CHAPTER 9

River lay on the floor of the catwalk, the cool air from the ship’s vent blowing on her face. Emma and Jackson were running around the cargo bay playing some manner of game, their mirth washing over her like waves of ocean. The crew went about their work, their thoughts lying about as carelessly as dirty laundry. The Captain was at the helm, not letting her back to work yet. She didn’t mind so much. She wasn’t ready to go back. She wanted to spend a few more days listening. River heard the soft click of Zoë’s boots coming up the stairs, and closed her eyes, focusing on the sound. Zoë stopped just behind her and leaned on the rail, placing her foot on River’s rump as if she were a part of the scenery. River giggled, more in her heart than out loud. ‘Zoë sees me’, she thought. “You take your meds today?” “Yep.” “Good girl.” Zoë paused, watching the children in the cargo bay as they leap-frogged over each other. The first mate considered River again and River smiled at the continued attention. “Was Cappy the first fella you ever liked?” “No,” River answered plainly. “When I was thirteen, I kissed a boy in the gazebo. Mom and Dad didn’t know, but Simon found out and beat him up later.” “That doesn’t sound like Simon.” “He was trying to protect me,” River explained. “Maybe it does a bit.” River mulled over Cappy, considering the difference between being intrigued by him in an intellectual versus a romantic way. “Cappy – he was dark. He was a mystery. Kept secrets from me.” “Didn’t think it was possible – keeping secrets from a reader.” “Don’t know how. But I liked the mystery.” Zoë smiled in agreement. “There ain’t nothin’ like a man who keeps you on your toes.” Zoë tensed as Jackson fell, scraping his elbow and unseating his silly hat. The boy brushed off the injury with a laugh and continued. Zoë turned her attention back to River. “Don’t worry, honey. Other men will come along. Maybe even ones tryin’ to steal your heart.” “Won’t be the same.” “Doesn’t have to be,” Zoë assured. “Doesn’t have to be.”

*~*

Kaylee laid down on the floor of the engine room, not tinkering, not puttering, just laying there in her pink, satin dress, listening to Serenity’s beating heart. This dress, this place – it carried the memory of being a woman. Not an object. And today, she wanted to be a woman. Captain and Zoë were out meeting French, dividing the take. And she was here. She played with the skirt of her dress, convinced she could still see the mark where she’d stained it before. Some marks just stay forever. Some memories… “I thought I might find you here – not in a dress, though,” Simon smiled, poking his head into the engine room. Kaylee nearly jumped out of her skin. “Are you alright?” he asked She sat up quickly and tried to fix her hair. “I was just…” Kaylee shrugged, giving up on explaining her appearance. “Weren’t you shipping out today? Booking passage back to Angel?” Simon shrugged too, and didn’t answer, filling the time by stepping into the room. “You’re looking better… than before, I mean… not just the dress…” Kaylee smiled at his awkward manner. “Yeah, I took your advice—talked to ‘Nara.” “Oh, good!” he answered, too quickly. “Yeah, it was… did you want something?” “Well, not…” Simon scratched his jaw, as though trying to coax the words out. Or at least coax the right ones. “I hoped – I mean – I could go if you like.” “No, please stay,” Kaylee insisted, reaching out a hand before she could stop herself. She retracted awkwardly, but at least he stayed. Simon sat next to her on the floor, stretching his long legs and leaning backwards on his hands. For awhile, they just stayed there in an embarrassed silence, listening to the throb of the engine. Her in her pink dress, him in his fineries. Kaylee screwed her lips together, trying to climb over that wall of insecurity she’d put up so long ago. Finally, she spoke. “Simon, I’m sorry. For goin’ out to the bar that night, not talkin’ to you after. For drivin’ you away.” “I’m sorry, too,” he said softly. “For all the fighting we were doing before that night. For being selfish and not even seeing you were hurt, for not listening.” “Neither of us were listening to well back then. I can’t help but think, if only I hadn’t gone out that night. We would’ve worked things out, right?” Simon hung his head, shamefully. “No we wouldn’t. Maybe a little ways down the road, we’d have realized our fighting was stupid and petty, but … you never know. I mean, I didn’t know. When Serenity came to Angel, I was still ready to be petty. I didn’t want to be here treating you. If you hadn’t slapped me, I never would have seen…” Kaylee brought her hand to her mouth to cover an embarrassed wince, tears of shame filling her eyes. Simon reached over to brush the tears from her cheek, but she ducked her head and turned away. “Kaylee, please forgive me,” Simon begged, his hands penitently by his side, giving her space. “I forgive you,” she whispered, her lip quivering. “I never stopped…” Kaylee choked on the words, too afraid to finish. Of the two of them, she still felt her betrayal was far worse than his. “I’m so sorry, Simon.” “I forgive you.” She watched him as he clicked the toes of his shoes together, his eyes intently looking at his kneecaps. Those simple words set her heart fluttering like a butterfly in a net that wouldn’t be contained. Frightened, desperate… forgiven. Unable to help herself, she leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips – the honest, yearning kiss of a love that never died, but had been too long neglected, fueled not by lust, but by pent-up need for the love they thought they had lost. Not breaking the kiss, Simon maneuvered onto his knees, touched Kaylee’s shoulders; then he ran his hands tenderly down her arms to take her hands. She shivered with sad desire as he pulled away. How long had it been since she’d looked into his eyes? “Kaylee, it might be too soon for this…” he began. Instantly regretting her forwardness, Kaylee ducked her head in humiliation. But he cupped her chin in his hand, lifted her eyes, and continued kindly. “Kaylee Tam, will you be my wife… again?” A wellspring of relief rushed through her soul, washing out all shame and regret, spilling a smile across her face. Her breath coming in shudders and sobs, she kissed him again, more deeply than before, her ‘yes’ lost in his lips. His arms slipped gently around her waist, waiting for her invitation. For a moment, she just hugged him tight, taking in the comfort of his presence, letting him hold her up as the walls of resistance came down. When at last she could breathe, she kissed him again, her movements like a slow ballad, awkward and uncertain in places, as though they were trying to remember all the chords to an old, familiar song. But as her fingers caressed his face and danced through his hair, she had a feeling that he would be helping her out of that dress again tonight.

*~*

Mal was in high spirits, dancing around the store, suggesting off-kilter dresses for Inara. He and Zoë had come back from their meeting with French richer than they’d intended, Zoë having forcefully played some wildcard involving starving children and a shotgun. They’d been laughing too hard to explain it properly, but Inara imagined she’d hear it again, come supper. Inara mixed a groan and a laugh as Mal pulled out a two-piece, red beaded gown. “Come on, Mal. I won’t be able to wear that for months.” “Codswallop,” Mal jested, holding the dress to her front and admiring. “There’s this big opening in the middle, allowing for greater comfort through all stages of pregnancy.” “Right,” she laughed, taking the dress and hanging it firmly on the rack. “If you want something you can wear now, we could find a maternity store.” Inara didn’t suppress her groan this time. “Oh, I loathe maternity clothes. I just… don’t feel pretty enough to be picking out dresses.” She hung her head and closed her eyes as Mal massaged her shoulders sympathetically. Feeling his hot breath on her face, she bit her lip as he whispered mischievously in her ear, “I got just the thing.” “Mal, I’m not wearing a gold bikini.” “I got that impression from the last wallop on the head. Now close your eyes and come on.” Closing her eyes, Inara couldn’t help but smile in anticipation as he steered her through the store, both hands on her shoulders. Her smile widened when he gave the command to open and she found herself in the shoe department. “Every pregnant lady needs a sensible, yet sexy pair of shoes to liven up that plain maternity-wear,” Mal informed, sounding like a salesman. “You’re in quite a mood,” Inara laughed mirthfully as Mal pulled off his boots and tried on the least sensible pair of platforms he could find. “What mood might that be?” Inara didn’t answer; she just let him go on playing with the shoes as she surveyed the shelves. She was glad to be out with Mal on Persephone. After so many years of stopping in, they knew the place, knew the locals, and didn’t have to watch their backs so closely. She watched Mal totter around in a black sequined shoe and thought back to the conversation they’d had on the porch swing on Shadow. A part of her was glad he hadn’t brought it up since, because she didn’t have an answer yet. But she could see behind his doting grins the burning need to have a conversation. “French offered you another job, didn’t he?” It was a statement, not a question. “He did,” Mal answered, sitting on a bench again and finding his boots. “Did you take it?” “No. I wanted to talk with you first. About what we were saying before.” “Mal, take the job.” She said it so quickly, she caught herself off guard. Inara wondered at the source of her confidence, but refused to doubt her instinct. “You don’t even know what it is.” “Does it make a difference?” She sat next to him on the bench, seeking an explanation. “What would you have us do? Camp out on Shadow? Mooch off your mother? Burn through our savings until we can’t even fuel Serenity? Lose our contacts? Wind up with no jobs, no prospects. That ain’t us!” Mal reeled backwards with laughter, slapping his knee. “Wife, since when do you say ‘ain’t’?” “Your words.” She sighed and leaned against him, and he put his arm around her shoulder. For a moment, they just looked at the racks of impractical footwear and the placid shoppers busying themselves with their own worlds. This was what planet-side life was like. Despite the benefits of schooling, society, and the safety it promised, life on land had all the appeal of an Alliance prison camp. “Mal, the world is a place we visit. It’s not a place we live,” she explained softly. “Take the job?” Inara nodded certainly. “Take the job.” Mal jumped to his feet, his heart soaring, his eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Though startled, Inara complied when he pulled her to her feet, picked her up, and spun her around, covering her face with gleeful kisses. When he set her down again, she drew him into a slow, deep kiss, her toes barely touching the ground. She knew without a doubt that taking the job was the right decision. She could surprise him too, with her willingness to leave behind what she knew and travel the ‘verse with him. For his benefit or her own, she couldn’t be sure. Perhaps what made them so perfect for each other was that the simple gesture served them both.

*~*

POST A.N.: So as you know, Jayne is less than living in this series... here's a bit about his death: Its Own Hand

As for the complete and dirty history of S/K, that's another fic, another day, and suggestions are welcome. Thanks for reading!