“Doc!”

“Yes, Jayne?”

“Where the ruttin’ hell’s my clothes?”

Simon looked at the large, angry man covered only in the thinnest, most threadbare of towels. “Search me. Why would you think I would know where you put them?”

“Doc, this is no time for gorram jokes.”

“Do you see me laughing?”

“Maybe there’s a point of this you’re not getting’ that pretty head of yours around: I. Ain’t. Got. No. Ruttin’. Clothes.”

“Again: why do you think I know what happened to them?”

“They was all in the wash, Mr. Fancy-Pants. An’ guess whose turn it is for laundry?”

Baffled, both men went up through the ship and into the galley, where the captain’s list of chores was kept meticulously by Zoe near the ice-cupboard. Jayne pointed a long, slightly damp finger onto the small whiteboard, leaving a drop of water to run a track through the neat writing. “See? Washin’ clothes was your job.”

“Jayne.” Simon sighed, as though trying to teach a stubborn patient the reason for taking the prescribed medicine. “I went down to the laundry baskets last night. They were all empty.”

The merc stared. “All of ‘em?”

“Yes, Jayne. All of them.”

“Then…where the guay did my ruttin’ clothes go?”

Simon was about to answer when Wash poked his head through the doorway. “Oh, hey Simon---was just lookin’ for you.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Wash stared. “Aside from the fact that Jayne’s standing in the kitchen damn near naked? Uh, not really. Except that your sister…”

“River? What happened?”

“She’s, uh, sitting next to the airlock with a pair of scissors…”

Before Wash could finish his sentence, the younger man flew down the catwalks and raced towards the airlock where River was indeed sitting. She had a faraway look in her eyes as she continued cutting something with the pair of scissors in her hand.

“Mei-mei?” Simon asked gently. “What are you…?

“It went streaky. Became Reaver-like. Tore and shredded the colors, left them dead in the wake.”

“River, let me have those…you might--”

The girl clutched the scissors tighter. “No, Simon. Have to stop it from hurting others.”

Confused, Simon shifted his gaze from the bright shards of sharp metal in his sister’s hand to the shredded swatches of fabric that lay strewn across both floor and her lap. It looked like fine silk…fine bright red silk, but not as bright as he thought he remembered it being originally…

“Mei-mei, where did you get this?”

“From the cage, silly. They were waiting, all locked up. Swish, swish, all better, all free…until the Reaver came.” The girl looked forlornly at the bits of cloth scattered about her. Then she looked up towards the airlock door. “I had to do it, Simon. Burial at sea.”

“Burial at…what?”

“The remains. Couldn’t go on living…Reaver blood everywhere…”

“What’s this about Reavers?” Simon turned to see both the captain and Jayne staring at the pair of them, Jayne still sporting that godawful ratted towel. “There somethin’ I need knowing about?”

“I’m not…I’m not exactly sure…”

“Ohh, Mal,” Jayne said, his eyes growing wide. “Little man didn’t say nothin’ about no gorram Reavers out there floatin’…”

“Dead,” River blurted out, thrusting the bits of fabric at Mal. “It’s dead now. Can’t hurt anymore.”

“What in the…” Mal said, taking the shards of fabric and studying them closer.

“Killed the colors. I killed it. Burial at sea, mourn them and set them free.” River pointed out the airlock window towards something floating nearby.

“Hey, wait a second…” Jayne mused, stepping closer. “Those look familiar…”

“Died a heroic death. You should be proud.” The girl beamed.

Mal pulled Simon aside and hissed, “Is this what I think it is?”

“I…I assume…oh, God, I hope not.” Simon’s eyes turned to saucers.

“Mal! There you are! Oh, good, you’ve found…” Inara’s voice floated down from the catwalk, her footsteps padding lightly against the metal stairs. As she took in the sight of the shredded fabric in the captain’s hands, she blanched a full shade paler than normal. “What…happened?”

“Uh, Mal…” Now Wash’s voice was sounding over the intercom.

Growing redder and more confused by the second, Mal hit the ‘send’ button. “Yeah, Wash?”

“Um, I think you guys might wanna see this…”

As the thoroughly bewildered men and Inara stepped onto the bridge, the first thing that struck everyone was the sight of a pair of light pink teddy-bear print boxers that were stuck prominently on the windshield of Serenity. Nearby, floating in the vacuum of space, were several more articles of clothing—all of them a light shade of pink--belonging to various members of the crew.

“Tamade,” Mal said.

“See? I told you.” River’s high-pitched, happy giggle floated onto the bridge like a ghost on cat feet. “Reaver made them bleed. I killed the Reaver. Had to bury them at sea.”

“Mal?” Inara asked. “Please tell me that’s not…”

The captain looked down at the scraps of fabric still balled up in his hands. “I’m, uh, thinkin’ it just might be.”

“Inara, I’m so very, very sorry,” Simon apologized sincerely. “I don’t know how…”

“It’s all right, Simon,” the Companion said kindly, sounding just a little as though it was anything but. “That’ll teach me to wash out my own things next time.”

“Still, I don’t know why she…River? Why did you…?”

“Needs to be useful. Can’t knit. No playing with the sharp.”

“So…lemme get this straight,” Wash said finally after a long silence. “River decided to wash everyone’s clothes, and something very fine and very expensive of Inara’s got in somehow and turned everything pink, so…she spaced all our clothes?”

“Unless you can find a better explanation for why Jayne’s underthings are decoratin’ the front of my boat, I’d say that’s a fair description.”

“Okay…” the pilot said as he sunk into the nearby seat at the console, completely overwhelmed with shock. “Good thing Zoe and me had a light load this week.”

“We gotta get ‘em back, Mal!” Jayne cried, just now finally putting two and two together.

“And just how do you plan to do that, Jayne?” Inara asked, rolling her eyes. “My God, did you run out of clothes?”

“No! Gorram crazy girl just spaced ‘em all!”

Another long hush fell over the bridge. “Jayne,” Mal said, in that you-had-better-be-ruttin’-kiddin’-me tone he sometimes kept. “You are tellin’ me that every piece of clothes you own is floatin’ out there in the middle of space?”

“I, uh, haven’t done wash in a while…”

Four pairs of eyes rolled. “Wash, set a course for Greenleaf. Or anywhere that sells clothes. Of any kind.”

As the others filed out off the bridge, Wash chuckled as he heard Jayne tell the poor doctor, “You owe me another shirt.”