The office is utilitarian; the cream-painted twin of the one on Beaumonde Mal guesses, given that Zoe's description would match this space entirely. Bill is taking a bag from the safe on the back wall. She turns, and hands the bag over with another of her bright smiles. “Your pay,” she says grandly, though her eyes are dancing with mirth. Mal fights to keep his expression inscrutable. “Thank you,” he replies, “Pleasure doing business with you.” The lie tastes bitter on his tongue. “And you, Captain. I confess, I'm hopeful that you'll be choosing to business with us on a more regular basis.” She speaks playfully, almost flirtatious. Mal maintains his blank face. “I'm not sure about that,” he replies honestly, “The pay is excellent, but I'm not sure I want to fly that route again.” Bill eyes him with dismay. “I know a man like you would have gone to check on the poor crew of the Hugo,” she says softly, “Terrible, what happened to them. But come Captain Reynolds. You aren't scared off by Reavers, are you?” He knows she's deliberately pushing him, and refuses to rise to her bait, ignoring the prickling of panic the mention of the Hugo freights. This kind of goading might work with ao man idiots, overly concerned with their reputations, but not him. “I'm a cautious man,” he says with an ironic smile, “And I don't like to risk my crew's lives. There are other jobs we're in a position to take now, that don't necessitate straying so close to Reaver territory.” He can almost see the wheels turning behind her blue eyes as he speaks, trying to decide on a more suitable tack. She nods, and he turns to leave, his hand on the door when she speaks again. “Alright, Captain Reynolds. I can see I've underestimated you. Inara was right, you're a complicated man.” His iron mask slips for a moment at the mention of that name and Bill moves to press the advantage. “I wouldn't be offering you a simple haulage contract,” she declares, “You'd be... an associate.” “How would that be any different?” he asks quietly, hand still on the door. She smiles sweetly. “You'd be helping me recruit other ships for the jobs, not running them yourself. The name Reynolds apparently carries a lot of weight in certain circles. And you'd be carrying passengers on a safer route. Important passengers.” He feigns the appropriate torn reaction and her eyes gleam; she thinks she has him. “I-” he says and she speaks quickly over him. “Don't decide just yet,” she says, voice soft and seductive now, “You're not scheduled to visit the re-fuelling depot for three days. You should sample what Tranquillity has to offer – see how your crew feel about taking up my proposal, after they've experienced the kind of life they could enjoy here.” Mal sighs. “Alright. But if they're not convinced-” “Then you'll leave in three days,” she finishes for him, “I understand.” * Lunch is a subdued affair, taken late by the ship's clock but early by local time. Simon and Jayne pick at their food with stony faces, both still seething with anger over their inaction during Bill's inspection. Knowing that shooting the biao zi on sight would have been suicide is cold comfort. Mal's expression is unreadable as he spoons soup mechanically. “We takin' off soon?” asks Kaylee hopefully, and Mal pulls a face. “There's no free slot at the fuelling depot for three days,” he replies, watching the dismayed reaction to this news play out across six faces. River merely prods her food, as if she's heard this all before. “I've tried to get us moved up the queue but... well, we were ahead of schedule. And I don't much feel like pushing my luck with dear Bill.” “I think that was a wise decision,” Book says quietly. “We going to sit tight on the ship?” Kaylee checks. Mal sighs. “I ain't rightly sure. Bill made a pretty big thing about us checking out the facilities here. Have to admit, if things had gone differently, it would be a mite odd us all sitting pretty on Serenity and not even taking a peek dirt-side. And we've got to act normal.” Zoe nods. “Shouldn't be a problem, sir,” she says, voice reassuringly light. “We stay in small groups... keep where there's large crowds.” Mal nods. “That's what I figure. Kaylee, you're not to go off alone. Sorry Doc-” “I know,” Simon says quietly, “It's not safe for River and me to go off the ship.” “Not with Bill able to recognise you both. Three days ain't too long, though. And then we're free and clear. Everyone keep rememberin' that.” Silence descends again, broken only by the clink of cutlery on plates. * Wash turns his Triceratops over and over somewhat forlornly, feeling utterly useless in the way only a grounded pilot can. Zoe has taken Kaylee out shopping in a rather surprising turn of events, and he doesn't much fancy keeping Jayne and Book company about town. He suspects his wife's somewhat uncharacteristic offer to accompany the mechanic might have something to do with buying a present, to mark an approaching birthday he was pretty sure she'd forgotten about. His own. It's meaningless, as River once remarked, marking the passage of a year in space. One orbit of one planet around one sun – what's that to a pilot who lives out in the black? Nothing. He'd lost track of what month it even was, until he logged onto the Cortex a few hours ago and saw to his surprise that by Central reckoning it was the fourth of April. Which means in ten days he's going to be thirty-four years old. Thirty-four. It's always been a year he's awaited with some trepidation, because his own Pop died when he was thirty-four. Admittedly Wash has spent his years since flight-school on Boats rather than breathing the poisonous dust of factory floors, but still. He can't help but feel a little nervous. Thirty-four. His parents had been married ten years and had bought three kids into the world by the time they were thirty-four. His mother was a widow by the time she was thirty-four, and that thought brings a whole other set of unpleasant speculation with it. Thoughts that have been in his head more often than they used to, since they came across the Hugo. A beep from the console brings him back to the present. He puts down the dinosaur. It's a wave from... He swallows, taking a deep breath before he responds. “Afternoon, Bill,” he says, chirpy as he can manage, “What can I do for you?” “You must be Wash,” she replies, “You're just as Inara described you, exactly as I'd imagined.” “Mmm,” he manages, not sure how he's meant to respond. “Is the Captain around?” Bill continues. “Uh, yeah. I can put you through to his bunk. Give me one moment.” He shuts off the screen and presses the comm. “Wave for you Captain... From Bill.” “I'll take it in my bunk,” Mal replies after a second, sounding tense. Wash patches the signal through, not daring to listen in himself because... well, there are ways of tracing additional stations monitoring a wave, and he has no wish to give Bill any reason to grow suspicious of Serenity. He wants to see in his thirty-fourth year, for a start. He hears Mal clambering up out of his bunk after a few minutes. “What did she want?” he calls down. Mal climbs up the stairs and sinks gloomily into the co-pilot's chair before answering. “She wants me to go to some kind of associates' meeting. Alone.” “An associates' meeting?” Wash asks, confused. “She's tryin' to get me to sign a long-term contract with her. I should've known she wouldn't just let me be for the next three days,” Mal replies, sighing heavily. Wash picks up another dinosaur and turns it over a few more times. “If you don't sign, is she going to let us leave?” Mal meets his eyes, and his expression is answer enough for the pilot. “And I was so keen for us to take this job,” Wash says softly. “Yeah,” Mal huffs, staring at nothing for a moment as Wash spins Rexy over and over. He stands up. “I best go. Don't want to keep her waiting. Tell Zoe what's happened as soon as she's back. If it looks like things have gone bad, clear out. Don't wait for me.” Wash nods even though Mal's order is mostly meaningless – they aren't going to clear anywhere near far enough away with the small amount of fuel they have left. “Good luck,” he says, face full of genuine concern. Mal merely nods his thanks.