Mal staggered slowly through the cargo bay, limping heavily, Zoë following some distance behind.

“Harriet!” he bellowed, “HARRIET!!” He was listing fearfully, his pace slowing and becoming more erratic as the limp became more pronounced. He swung awkwardly round, “*Ta ma duh!* Zoë, get on the comm. Find me my wife!” His voice was tetchy. Zoë nodded seriously and moved purposefully towards the comm. But before she could hit the button, she paused, looking up and smiling slightly in greeting.

“Would you be lookin’ for me, light of my life?” asked a cool and ever so slightly amused voice from the catwalk above the bay. Hat leant over the balustrade with Inara watching Mal’s ungainly progress through the hold, neither seeming too disturbed by his impediment.

“Harriet, get down here and help me out, would ya?” asked Mal, a hint of a whine had crept into his voice as he indicated his limp. Hat’s gaze travelled with Mal’s down to the cause of his difficulty. A small blonde boy of about 18 months was wound round his leg, clinging on determinedly with the same set look to his small, square jawed face and the same steely look of resolve in his bright blue eyes as could often be seen on the face of the man he clung to, who was, undoubtedly, his father.

Hat, wandering down the stairs with Inara to get a closer look, shrugged. “He’s yer son, Mal. Just pull him off.”

“Can’t” Mal looked worried. “Gorramit, Hat. He’ll hate me! You do it!”

Zoë stood to one side watching amusedly with her arms crossed. “Everyone hates you, Sir. Never bothered you before.”

Mal glared at her and started to protest, “Everyone does not HATE me. I am a good and enlightened lead’ ….” He broke off with a yelp, “Hat, he’s reached my holster now! Zoë, I’m ordering you, as yer Captain! You know, the one you obey unquestioningly? Do something!”

“*Jen mei NAI-shing duh FWO-tzoo*! Mal, could you act a bit grown up for just a moment?” Inara sounded irritated as she stepped down into the bay. “For God’s sake, pick the blessed child up!”

At that moment Jayne wandered into the bay, took in the view and with large, hairy yet surprisingly dextrous hands, reached down and scooped up the boy, carefully unwinding his tiny fists from his father’s trousers. “Aw, come to Jayney, little critter,” he cooed, “I’ll show you a gun as is way bigger than yer pa’s!”

“You will NOT!” said Hat firmly, “you know how I feel about my son and firearms!”

The child took a few experimental tugs at Jayne’s beard, smiled slightly and then, realising he’d been had, screwed round in Jayne’s arms and yelled “Daddeeeee! Want Daddeeee!” at the top of his lungs, scrabbling against the big man’s T-shirt and straining to get to the Captain.

Mal sighed and reached out an arm to gather the child, who, squealing with delight, leapt into his father’s arms and faced the rest of the crew with a newfound confidence from his safe vantage point. Hat couldn’t help the suspicion that she knew exactly how he felt, altogether more secure when surrounded by Mal.

Zoë, shifted slightly. “Sir, we gotta get moving with this drop. Crosbie’s champin’ at the bit as it is. We can’t afford any more of a delay than as happened already!”

“Right, yes.” Mal pulled himself together. “Zoë, get the doings. Hat, take him!” He held out his son and heir. “Why’s it that he always wants me when I’ve got an elsewhere ta be?”

“He loves you is all,” smiled Hat, and took her son, kissing Mal lightly, “as we all do. So, you two, be careful, ya hear me!”

“Always are!” Smiled Zoë, grunting as she loaded up the goods on the mule. “See ya in a couple a hours.”

Mal and Zoë jumped onto the mule and headed from the bay.

“Come on Little Malcy,” Hat grinned at her son, “let’s go find uncle Wash. He’ll prob’ly let you play with all the cockpit controls as he don’t know the use of.”

Little Malcolm grinned and allowed his mother to carry him back upstairs without further complaint.