions. Ones which left her...well, you saw. You all remember how she was." Simon shook his head sadly. "They wanted to see how quickly she could lose it. Her humanity. How she might become this thing of perfect corruption; ideals--their ideals--turned into flesh and blood."

"Doc--Simon," Mal said, gently. He was obviously pulled between letting the younger man take his time and knowing how short, how crucial their own time was becoming. "What's this gotta do with North?"

Simon touched the screen and River's picture disappeared. "Doctor North," he said, his lips curling sharply as if the name itself tasted bad. "Her time at the Institute was...well, it was brief. From what I've found out I can tell you she observed River at least once, but after that the records are scarce. The man who died, it appears North was his intended replacement--she was a particular favourite of Mathias apparently, but to what extent--or indeed by what motive--I don't know. But the job never came to pass. She was dispensed from service, on the grounds of 'self-delusional, self-destructive behaviour'. "

"That's..." Kaylee stared with disbelief.

"Rich?"

"Yeah."

"I know. It is. Coming from so-called doctors who tried to curb these exact traits in their patients. The by-product being that some--like North--came to believe they were themselves capable of controlling destruction just as my sister...just as River was of wielding it."

"But they weren't, were they," Mal said.

"No." Simon shook his head. "I think River's proved that."

"So what is this? She wants to 'control' River? Is it jealousy? Revenge? Makes no sense."

The doctor leaned back, wiping a palm over his eyes. He looked, and sounded, completely exhausted. "Our needs are simple, Captain. Grounded in pure, decisive instinct. And, yes, jealousy too."

Mal's sigh was as sudden as it was audible. "Right," he said. "This mess is beginnin' to smell like a whole lotta xiu ji dan--an' it's damn well givin' me a headache I can't be dealin' with right now. We need to find her. We should have gorramn found her already."

Simon stared back at his monitor, and Kaylee, feeling a need to at least contribute something, if only to agree with Mal, made to speak when she noticed Serenity's outside comm light up. "Wave comin' in Cap'n," she said. "Think you might wanna take it."

"Who is it?"

"It's Solomon."

**

They were unable to link the wave through to the other ship, so Mal left Zoe and ran back along the route they had traced until he was pounding along familiar catwalk and corridors, towards Serenity's bridge.

"He still there?" he puffed, stepping through the hatchway with a thud.

Kaylee turned, pointed to the vid-link. On the monitor Buck Solomon's eyes followed Mal as he sat down.

"Thought you was making tracks off our little moon, Captain."

"Well, you thought wrong."

"Kinda knew you weren't gonna take my advice anyhow. An' a good thing you ain't one to sway from foolhardy defiance, neither."

"How's that?"

"Been a sightin'. We think it might be your little runaway." Solomon paused, shifted his large bulk. Mal pressed his lips together, holding back what should have been a satisfyingly curt reply.

"Where?" he said instead.

"'Bout six, seven miles outta town."

"And North?"

"Her too. But before you get yourself all worked up, the fella who saw 'em didn't know no better till he were told the situation. Now, some of my boys is on their way, right as we speak. Thought it best I let you know 'fore I join the party myself."

"Give us the location," Mal said, getting up. "We're comin' down."

Solomon half-smiled to himself as if he hadn't heard Mal. "Think it were some ironic gesture, but it sure as hell ain't subtle..."

"I'm sorry?"

"Birds in a cage, Captain Reynolds. She's wantin' to test the air."

Mal stared, this time not bothering to mask his impatience. "You've lost me," he said.

"You'll find it a dozen or so miles outta Fortune. Course, it's closed now. Has been for near on a decade. Weren't enough silver turned out to even make a set o' spoons"

Then it hit him. Words of not so long ago flashed through his head; her curiosity, eyes bright upon his face, trusting and giving all at once. And her voice. Insistent. Gentle.

What was it?

He had almost thought her naive. "The mine," he said softly, and Solomon nodded. Mal wiped a palm over his face, seeing in the darkness a fleeting image of River, her hand briefly entwined in his, and he wondered if it had been her spirit, or his own damned assurance to protect it, that hurt him the most.

What was what now?

The fortune. There must have been one for them to name their town so.

When he looked back Solomon was gone--data, a set of ground co-ordinates--left scrolling down the screen. And he realised that there had been sympathy in the older man's eyes; weary, knowing, and achingly familiar. Almost as if they were feelings of his own, refracted through glass, broken but held in place by hope.

**

Late afternoon. The sun, once a dazzling orb in the blanket sky, had now faded to a warm blur on the horizon, casting long, honey-brown shadows over the sand and desert rock. Soon it would be evening, darkness fighting to drown out the colours and bathe the hot ground in sharp, monochromatic twilight. Then the stars, dropped into the cap of the moon like ice-cool tears, there to stay until morning when they would just as quickly be chased away, flighted by the burning whisper of dawn.

But for now there was still light, and would be so for several hours. Light to follow; light to be guided by.

River understood light. Photons, magnetic and electric, waves of straight, perfect symmetry. Microwaves, infrared, the visible spectrum; colours in endless circles trailing deftly into ultraviolet. Light was there, always, even in the black. But the order, she thought, the order was wrong. She was the one who guided. And she never, ever followed.

Beside her she could hear North, her breaths strained and deep as they walked. But the woman's pace was strong, and she held her gun with an unyielding aim.

Whether she willed it or pushed it away, there was always a part of her that heard everything, that watched this woman wheeze under the piercing heat, and it was this blind sight that River listened to now. At the beginning, she thought, watching the sand scatter beneath the tread of her boots, there were two of us. And at the end there was one. A table, lies in infinite number and a single truth. I can do this, Mal. I believe it now. Because I did it before, and she knows it. This is my power, and as much as she covets, she fears it, too.

Still, she knew the line on which they walked was precariously fine. In a way it was not dissimilar to waking from a bad dream. What she had was knowledge, memories faded but still alive; what she saw, however, was light, clear through the variable haze and the tangled maze of probability. She was, after all, the goal made real, that indefinable being which people like North, Doctor Mathias, and the men with hands of blue had tried again and again to catch, but failed, every time.

So they kept walking, neither speaking, neither inciting anything more than silence. Perhaps this woman was testing River just as River was testing her.

I only want to observe.

Perhaps...

River looked up at the sky. It was a lighter heat now, softer on her skin. She thought again of Mal, sweating in his great coat, cursing the sun away.

And then North came to a stop, pressed her gun at River's arm.

"Open it," she said.

Nestled in the sandy ridge, away from the sun and the light, was an entrance, holed out like a gaping mouth in the rock. As tall as a man and of a breadth several times over, it was boarded with an iron grate, stained copper-red with rust and with age.

This is the line we take, River thought. Oh, Mal, you didn't know, you couldn't. But you were right. And she pressed a hand against the rock, gently, as if through touch alone she might somehow will her thoughts through it.

**

"Next job we do, Zoe, we're gonna land the damn ship. I've seen enough of the inside of these shuttles to last a month."

Zoe levelled them out as they neared the surface, keeping a careful eye on the line of air to ground carriers already parked in Fortune's dusty shipyard. But she snuck a look at Mal as she flew, and wondered if he felt as bad as he looked.

"It'll be okay, sir," she said. "I think Solomon's actin' fair here. Considering--" She almost said what's at stake, but caught the look in Mal's eyes, and broke off, letting silence once again permeate the cabin.

He shifted in his seat, hard gaze never leaving the surface, though by now the late afternoon sun shone directly in their eyes. Zoe, squinting through the haze, muffled a curse as she searched for their landing position. The shuttle, held at a delicate hover, sent up puffs of sand to whirl about in the air. And then they were down, and Mal was up and opening the door before Zoe had even powered off.

She came out to find him staring into the distance.

"Sir?"

He didn't move. It was not that he was ignoring her, as such, but she'd never seen him so distracted. He held a hand up--to block out the sun, she thought; but she looked again and realised it was a wave.

Zoe turned. She followed his line of sight, and spotted the large figure of Buck Solomon, heading slowly towards them.

"I must say, you keep smart time there, Captain Reynolds."

Mal cocked his head, eyes narrowed. He offered the older man neither smile nor acknowledgement that he was going to play about with mock pleasantries. "Can we go?" he asked instead. "Day's gettin' short real fast, an' I'm not entirely sure my patience ain't going right along with it."

She wondered if either of them could see that it wasn't what was being said, but unsaid, that had more importance than anything else in this mission. River Tam was as singularly apart from old Isack Zefrich as two people could possibly be--but the feeling, the weight of it all, was something entirely different. And so too were the consequences. Zoe knew that somewhere, under the flint-hard exterior, under the whole gorramn mess, there was a part of Mal that understood this. She could only hope that for nothing else but to salve his frustration, he allowed it to stay.

Solomon stepped forward. He ignored Mal's look, and with a surprising gentleness, placed one hand on the captain's shoulder. "You Browncoats," he said softly. "Lord knows that were a war to forget. But some of us, we remember." And he stood back, gestured to the two men who had accompanied him.

"I know you're impatient to get going. But there's somethin' here I think you should see first."

**

The shuttle was the smallest of its type either of them had ever seen. She weren't claustrophobic, Zoe thought, gazing at it in wonder. That's for sure.

"It's hers," Mal said, and, not bothering to pause for an answer, yanked open the hatch. "Couldn't have stuck a surface to air transport on a ship that size, 'less it were as small as this." He shot a look at Zoe. "So now we know how she got planetside."

She nodded. "Guess so."

There was really only room for one person in that shuttle, so Zoe waited at the hatch while Mal stepped in. She could hear him poking about inside, and she glanced over her shoulder to find Solomon looking at her. Thought she believed him to be genuine in his pledge to help them, she wasn't exactly eager to make small talk with this man. But he said nothing, only watched in silence.

"La shi..." There was a thump. Mal's voice lifted a notch. "Ain't no room'n here to swing a gorramn cat."

"Sir?" Zoe leaned in, narrowing her eyes as she tried to focus in the gloomy interior. There was a pause, and then Mal spoke again, softly.

"There's...Zoe, the doc was right. It's here...na fu, ta shi fa kuang. It's all here."

She turned on Solomon. "Have you been in?" she asked sharply. Then, without waiting for an answer she whipped back, stuck her head in the hatch. "Sir!"

Mal crawled out. His eyes sought out Solomon, and his jaw was tight. To Zoe he handed a stack of discs. She scanned the labels--they were vid-feeds, the dates almost six years old.

"You looked at these?" he asked Solomon, as Zoe slipped them into the inner pocket of her coat.

"No. Didn't find this transport 'til a few hours ago."

"Did Zefrich?"

Silence. Solomon's eyes darkened slightly. "Not exactly sure what you're implyin' here, son..."

"In truth?" Mal said. "Neither am I. At least, it ain't a place I'm wantin' to go, not now. But what I am sure of, is we've been talkin' an' beatin' around the sand for too damn long."

He took the lapels of his coat, tugged the worn, thick fabric against his chest. Like a shroud, Zoe thought. To stop the lies as well as the bullets. "Too long," Mal repeated. "An' I ain't talkin' no more. What your boss started, what she started, I don't know. But it's comin' to an end. Now."

**

It has been almost seventeen months since they brought her to this place.

Soon, she will have been here exactly two years. Two years ago, she was fourteen, and smiling, and talking shyly about classes, her brother, and dancing. He thinks of how he looked into those eyes and thought them beautiful.

They still are, of course. Even under what she is now, that will never change, but beauty is not constrained to the fragilities of what sits on the outside. It is weightless. And it lives.

Which is why the man will never look at her without remembering how she was. One-way conversations, two-way conversations, it is beauty through the silence and the tears and the terrible pain of it all. He sees now how she has accepted it, this success of transformation.

Session 416. How far we have come, the man thinks. Perhaps the ice is not so thin after all.

Today she stares at the table, hands tucked in her lap. He can barely see her; she has let the limp hair fall in shadows over the sharp angles of her face. But she cannot hide her eyes. They are what he sees when they bring her in, and what he sees when they take her away. They are always there.

He clears his throat. "You're very quiet today." These are the motions they go through, these pleasantries, but they serve a purpose. "How did your session with Doctor Mathias go?"

Silence. He doesn't expect her to answer. Once, a few months ago, she went for eleven of these sessions without speaking. And then on the twelfth, she opened her mouth to inform the man that of the forty-two planets originally colonised, only the last two resisted seeding, and had to be abandoned. "They spat out life," she had told him, in a voice flattened by neglect. "Not even the outsiders, those who wanted nothing, could settle." And he had smiled, indulging her, knowing they were just words, and in her head could mean one of a million different things.

He'd even let himself think that if his Doctor North had been here, what million different ways she might have interpreted those million different things. And gotten every one wrong. It almost--almost--makes him smile.

No. The man has faith, and he watches, devoted to his charge, prepared to wait, prepared to let the quiet linger.

And today he is rewarded; today she looks him in the eye, and speaks.

"He gave me a mission."

**

"What do you want me to do?"

River looked at this woman who she knew not by sight or telling but by memory; looked her in the eye and by doing so broke the almost pregnant silence. They stood in an alcove, past the barricade and iron grate, in a cavernous room cut into the rock. One step to the side and her back would be hard against the roughened wall, cold as an indifferent sigh. A step forward and she would be as close to North as--

As looking at the blank side of a mirrored wall, as a man who kept you in the dark lay choking at your feet in a pool of his own blood.

No. River flicked her eyes closed. Not like that. But it fit, strangely, in an almost closeted sliver of memory. She wished it would leave.

She had to concentrate.

Elma North's jaw moved a little, like she wanted so desperately to resist speaking. She had a weathered face, hard lines. Her nose was sharp. Sharp nose, sharp brow, sharp eyes, sharp mouth.

"You tell me. You're the genius. Can't you read my mind and get the little answers, one by one? Surely you already know."

"You must be specific," River replied hollowly. "You're right--I do know, but if it is left to broad strokes and indistinguishable rules we will have anarchy. You must set rules. A task. An identity. A mission."

"A mission...?"

"If that is what you want. Then, yes. A mission."

North shifted her weight as if making to step forward, but instead she crouched down on her haunches. She looked at the gun, passed it from hand to hand. "Will you sit?" Her voice was suddenly strained, almost tired. Her eyes remained on the weapon. Left hand, right hand, over and over. "Please."

River edged down until she was at North's level. But she did not sit.

"I know it's there." North glanced up, catching River's eye quickly.

"What?"

The gun stopped moving. "Did he teach you to shoot, River? Your captain?" Her voice echoed in the dark space, but now it was rounded, curious. "Did he hold your hands still, aimed with you at rocks balanced on the top of an old fence?" Then, just as quickly, the smile dropped. "Or had you always known, kept a place in that mind filled with their lessons, his words."

River stared, feeling something twist in the pit of her stomach. She had prepared herself to speak of the doctors, the treatment, the part of her life that she still endured nightly in her dreams. She had accepted that getting away meant pandering to this woman's motive. To what extent River didn't yet know, but she had prepared. She had accepted it.

But she hadn't imagined Mal would be brought so easily into play. Why? He was nothing to Elma North.

Then what is he to--? She blinked, hard. It was too dark, she missed the light, but she hated herself for being so dependant on it.

Everything. He is everything.

"I don't know what you want me to say," River said finally. "That my life means so little, because I failed to grasp a potential that was pressed into me by doctors and psychiatrists? By government hands? You don't know me. You don't know what I am. It isn't my mission...it's yours."

"What you are?" North repeated sharply. "Foolish child. If I told you what I saw back then, you wouldn't be so fast to claim you can only act by 'specifics', by 'rules'. You broke the rules, River Tam, and when you did you threw away that potential you're so eager to forget. Maybe you're right--maybe it is my mission. Because I don't think you have the ability to fulfil it. And I think where you are now, what you are to him, you know you'll never get it back."

She stood, a lunging movement that left her towering over River. "I brought you here because I wanted to see if you'd follow. If you were still capable of blind deception. You kept that weapon hidden because he gave it to you. Dai, xia gu niang! What you followed wasn't me. It was him."

And she stuck her hand out, slowly, palm flat, like a snake waiting to strike.

"I have to get it back, River. Forget what you are, think...think of what you were. That is your potential."

Hand out, her thin fingers trembling in the space between them, North stared River in the eye, until at last the girl stood.

"Now. Give me the gun."

**

Solomon's old mule kicked and jerked like a headstrong steer as they flew over the rock and sand; and in Mal's opinion, at a speed that was not nearly fast enough. The view was quite amazing--almost breathtakingly so--but not one of them was paying it any attention. The sun was sinking onto the horizon and the ground was washed in a boiling river of burnt reds, ochres and pinks. On it went, glorious and unnoticed, and still they flew without a word between them.

From time to time he could feel Zoe's eyes on him, and occasionally turned to return her look--a nod here, a pained half-smile there. But mostly he held his gun, moved it slowly, gently, from hand to hand.

And, mostly, he thought of her.

Again and again they strayed out farther into the black. Every day they were trying to build a new life against odds that seemed to increase with every risk, every new job they took. And every one of those days Mal had come to know his crew almost better than he knew himself. He took onboard their flaws, their fears, and learning--always learning.

Except for one. The one who was more intelligent, more capable, more unique then all of them combined. With each obstacle they faced, River managed to reveal within that flawed, genius centre, things that Mal could hardly believe this tiny slip of a girl could possibly have left to give. But give she did, over and over, from a world where her pain was a forgotten thing, a world brighter and more real than he'd ever thought was possible.

And all this time, he had yet to stop and ask himself why.

She was a reader. So Mal took her on jobs. It was smart business. And they were, as a rule, successful with this venture, and it kept them in work.

She flew Serenity like the ship was an extension of her own self. So Mal taught her what he knew, and they outran their pursuers, until, under River's hand, his beloved ship became as much a part of space as the stars. Until it came to the point where she was the one teaching him.

However, if he had to name that point, he wasn't entirely sure he could. All he knew, was that since Miranda, she had lost more of that uncertainly which had made her seem almost like a timid foal; and requiring from her brother more attention than he was plainly able to give. But when she began to change, it was so gradual, so slight, that it very nearly slipped their notice.

She had a way of sinking herself into his thoughts, and increasingly there were times in which this often caught him unawares. Like when he happened to be watching her fly, or listening to her chatter when they found themselves apart from the others on jobs. And he often wondered if the old Mal--the one who had kicked off the cover of Simon's crate to find a frozen, broken girl--wouldn't have perhaps been quick to push this intrusion away. It would have stemmed from fear, from a man still hurting from a war he hadn't wanted to start let alone lose. The old Mal would have seen this girl and knew she was just another body to protect, along with her brother, no better than damaged goods.

But now, he wasn't so sure. When she'd placed her hand on his coat this morning, when he had felt her touch as if it had been cool fingers on his bare skin, something had tightened in his chest, and here, as they sped across the desert, it came to him again.

Mal closed his eyes as the rushing air sent sand whipping over the mule. It slid across his face like sandpaper, but when it had gone he kept them closed. He did this because he realised it wasn't only that touch he needed to feel again.

It was because, now, he wanted to give it back.

**

They spotted it soon enough--in the distance there was a gap in the rock, once boarded up, but now open. Nearby was a sheet of heavy grating, tossed to one side.

Solomon slowed the mule and they jumped off. Zoe held her shotgun at her hip. She nosed in behind Mal as they split from Solomon and his men, edging against the rock, towards the opening.

Mal's hand floated above his holster. He felt the muscles in his arm twitch, but his fingers remained still.

The wind had almost dropped. So too the sun; in the twilight the iron grate had turned a ghostly silver. He looked at it, spotting something.

"Zoe..."

"Yeah. I see it."

It was a tiny scrap of cloth. He recognised it immediately. It had come off the hem of River's dress. His heart beat painfully, insistently, in his chest. The slip of blue moved gently in the air, catching the last embers of light.

Xiao que, he thought. What's she done to you--?

Then there was a sound that stopped all thoughts at once.

A single gunshot. And it came from beyond the rock.

**

"He plays hide-and-seek with me."

"Doctor Mathias."

She continues as if he hadn't spoken, and so softly he finds he has to concentrate on hearing as much as deciphering whatever meaning she has placed on her thoughts today. "My brother," she corrects. "Is a doctor. He thinks he can find me, but...I am deep down...and I do not make a sound."

"River, what mission did Doctor Mathias give you?"

But all she can offer are words of indecision. She is stuck in a loop, he thinks. She doesn't know how to escape. He drops his voice, leans forward, just a little. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

"Can't...tell." But she stares through him, past him, stares and stares until he thinks he sees recognition. Strangely, it almost gives him hope.

"I'll have to write it down."

She places a hand on the table. He looks down, sees her fingers beside his flat stylus, and his pen. He cannot hear her breathing. He cannot hear his own. But he can hear something in the air, and when he looks back, River Tam is smiling.

**

Later, she would see it as a thing of almost translucent distance; not a memory, as such, but it remained with her as a picture she would replay, again and again, though it wasn't the ending she had anticipated. She did not see it as she should have, but it was a token to a future she had up until then only dreamed of. It was completely, perfectly new. And in River's mind, it had no end.

So fast. No time to think. But she understood more than she had realised, and later on, she remembered it all. A gun, two hands, three hands, so fast. A cry, heard by no one. A voice which may have been hers, but what she imagined was really the sky, falling to earth under the still weight of night.

**

"She's dead."

Zoe looked down at the body. She nodded, wondering what to say.

"She's dead," River repeated, softly. "I killed her."

Mal was crouched down beside the girl, but at this he said nothing. He had said nothing since they had raced in to find Elma North with a gaping wound spilling blood in a scarlet arc onto the sandy floor. Zoe watched him intermittently, feeling somehow that any more would be an intrusion, though she wasn't entirely sure why. He pressed an arm around River, his other hand wiping blood away from her face with a dampened cloth. His movements were methodical, as if he was cleaning away more than pain.

"Sir," Zoe said, at last. She stepped back as Solomon's two men dragged North's body out of the cave, walked over and knelt before the captain and River. "We'd best be going."

River blinked. "Speak," she said dully. "Tell the truth. We must plead for our sins. She is dead. Let me beg for mine."

For a long moment Mal looked at her, then his eyes moved past Zoe. She turned and saw Solomon outside the mouth of the cave. She saw him nod, a tiny gesture, but as he did Mal blinked, appearing to shake himself back into action.

"We will," he said. He pulled his arm back from River's shoulders, stowing away the cloth and tucking a knot of dark hair away from her eyes. "We are."

They stood. River half-leaned against the rock, her gaze weary. But she was not trembling, and, satisfied that she could walk on her own, Mal let her go and turned to Zoe.

"When you get back, I want you to tell Kaylee to prep us for departure."

Zoe frowned. "But, sir, what're you--"

"Left a shuttle somewhere around here, if I'm not too mistaken. Might as well get it back." A slight smile creased the corners of his mouth, but only for a moment. Mal wiped a hand over his brow. He turned back, shot River a quiet look. "Think you can help find our way home, little one?"

The girl nodded. She stepped forward, took his free hand. "I am River," she said simply, looking up at them both. "I am light."

"Well. You're somethin', I believe that."

"Sir," Zoe said, again. She felt obliged to make some protest, though she knew it was all falling on deaf ears. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Mal touched her on the arm. He peered at her carefully. "Be okay, Zoe."

She looked at him, looked at River, their hands entwined. She then turned to Solomon, saw his eyes on North, and finally she nodded. "Yes, sir," she said, and stepped forward, climbing into the mule.

There was a pause as the engine spluttered, refusing for a moment to kick over. As Zoe waited she saw Mal raise a hand to Solomon, understanding and thanks in the gesture. And then the old engine gave a choking growl and they were off, moving away faster and faster, until they dipped over the valley ridge, and were flying over desert, back to Fortune.

**

No feeling. No sound. He wonders if this is the end or the beginning. The pain in his neck, where she stabbed him, takes it all away.

But there is cold. Everything is cold. Cold floor, cold words, cold blood, cold heart.

The ice is coldest of all; so cold it has turned numb under his cheek. It has finally broken, he thinks. It has melted and turned into a pool and he is falling and can no longer swim. And she knows. She is river and River of cold, cold heart, and she knows because he realises that there was never any ice but her.

In his peripheral vision the man sees a girl. She has her face and hands pressed to black glass. It is a mirror, plain and wide. But there is no reflection. Instead there is only a whisper of pain, and a message--her message--to the world outside.

"I can see you..."

**

Zoe had left him her torch, but there was a full moon, and so much starlight that Mal found he almost didn't need it. He kept his eyes on the ridge ahead, knowing what he was looking for. Their boots made twin tracks behind them, ready for to be blown away by the wind. But for now the air was still, and cool, and there they stayed; a path to be followed, these footsteps in the sand.

River's hand was still anchored in his, so light that Mal could barely feel the weight of her. For a long time she said nothing, just leaning gently against his arm, looking straight ahead. Occasionally she put a hand up, testing the bruising on her face, touching the skin where Mal had wiped away blood.

He wanted to ask her what had happened. He wanted to find out why she'd spoke of wanting the truth and begging for her sins. He thought he knew, in the broadest sense, why; but he needed to know her reasons. He couldn't just tell her that he understood her actions, because they weren't his to tell. So he allowed the girl her silence, let her walk beside him, gave her his support by not speaking until she was good and ready to accept it.

Mal took the night air into his lungs, tasting it, grateful for its icy touch on his skin. He remembered the heat, and earlier this morning sitting on Serenity's bridge, telling River to prepare for a hot, uncomfortable day.

This morning? He shook his head. It seemed an age ago now.

He felt River slow, and looked down at her. She pointed up, and he followed her eyes to the distant ridge. On it was a flag, white cloth limp and unmoving. Mal nodded.

"I see it," he murmured, breaking his truce.

His voice seemed to have the right effect. River pulled at his hand, said, "Let me speak, Mal," and stepped forward, so that she was walking backwards, still holding onto him, watching him in the dark light. "That woman, she didn't know. She had fooled herself a long, long time ago. I was the prize, you see, and it had burned at her mind for many years. She was jealous."

"Your brother said just as much."

Something glistened in her eyes. "Yes. I'm sure he did."

"I was...we were worried 'bout you, River," Mal said, letting a little of his feelings go. "Couldn't understand why you'd just up an' go like that. No word, no message, no sign that you knew what you were doing. Were a damn mess we were in, an' we thought you'd gone on us."

"Had to. No other choice. She was going to kill you."

This brought him up short. "Me?"

She closed her eyes, turned back and leaned against him. "Jealousy, remember?"

He made to say something more, but she seemed so tired that he closed his mouth. They reached the top of the ridge, and Mal placed a hand on the flagpole, looking out into the other side of the valley. But the moon must have disappeared behind a cloud; he couldn't make out a single thing in the darkness.

Suddenly River let go of his hand. Before he could move to stop her she broke into a run, disappearing down the other side, neatly sidestepping down the steep trail. "Hey!" Mal exclaimed. Swearing, he clicked on the torch, followed her down gingerly, exhausting his own energy where she seemed to only gain more. At the bottom he found her waiting on a nearby rock.

"Darlin'..." He fought to get his breath back. "Why--?"

She shook her head. "Look."

The cloud moved, and he saw it, shining in the moonlight.

"Home," River said.

**

The shuttle had not been touched. He smiled at it, relieved. He picked out a tumbleweed that had gotten itself lodged in the rear exhaust, stared at it for a moment and then placed one hand on the hull. "Found you," he said, softly.

He stepped back, looking around for River. But she had disappeared from view. He circled the transport and eventually spotted her. She was turned away from him, staring up at the sky.

Mal walked over. He noticed suddenly that she was shaking, just slightly, and with a sigh he dropped the torch down and shrugged off his coat.

"Should've told me," he muttered, draping it over her shoulders.

Her voice seemed lost in the vast night. "I tried..." She looked down at the coat, wriggled a little underneath the heavy fabric. "This is yours," River said, sounding surprised. "Not to part company, remember?"

He shook his head. She turned around suddenly, pressed herself against him. He caught her looking upwards, again, past his shoulder. Her nose tickled his neck. "You lookin' for something up there, little one?" Mal asked. He could feel every part of her; the shocking, beautiful ache of a feeling that was so incredibly bare, that he wondered if maybe she'd rescued him.

River closed her eyes, leaned up on her toes and swept warm lips over his cheek. "My wish," she replied. Her hands skated up his shoulders, slipping into his hair--a movement as hesitant as it was true. "But it's okay, Mal. I think...I think I've found it."

He paused. He could feel the reply, words that he had waited for so long to say, where from his own forgotten centre they rushed to meet the sunlit touch of this girl.

"I know."

Mal brought a hand up to her face, ready to return this small, perfect act of affection; searching in her dark gaze for that spark so that he might catch it again. He nudged her lips with his own, smiled faintly into her eyes. He could have sworn all he could see were the stars.