Mal had been hanging around Warminger for long enough to recognize the store-keeper’s boy, Till, who came bursting into the bar with the sun behind him. He puffed up to Mal, stopped, beamed.

“Glad I didn’t have to go out to the Anzu to get you,” he said, referring to the Alliance ship. Mal had only just started allowing himself to use the name: until then it’d been ‘the uh – ship’, occasionally ‘the spittoon’, on account of the shape of the thing. Only a nickname that had been meant to express derision – and distance – had been taken up by the Alliance men themselves. And he was practically living there now, anyways, sleeping on the hard metal floor just like all the others working on getting her back into the air. Working even harder, now that it seemed that the deal over the mine was just about done. Except for odd times, like this one, when he lingered a while over a Warminger brew, just to get out from inside of all that foreign metal some place where he could be on his own.

“Dad said to bring you real quick,” Till continued, still proud. He waggled a finger at Mal. “Said you’d have something for me if I did.”

“Said I would? Ain’t that his job?”

“Got a real pretty lady waiting for you on the Cortex.” Mal’s mind was a blank. “Miz Sarah,” said Till suggestively.

Sarah? Did he mean Susan? No, Susan was right here in –

Serra.

“Miz Serra?” he said, not hearing himself.

“Like I said,” Till nodded with another knowing look.

Mal’s stomach leapt, flipped, plunged, as he rose, nearly knocking his chair over. He steadied it with one hand, put the other into his pocket, dropped its contents wholesale on to the table in front of him, enough to pay for his drink several times over.

____________________________________________________________

It was only a couple days ago he and Kaylee had been talking.

Been a long day.

Uh-huh. (And still she wanted to talk.)

How’re things your end?

Fine. (With him, or the end of the ship where he was working? Either way, all he wanted to do was sleep.)

(Long pause.) Me and Trudo. We done the deed.

Uh-huh.

You know. Sexed.

Got it the first time.

Then you’re okay with me sexin’ an Alliance soldier? (Sounded a bit pissed, for some reason.)

Guess so.

Well I ain’t.

Don’t call him a Purplebelly anymore, like you used to.

Problem ain’t with him. ‘s with me. ‘n what I’m doin’.

Why?

(Another pause.) Me and him, we’re – well, I guess I’m stickin’ with him, on Meridian.

Okay.

Got this idea of openin’ a shop. Fixin’ stuff. The both of us.

‘s a good plan. One you had for a while.

You really okay with it? Me not comin’ to Cornelius?

Ain’t planning on going there myself.

You ain’t?

(Hadn’t told her. Hadn’t told anyone.) That note Zoe gave me. ‘s been playing on my mind. Meant something enough for the Shepherd to write it down. Don’t know what Saffron’s got to do with him or anyone else. But I reckon I’m going to the Abbey. Lay the Shepherd to rest in my own head.

(Again, a pause. And again sounding pissed.) You can talk when you want to.

Say again?

When it’s something to do with you. What about me? This whole time, who’ve I had to talk to? River lookin’ daggers at me. Simon avoidin’ me. (A long sigh.) Wish Inara was here. (A long pause.) Is it okay to say that?

(Long pause from his end.) Yeah.

Don’t never hear you mention her name.

Keep it to myself. (It was dark. He could say it.) Wish she was here too.

You could wave her.

You reckon she’d want to hear from me?

Sure she would.

The one who drove her away. When she was sick and scared.

Yeah. Once she got past you feelin’ sorry for yourself. (He laughed quietly. She was getting used to that.) You could wave her. Then I could talk to her about fallin’ in with the enemy. And she’d have something real pretty and wise to say, something ‘t would make me feel all better.

(Long pause – the last one.) Go to sleep.

____________________________________________________________

Almost fell out of the bar. And some bitter, limiting impulse – hell, the bitter, limiting impulse that’d been putting a hold on his life for the last several years, told Mal not to run. But he did – he ran, ran as fast as his legs would carry him.