He was alone in the bed when he woke up, the moonlight coming in through the window and making everything look strange. “Frey?” he called, but there was no answer. He got up and checked the bathroom. Empty. But Freya’s robe was gone from the chair, and her stick.

He went to the window and stepped out onto the balcony, leaning on the balustrade to see if … movement, by the lake. There was enough light to see a figure at the water’s edge, slipping a robe off before diving cleanly into the water. After a long moment she broke the surface and struck out towards the centre of the lake.

Mal swallowed, watching her move through the water like an eel, then turned back into the room, grabbing the first thing that came to hand to wrap around himself before going back outside and down the stone staircase.

She was heading back towards the bank when she realised someone was standing watching her. She smiled slightly, then slowed until she was just laying in the water, barely moving her arms. “Why are you wearing my shawl?” she asked.

Mal looked down. “Gotta preserve my modesty somehow,” he said, shrugging.

“In my shawl?”

“Hey, I got the legs for it.”

“That you have.” She smiled. “Although I’m not sure who you’re preserving this modesty from.”

“Could be anyone out there.” He waved an arm absently. “Any number of folks wanting to come and take a look at the most beautiful woman in the verse.”

She laughed. “If you’re talking about me –“

“I am.”

“Then I think we need to get you that seeing-eye dog.”

“Here I am, complimenting my wife on her magnificence, and all she does is insult me.” He crossed his arms. “I am considering taking offence.”

“Don’t.” She gazed at him for a long moment. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“Frey, honey, it’s the middle of the night. Not sure you should be in there anyway, and not alone.”

“It supports me,” Freya said, standing up, the water running off her body like mercury in the moonlight. “And Simon said swimming was good for me.”

“You look like one of those water spirits,” Mal said, feeling his groin tightening, his heart beginning to pump harder. The pale scars on her flesh gave her an appearance in places of scales, even though he knew her skin was as soft as … no, not a naiad, but his mermaid.

“Join me,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Looks cold.”

“I’ll warm you up.”

He glanced down at his swelling manhood. “Might not do my reputation any good.”

She laughed again. “I’m sure we can remedy that.”

He gazed at her a moment longer then pulled the shawl from around his waist, inhaling sharply as it caught on his shaft. Slowly he walked into the cold water, until it was up to his hips, thinking of nothing but the nymph before him.

She dropped below the surface again, shimmering through the water and putting her hands on his thighs. He felt her touch him with her mouth, taking his length deep just once before rising up in front of him.

“Yu xin teng, bao-bai,” he murmured, lifting her up. He slid into her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, the sudden contrast of her heat around him with the cold of the water making his skin goosebump. Her eyes widened as she felt him carry her into deeper water.

She was almost weightless in his arms, and he could move her backwards and forward easily on him, gazing into her eyes all the while.

They didn’t kiss, just watched the other’s reactions, the way the passion took over, the movement of their bodies as they panted, thrusting and grinding.

Each pull back and she felt a rush of cold water against the bundle of nerves between her thighs, and it lit fires within her that wouldn’t be extinguished.

She was raising her body on him, letting the water press from between them with each downward movement, until he could feel his release building in his back, his thighs, wanting to be with her like this forever, joined, one passion, one life …

As she came she arched backwards, her face turned towards the stars, shouting his name to ring across the lake. The tightening on him was too much and he thrust up into her, burying his face in her breasts as he poured out, filling her.

Slowly they sank back into the water, letting it support them as they slid apart, the cold ripples wantonly caressing their heated skin, still in each other’s arms.

---

The barman looked up automatically as the door swung open, then looked again at the couple who entered. The man was tall, his brown hair tamed by what looked like half a jar of grease, his clothes expensive. Not that he was the one who held the attention. No, that was the woman next to him, her hand on his arm. She was … well, no-one like her had ever entered his place before, and it made him wish he’d done more than flick a broom around this morning. She was glorious, from the dark hair piled high on her head, down her slender neck to the twin mounds peeking from the gold dress … He took a gulp of air, then a second, knowing every man in the place was staring, just like him.

“’Nara …” Hank breathed. “This is so a bad idea.”

She laughed, tapping him on the shoulder with her free hand as if he’d just whispered something extremely witty to him. “You can do this. Zoe believes in you.” She looked into his grey eyes. “And so do I.”

He forced a smile. “You’d better be right.” He escorted her to the bar.

The saloon was more upmarket than a lot they’d been in since Hank had joined Serenity, but the barman looked like the thousand others he’d met. Maybe they got cloned somehow.

“Ma’am,” the man said, looking as if he’d never said the word before.

“How quaint,” she said, looking into the mirror behind him, noting the looks she was getting from the rest of the patrons. “I didn’t think anyone had the real thing anymore.”

The barman glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t see the point in them holographic things.”

“But when there’s a fight, doesn’t it get broken?”

He dragged a shotgun out from under the counter. “Ain't never any fights in my place.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Inara smiled at him, and he felt himself start to get unaccountably warm.

“So what can I get you folks? Though, I better say, there’s a fancier place coupla blocks along.”

“No, I think my husband was right.” She laughed softly, and the temperature in the room went up about five degrees. “I love to see how other people live, and this is so perfect.”

“Then … what’s your pleasure?” The barman winced at his words, but this woman just smiled at him.

“Something sweet,” she said, lengthening the vowels just a little.

The barman swallowed and turned to the bottles behind him. Ah, yes. Never even been opened.

Hank surveyed the room, trying to look like Simon on one of his bad days. “It seems quiet in here.”

“Get’s noisier later on.” The barman turned back, a glass of something orange in his hands. “Here. Got this off someone in lieu of payment, never had the chance to … hope it’s okay.”

Inara took the glass and sniffed appreciatively. “Mmn, Evgeny liqueur. I didn’t think I’d be drinking this out here.” She laughed again.

“And for you?” The barman dragged his eyes from her.

Hank shrugged. “Whisky. I don’t care what kind. Don’t have the palate of my wife here.”

The man nodded, as if he totally understood instead of wondering just how this man had ended up with this … goddess. “Whisky,” he confirmed, pouring from the bottle.

Hank took a mouthful, appearing to drain half the glass but letting most of it flow back out of his mouth into the glass. He put it carefully onto the bar and leaned forward. “I heard that there might be a game available around here,” he said, lowering his voice. “I like to play a hand once in a while, but so many planets look down on it. And the sanitised stuff they play in the official … well, you can hardly call it gambling.”

“Honest game ain't a crime, though I hear tell the central planets don’t much like it,” the barman agreed.

Hank nodded. “No indeed. You can probably tell I wasn't born near the Core. Unlike my lovely wife.” He smiled at Inara, who lifted her drink delicately to her perfectly made-up lips. “My family made their money elsewhere, but … well, sometimes you just like to … cut loose a little. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do.” The barman watched Inara lick the sticky liquid from the rim of the glass.

“So, do you know of somewhere a man could throw a few boards?” Hank waited, hiding his anxiety. They knew this was where Rankin played, having asked, very carefully, around. Only if they weren't allowed in, Plan B was looking more and more likely. Whatever Plan B was.

Inara used the middle finger of her right hand to wipe an imaginary drop before placing her finger in her mouth. The sigh of the collected masculinity in the room was probably audible back on Lazarus.

“Game?” Hank prompted.

“What?” The barman blinked rapidly. “Yeah, there’s … there’s a game here. Going on right now, matter of fact. You … you want me to see if I can get you an in?”

“That would be good.”

The other man nodded, then hurried through the door at the back, glancing over his shoulder as he went.

“Do you have to do that?” Hank asked, turning to Inara.

“Do what?”

“You know exactly!”

“I'm being the distraction. Remember?”

“Just don’t go distracting me.”

“Hank, dearest, if I was really trying, you wouldn’t even be able to pick up that glass.” She looked over his shoulder. “Which you should do. I think we’re on.”

The barman was beckoning, and they followed him into a small backroom, with barely enough room for a table and eight chairs. Seven of them were occupied by a variety of different men, the eighth pulled tight into the table.

“So you’re the feller wants a game?” asked the man by the window, facing the door. He was amused, his eyes running up and down Hank. Then he saw Inara, and those eyes widened. “Gents, we’ve got a lady here with us. On your feet.” He pushed his chair back with a screech, and stood up, the others following. “Ma’am, my name’s Rankin. Zachariah Rankin.”

Inara smiled. “Rowena Stiles. This is my husband Elias.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure of one such as you at our table,” Rankin went on.

“Well, I’m afraid you won’t this time.” She managed to sound regretful. “Elias is the player. I just like to watch.”

“I'm sure you do.” Rankin put a whole different meaning into those four words.

Inara laughed, although her skin was crawling. “I mean I don’t play. I never learned how.”

“Perhaps I could teach you.” Rankin sat down, pulling his chair into the table.

“I never found it interesting enough. But my husband loves it.” She looked at Hank and sighed, giving the impression, without having to say a word, that he wasn't very good.

“So, Mr Stiles. You want to join the game?”

Hank nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

“Well, we usually prefer to have someone personally introduced, but …” Rankin looked Inara up and down again. “Take a seat.”

The eighth chair was pulled out.

“Thanks,” Hank said, lowering himself gingerly into the seat in case he split Simon’s pants.

“And a chair for the lady,” Rankin ordered. The little man at his right immediately jumped to his feet and grabbed a spare chair from the back, placing it carefully next to Hank’s.

Inara smiled at him. “Thank you.” She sat gracefully.

Rankin beamed. “So nice to have good company,” he said. “Table stakes all right for you?”

Hank nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of notes which he laid on the table. “I hope you don’t mind me playing with such a small amount,” he said regretfully. “It’s all the cash I had lying around.”

Rankin’s eyes counted the money. “It’ll do.” He nodded to the little man. “Jinx, do the honours.”

Jinx reached over the table and grabbed the notes, leaving a cloud of halitosis as he sat back down. Swiftly running his thumb through the pile, he pushed three columns of assorted chips across.

Hank nodded, lining them up in front of him. “And what are we playing, gentlemen?”

Rankin smiled. “Cargo.”

“Fine.”

“Melbourne rules.”

Hank allowed his eyebrow to raise as his forehead creased. “Really?”

“Always do.”

“Well, if that’s what you always do …”

Inara looked at Hank, at the worried look on his face. Then he glanced at her and blinked, just once.

---

Kaylee had watched Hank and Inara go through into the back, and managed to scramble through the alley to find the room they were in. The window was dirty, but she could see enough to be able to figure out what was going on. Now she scurried back to where the others were waiting.

“Where’s Zoe?” she asked, leaning against the wall in the shadows.

“Throwing up, sounded like,” Jayne said. “Must’ve eaten something didn’t agree with her.” He glanced towards the bar. “So?”

“Hank won the first three hands. Then he lost the next, but won the one after.” Kaylee was almost hugging herself in excitement. “Rate he’s going, he’ll have the money before we know it!”

Zoe moved forward to join them, wiping her mouth on a handkerchief before pushing it back into her waistcoat. “Sorry, Kaylee, but that’s not how this works.”

“What?”

Jayne perched himself on a convenient barrel. “They’re reelin’ him in.” He sniffed. “Makin’ him feel like they’re the hicks, and he’s the big man. Prob’ly the first pots were a fair size, the one he lost not so big, but the fifth bigger still. It‘ll be a while ‘fore they get to chewin‘ on him.”

“You mean they’re cheating?”

Jayne grinned. “I sure hope so.”

---

Hank sat with his cards on the table in front of him. He kept lifting them, checking the numbers, apparently more engrossed in them than in the men opposite.

“Well?” Rankin asked. “Are you going to buy another card or not?”

Exhaling noisily, Hank tossed a chip into the centre of the table. “I’m buying.”

Rankin smiled.

to be continued