No one slept well on Serenity that night, save possibly for her youngest inhabitant. Zoë and Wash may not have slept soundly, mostly because Wash kept waking up to check that Little M was still breathing and in the process was forced to nudge Zoë awake for her input, but they were probably the happiest sleepers.

Kaylee finally slept miserably curled up on Inara’s bed; Inara stretched patiently beside her, used to sharing her bed with another. Simon, miserable on every front, worried to death over River and convinced of his damnation for irredeemably ruining the only real relationship he’d ever had other than with his family, slept fitfully at best; waking up with that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach before forcing himself back into a light sleep.

The Preacher was more worried than he’d like to admit about River’s loss. He realised that, if she remained unfound, the moods of the crew were only likely to sour and their relationships fracture the more. His concern was that they not break down completely. He stayed up late to read and pray for her safe return.

Jayne was more affected than he’d like to admit by the bad feeling on the ship and took himself off early to his bunk, to clean Vera and look at porn. But the “readers’ prairie harpies” didn’t fill him with his usual enthusiasm, though their bodies were as pleasing as always. He couldn’t pull his mind from the image of a tearful Kaylee he'd seen running along the catwalk. He’d a good mind to go see that *hwoon dahn* doctor and teach him a thing or two about disrespectin’ women, but he reckoned the doc was on his last thread of sanity and distrusted what would happen were he to snap. Most like Mal would find some way to blame it all on Jayne. So he holed himself up in his bunk and vainly tired to keep his mind on the job in hand.

And the Captain? Mal had drunk enough to fell an ox and yet all he felt was restless and unsettled. He wandered the ship alone as he did most nights, checking the doors were locked and listening to the storm, now at its height, as it screamed around the metal hull of Serenity. He was used to the night and to silence; used to being alone to think; keeping watch on his charges through the long hours of darkness as he had always done both in the army and as Captain. But he no longer felt happy in his isolation. He wondered whether he should go wake Wash and Zoë, ask to check on Little M, but they’d think he was *fong luh* and not a little overly protective. This, he realised, was the first night in many a long while that he hadn’t slept with Harriet. The thought did not comfort him. But for a quirk of fate, a choice of violent force over violent weapon, he might never be sharing a bed with Harriet again. He felt so suddenly trapped and so afraid. How had it come to this so quickly?

He had always cared for his crew, looked out for them, would have been devastated if anything had happened to any one of them, but he’d never been so gorram terrified in all his life up to this minute, when he knew he’d betrayed himself. He’d allowed himself to fall in love and now there was no going back. The loss of either one of them now; his wife and his child, would tear him apart, turn him into something utterly different, the monster that Kaylee had once accused him of being. Somewhere along the line he’d got his faith back and he cursed himself for not guessing it could happen.

He headed for the infirmary and the only thing that could calm him. He stood over Hat, watching her sleep. She had fallen asleep with a sour look on her face, gone to sleep angry with him. He understood the Preacher’s words of earlier all too well, but he’d been so scared. Been a long, long time since he’d been that petrified and it brought out anger in him.

Looking at her now, so still like the dead, didn’t bring him the peace he’d hoped. Instead he saw each vein in her cheek, each line on her temple, the vivid bruises on her arms and it was as though he saw her lifeless. Each pulse of blood, clearly visible through the near transparent, pale skin of her forehead, aged her. It was as though she were decaying before his very eyes. He had opened himself up to life and it brought with it, hand in hand, the stink of putrefaction and of death.

During the war there had been day after day, each one more dreadful than that before and each of them he thought might be his last. But the thought had held no dread. He had gone to meet death fearless every minute and it had eluded him. In Serenity Valley he had never felt more alive. But now his life was so much the more precious, so dear to him and all he could do was apprehend the ending of it.

He ground his teeth in mute impotence. Yes, the Doc and the Preacher had been right about that. It was the powerlessness he couldn’t stand. He couldn’t protect them and one day death would close in and they would both be lost to him. There was nothing he could do.

He headed back to the galley for some coffee. It was the alcohol making him melancholy, he reasoned. A good dose of coffee, maybe some food and things wouldn’t seem so truly alarming. He needed to be able to look into the future, whatever it might hold and not blench. He needed to find River, first and foremost and then do something about gluing Kaylee and that *jing-chang mei yong duh* doctor back together, though maybe he wasn’t the man for the job. He made a mental note to talk to ‘Nara in the morning.

A weak dawn was filtering through the galley window as he headed for the stove. Pulling himself together seemed like the thing to do, since some time soon the room would be filled with a whole heap of ruttin’ people all relying on him to be strong and resolute. Pouring himself a thick cup of coffee, he threw himself into a chair and began to plan the day ahead.

***

It seemed a shame to wake her, but they had all agreed, they had to know everything she could remember about the men that had taken River. The crew were gathered in the infirmary, looking at Hat whose bruises looked all the more livid for a night’s healing.

Mal sighed and looked across her at Simon. “Wake her up,” he said.

Simon lent down and injected something into Hat’s neck. She woke with a start, caught sight of Mal and glared. “I hope you ain’t come to make up, Mal, ‘cos I ain’t in the way of acceptin’ no ruttin’ apology just yet.”

Mal rubbed a tired hand across his eyes, but didn’t speak.

Hat glanced around the room. “Well, judging by the looks of you, you ain’t found River yet?” Her question was met with sighs and shakes of the head from all. “Where’s Little M? Is he OK? Can I see him?”

“He’s a fast asleep at the minute, tucked up in his cot,” Wash explained. “I’ll bring him to ya, soon as he wakes, OK?” Hat smiled.

Book stepped forward. “Harriet, we need you to tell us everything you can remember about the men that took River,” he said gently.

Hat nodded and swallowed. “Well, there were three of them and they were packing a lot – and I mean a lot - of firepower.”

“Well, so far we’re talkin’ just about anyone in the whole a Persephone,” Jayne growled.

Hat stopped glaring at Mal long enough to glare at Jayne. “To continue … one was mighty hideous, sorta small and scabby, ya know? Like he ain’t been fed properly as a babe, all teeth and hair patches, I think he was the one called Bingo, Bungo, sommat like that … no wait, Bongo, that was it! … And then there was another, the one as threw me against the wall, didn’t have a name and I ain’t rightly sure as I could pick him outa a line up… But the third! Well, he was kinda unusual, if you get my meanin’. Not yer typical hired goon. He was pretty darn tall and had thick specs. He was more yer educated type. Picked me up on my manner of speaking … Sandy hair … I think the gnome one called him Walt.” As she spoke Hat’s face had become serious and introspective as she tried to remember what had happened. Now it was if she was talking to herself, “was almost as if she recognised them…”

“Who? River?” Simon’s urgent voice cut through her reverie and Hat looked at him keenly.

“Yes,” she replied. “We had a very strange conversation just before they … I think she was expecting it.”

“Hat, think hard, what did she say?” Zoë interrupted.

“She said something about having to play the hand you’re dealt,” she shook her head as if trying to worry meaning out of it. “But we were talking about cards at that point. Oh! She also said, “don’t fight back”… I thought she was talking about the dough, but then, when them lunkheads came in, she yelled it again.”

“You mighta given some thought to listenin’ to her,” Mal muttered. Hat flashed him an aggravated look.

“You tryin’ to annoy me, Mal?… That’s it, I think,” she said to the others. “About all I can recall. I’ll keep thinking on it though, I might remember something else… I know it ain’t much to go on…” She looked pleadingly at Simon.

“It’s a start.” Said Zoë comfortingly and lay a soft hand on hers.

Hat reflected and as she spoke her voice got nervous, a shake she tried to mask with humour. “They just came outta no where. Why the gorram hell do people keep doin’ that? In my galley, the safest gorram place on the ship and if it ain’t Saffron it’s strange gun-totin’ bushwhackers… how do they keep doin’ that?” she added shakily. “It’s my ruttin’ kitchen!”

No one seemed to know what to say in response. “Well,” Mal seemed unbelievably keen to get going, Hat thought. “We need to follow up the leads we got. Let’s get gone folks. We’ll have a council a war in the galley, decide what we gonna do.”

“Hey, what about me?” Hat was suddenly sounding even more vulnerable. “I don’t wanna stay here, can’t I go back to my bunk?”

Simon shook his head. “We’d never get that leg down the ladder, I’m afraid.”

“Couldn’t we move her to one of the passenger rooms? At least it’d be a little more private,” asked Book.

Mal nodded. “Good thinkin’, Preacher. Doc, you two sort it out, then come on up to the galley.”

***

“We hit the bars,” Mal said, as soon as they were all assembled in the galley, “and we hit them hard.” He glanced at Jayne whose eyes had lit up, despite trying to maintain a serious front. “And that don’t give any of you licence to drink, game or whore, so stop thinkin’ it, Jayne!”

“I weren’t,” protested Jayne weakly, “but we gotta blend in...”

Mal sighed heavily. “Ok, Jayne, some light drinkin’, and I mean light, but no whoring – take Simon with you, he’ll make sure you stay the course. Zoë you’re with me …”

“Great, not only is my sister missing, but now I get the booby prize.” Simon muttered.

“Who’re you callin’ a booby?”

“Jayne, yer mouth is talkin’.” Mal glared. “Preacher, Wash, you two’re together.”

“What about me?” Kaylee whined. “I wanna find River too.”

“Someone’s gotta look after the babe. It ain’t as if Hat can get around.”

“I’ll look after Little M,” Inara offered pleasantly. “I don’t have any clients today and I can keep Hat company.”

“Fine. Kaylee, go with the Doc and Jayne and try, for the love of God, ta keep ‘em out of trouble.”

“But Cap, I don’t wanna… can’t I go with Wash?”

“*Gao yang jong duh goo yang*! For God’s sake Kaylee,” Mal looked and sounded exhausted from just organising the expedition. “Can you please just get gone?”

“Fine!” Kaylee humphed, following the others out the door.

Inara smiled across at Mal. “Good going, Mal, we’ll make a matchmaker of you yet,” she grinned. Mal gave her a twisted smile and headed for the door.

***

River relaxed like a cat in the cosiest chair Badger had to offer, not that it was really that comfortable, but to be fair to the man, he was trying. It was unclear exactly when the dynamic had changed, but somewhere along the line the hunter had become the hunted. Badger and his men watched her warily, but she showed no signs of wishing to leave. As calm as she appeared on the surface, the cogs of River’s brain were whirring frantically.

Her little cat smile didn’t reach her eyes as she looked over at Badger. “Tell them you’re ready for a hand over, but you will want to see the money first.” She instructed him evenly.

Badger grinned. He was doing his best to appear unruffled, even off hand, but River could see tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and he seemed to be finding his loosely knotted tie rather constricting.

“Yer a smart Jane and no mistake. Shame you goin’ back really, you an’ me could’ve sewn the “business” in this town up proper. Still ‘spect you won’t be around here much once them as wants yer takes yer back.” He said almost wistfully.

“You’d better hope I’m not,” said River matter-of-factly. “Seems people I befriend have a short life expectancy, can’t think why! They’ve trained me well up to now…”

“Yes, but what in, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Flower arranging,” River smirked. “It’s a precise art and surprisingly violent.”

***

Mal and Zoë scanned the room, using little glances that would hopefully not attract too much attention. The bar was full of the usual rim scum, but none that matched Hat’s description. Zoë glanced at the Captain over the edge of her drink.

“Not that I’m criticising what I’m sure is an excellent plan, Sir, but we’d have to be gorram lucky, given the number of bars in Persephone, to pick the one as is frequented by them kidnappers.”

“Well, Zoë, I ain’t got no clue how we’re gonna find River elsewise, so luck it’ll have to be …and at least we can have a drink while we wait for our particular brand a luck to appear.”

“That we can, Sir,” said Zoë, reaching for the bottle of unidentified alcohol standing between them on the table. “And in the spirit of openness that a bottle of liquor between friends in a low down bar normally encourages, you OK, sir?”

“Hunh?”

“Well, like as not I’m speakin’ out of school, but you’ve seemed a little windy these last coupla days. Like the responsibility was getting’ to ya…”

“Well,” Mal grimaced. “I can’t say as bein’ the Captain of a ship where one a its younger members has been rustled, fills me with all kinds a fuzzy feelin’s, and this argument with Hat is gettin’ me down more than a little…Don’t get me wrong, when she’s up to the mark, ain’t nothing better than a good ol’ fashioned exchange of feelin’, but when she’s sick, I’d just as soon not bicker…”

”Feelin’ kinda guilty, Sir?”

“Guilty? Hey, I ain’t got nothin’ to be guilty ‘bout! Weren’t my fault River were snatched and Hat got hurt …”

“Oh, I weren’t sayin’ it was rational, Sir… Just thinkin’ as you might feel more than a little responsible, knowin’ yer normal way of thinkin’…you know, the whole ‘if I’d a bin there’ kick?”

“Why’s everyone gotta be readin’ my psyche all of a sudden?” whined Mal. “I’ve had enough Mal interpretation from the Preacher to last me a life time without you addin’ to it. Can we just stick to the matter in hand and drink in peace?”

“Very good, Sir…”

“And you can stop lookin’ at me like I ain’t got nothin’ on!” growled Mal.

“Sorry, Cap, I was just thinkin’ and my eyes rested on you, is all.”

“Well, gorram rest ‘em somewhere else, would ya!” said Mal, highly irritated.

Their fractious exchange was interrupted by Zoë laying a warning hand softly on Mal’s arm and raising her eyebrows significantly towards a tall and gangly figure who had just stumbled into the bar.

“What were you sayin’ about our luck, Sir? ‘Cos I gotta figure it’s better than we’re wont to give it credit for. Ain’t that one of them?”

Mal nodded slowly. “It sure looks like the odd one Hat was talkin’ on alright. Follow my lead.”

***

A few streets away, in a remarkably similar, dark and dank bar, a remarkably similar scene was taking place.

Jayne, oblivious to all but the beer and the ladies, sat hulking between a sulking Simon and an equally morose Kaylee. He leaned over to whisper in the ear of a pretty, if slightly mature, blond who was propping up the bar. Simon glared at him.

“It may have escaped your notice, Jayne, but my sister is missing presumed kidnapped. Think you could wrench your mind, or,” he gave a disgusted and pointed look at Jayne’s lap, “whatever it is that you think with, away from the whores for just one night?”

“Hey!” Jayne was indignant. “Mal said to blend in and that’s what I’m gonna do. Ok, Doc?”

“Well, d’you think you could blend in a little less conspicuously?” Simon asked with a pointed glance around the bar for emphasis. It was true. Most of the activity in the bar had paused on their entrance and now the denizens thereof were watching Jayne warily. There was an indefinable air about the man that smacked of danger and entertainment and most felt they could use a bit of both to brighten an otherwise dull evening.

“It ain’t me they’re lookin’ on.” Sniffed Jayne. “They just ain’t used to seein’ such a nattily dressed mommy’s boy in a place like this, is all.” Jayne also had a point. Whilst the men were eyeing Jayne, pretty much every working woman in the joint was watching Simon hungrily. Dressed in his crisp white shirt and waistcoat, he certainly didn’t look the usual type to be drinking in this particular bar.

“Yeah, no offence, Simon,” said Kaylee in a tone that, despite her words’ import, suggested that the doctor would do well to take any offence coming to him, “but you do look plenty eye-catching in yer fine Core threads. You shoulda dressed more border worldly like us everyday folks.”

Simon glared at her viciously. He had hoped that their split could be amicable and grown up. He had hoped to rise above the bickering and inevitable disintegration of their relationship. But that was clearly not to be. Kaylee was determined to niggle. The fact that neither of them were far beyond their teens, that neither had experienced a relationship of such intensity before and that they both still loved each other didn’t seem to occur to him. He ground his teeth and chose not to respond for the good of their continuing relations as work colleagues.

To Kaylee, all she saw was a haughty toss of the head. Yet another indication that she was too far below him to warrant any response other than a shrug of annoyance. She wanted very much to run from the bar in tears, but she determined not to give him the satisfaction. Instead, aware that they all had a job to do, she decided to do hers and turning to the rather down-at-heal and grubby fellow propping up the bar next to her, she began to engage him merrily in light-hearted conversation, with a view to pumping him for any information he might have. He was chewing on some tobacco, which he chose to spit onto the sawdust floor of the bar before answering her.

“I comes here most days, for sure. Likes to see the ladies, they always put on a good show here… but I gotta say, they’ve excelled themselves tonight.” He cast an admiring leer at Kaylee.

“They have?” asked Kaylee somewhat confused. But then, comprehension finally dawning, she said, “oh, I ain’t … I mean I’m not …” She cast a sideways glance at the other women in the bar, all very clearly, by their look and dress, ladies of the night.

The man, whom Kaylee noticed stank, with a somewhat unattractive strength, of sweat and, oddly, onions, laid a possessive hand on her arm. “Hey, there ain’t but two types of women in here, the ones as are mercenaries and the ones as are whores. Now you don’t look much like a fightin’ woman to me.” He grinned again and the other grubby, cracked hand, desperately in need of a manicure, felt around her and goosed her sharply. Kaylee flinched.

“*Meh, tah mah duh hwoon dahn*!” Jayne had just noticed where Kaylee’s cheerful conversational style had led her. “Get yer,” he paused and gazed almost transfixed at the man’s very dirty hands, “mighty filthy hands off a her. Gorramit, I may be a bit grubby my own self, but do you ever wash?”

The man looked Jayne up and down. “Washin’s fer none but gussied-up, pantywaist eejits like yer boyfriend there.” He growled. It was Simon’s turn to look scandalised, but the man went on, “if a girl comes into this bar, she’s gotta expect some solid handlin’. Now back off, friend, this girl and me’s got business.”

Kaylee squealed and shied away as the man’s hand continued its roving over her body. Jayne muttered “*chur ni-duh*” and reached for the nearest stool preparatory to cracking it over the stranger’s head. But when he tried to swing it forward, he found his movement arrested by a sharp tug on the stool. Simon, his face white and blotched with anger, stayed Jayne’s hand.

“Thank you, Jayne,” he said, “but I think I’ll handle this one, if you don’t mind.”

Jayne stepped back to give him room with an exaggeratedly formal bow. Before the grimy man had time to react, Simon, his eyes ablaze and his jaw set, socked him on the chin so forcefully that the man shot over backwards and sailed a little distance through the air, coming to land with a back-breaking smash on top of what had once been a small round table, but was now kindling. Simon calmly stepped over to the prostrate man and kicked him determinedly several times around the kidney area with a clinical precision that suggested he was putting his medical training to an uncharacteristic use. As he landed each blow, he said with a cold fury, “you insolent boor! Don’t you ever touch my Kaylee like that again! Or any other woman, I suppose,” he added as an after thought. “Are you OK?” He turned to Kaylee a look of solicitous concern on his very white face. Kaylee nodded, but her eyes were shining. The doctor had stepped up to defend her honour and he was officially her prince again.

Jayne broke the tender moment the two were sharing, saying, “er, Doc, Kaylee, I think we best find another bar…” His eyes darted round warily as the unwashed man’s friends seemed to be gathering a posse in response. As they headed swiftly for the door, Jayne muttering, “show’s over folks… We don’t want no trouble… Go back to yer drinking… We’ll pay fer the table…” and scattering some few coins in their wake, Simon took a short detour, which, as if by accident led him to crunch casually over his fallen enemy’s hand. The man cried out sharply in pain.

As they headed up the stairs to the street, Simon sighed, clutching Kaylee to him for her own protection. “Hipppocrates’ll be turning in his grave!” he said.

“This way,” said Jayne, darting swiftly round the next corner to avoid pursuit. Not looking where he was going he ran heavily into a man coming in the other direction and they both fell, tangled together, to the ground.

“*Ta mah duh*! Jayne, I mighta known you’d floor me eventually!” moaned Wash as he sat up, rubbing a dented shin.

Book strolled up from behind. “Where were you going to so fast, Jayne? You running from trouble already?” he asked in an amused voice.

“T’aint me as is trouble,” growled Jayne, glaring accusingly at Simon. “It’s that ruttin’ doctor, as gorram usual! Not but what the boy didn’t show some pluck fer once,” he conceded grudgingly

***

Badger looked across at River warily. “They say as they’re sendin’ a transport fer ya. Be here any minute. Money all be delivered the moment you gets on. They say they’ll know when you do.”

“Well then,” smiled River softly. “The moment you get the money, that’s the moment you make yourself more than scarce, *dong ma*?”

Badger nodded. “I shan’t be more an a ghost fer a good long while, just like yer said.”

“And you’ll send half the pay to Captain Reynolds as we agreed?” River continued. “Remember Badger, I’ll know if you don’t.” Badger swallowed and nodded, looking spooked.

River sighed softly, but then nodded crisply once and her face became all business. “Contact them then and tell them it’s time please Badger and they’ll want to see me restrained, so tie my wrists, please, tight!”

“Oh hey, I ain’t one fer bondage little girl,” Badger began. River gave him a quick glare and he moved to comply nervously.

The whine of an Alliance transport sounded overhead. River steeled herself. Her plan was risky, at least for her, but she had thought it through meticulously. If she was going to do this she needed to do it right. She had an opportunity to stop them looking once and for all, to give her brother a chance at a normal life, no longer on the run. The kind of life River wanted for her brother and for Kaylee. That was surely worth a little personal peril?

***

Jayne, Book, Wash, Simon and Kaylee agreed that it was time to head back to the ship. None of them had turned up any leads and it had become quite late. The five of them, mostly still bickering slightly turned towards the ship. Simon and Kaylee bought up the rear, her arm resolutely through his.

“Simon, I just wanted to say…” Kaylee began rather timidly, “thanks for rescuing me back there.”

Simon looked at her softly for a second and then his jaw and his resolve hardened once more. “Anyone would have done the same.” He said slowly. “Kaylee …” He paused searching or the right words, “this doesn’t change anything you know, doesn’t change what I said the other night …I’ve got River to worry about and that’s just about all I can handle.” He sounded exhausted and defeated. “Any concern for anyone else is, believe me, merely ancillary.”

Kaylee withdrew her hand as if she’d been singed. Her eyes brimmed for one moment and gentle enthusiasm that had marked her face a few moments ago vanished. She gave Simon one long, searching and rather scathing look and then her eyes suddenly reflected a telling mixture of pity and sorrow. She, however, said nothing, merely turning towards the others.

“Hey Wash,” she yelled and ran to catch him up, “I’ve been thinking, couldn’t we convert the particle stabiliser into some kinda locatin’ device?”

Simon was left to follow on remorsefully, fully aware that he had, once again, broken Kaylee’s trusting heart.

***

Zoë and Mal inched their way along the counter as subtly as they could towards the odd fellow in the thick glasses who was propping up the bar.

“Dunno why we’re takin’ so much trouble,” whispered Mal to Zoë, “seems to me we could like as not tap dance on the bar here and he wouldn’t be none the wiser. He’s way too far gone!”

“Whist I agree with the sentiment, sir,” Zoë hissed back, “I’m thinking we might have problems with the actual performance, what with neither of us being in the, you know, entertainment business, sir.”

Mal flashed her a quick grin. “Hey, dunno about you, Zo, but my momma was keen for me to experience all types of education. Yer looking at 7 years of modern dance. You didn’t think I got this light on my feet by nature alone, did ya?”

Zoë grinned back. “Right now, sir, I ain’t thinking anything other than you’ve a very suprisin’ man, sir, and I gotta say, right now, more than a little effeminate!”

“I’ll have you know modern dance requires great stamina, dedication, hard work and … and … oh *wuh de ma*! Now you know why I don’t tend to talk about my past. Makes me all manner of vulnerable!”

“That it does, sir.” Agreed Zoë.

As they carried on the muttered conversation, they inched along the bar as though they were just moving along to gain a more comfortable leaning perch from which to drink.

The barman paused opposite their quarry to once more fill up the glass in front of him with a rusty coloured liquid.

“There ya go, Walt, that’ll see ya right. Put it on yer tab?”

His rather morose customer nodded sombrely and continued to stare rather wretchedly into space.

“You ok, Walt? Ya look a bit down,” the barman enquired.

Walt sighed. “Just need a little peace is all, thanks, Ben. Been a bit of a palaver back at the ‘stead. Boss picked himself up a nice little piece a cargo that’s turned out to be more than a mite tricky. So I’m hopin’ that I might get a night away from it, if ya don’t mind.”

The barman nodded understandingly. Zoë and Mal exchanged harassed glances unsure how they’d ever get the taciturn fellow to open up and tell them who his boss was.

“Ain’t the daemon drink supposed to make ya WANNA talk?” Mal whispered in annoyance.

“That may be just you and my husband, Sir.” Zoë hissed back.

They needn’t have worried. Luck was still for once and most unusually on their side. A skinny, splotched individual, with hair growing in an oddly clumpy way over his bumpy head, burst through the bar doors and looked around wildly. He was followed by a couple of other equally unattractive companions. His lunatic glance fell on Walt. Mal and Zoë exchanged significant looks. Could this be anyone other than the underfed individual Hat had claimed was named Bongo?

As he hurried over to his friend, other regulars of the place or so it seemed came bursting into the bar, full of news. To Mal and Zoë, who were trying to overhear the hushed and urgent conversation between Walt and Bongo, these others were, a first an annoyance, but as the import of their words became evident they both turned to listen. An alliance transport of unknown and mysterious, some reckoned highly secretive origin, had exploded in mid air over the slaughterhouse district of the port. It had lit up the night sky and people’s evenings with its vivid and sudden report. No one knew why the tiny transport had been flying over an area which, at night, tended to desertion and solitude or why it had exploded, showering the warehouses below it with debris, but the general lack of knowledge was not going to stop one single person from some serious speculating.

Zoë looked at Mal. “Sir, the slaughterhouses ain’t not but a couple a streets away from Serenity. They could a taken her there easy…” she began.

Mal nodded. “Like as not, but we don’t know anything yet, Zo. We need to get over there, take a look at that wreckage, only way we’re gonna find out if this has anything to do with River. But we can’t do that till it’s light. Let’s us get back to Serenity, get what shut eye we can and start again tomorrow.” He turned and threw a few coins on the counter to pay for their drinks.

Zoë was halfway to the door when Mal lay and warning hand on her arm. They had passed close to their original target as they forced their way through the throng of enthusiastically debating punters to the door.

It seemed Bongo had raised his voice to Walt somewhat, in an effort to make himself believed. “I’m tellin’ you,” he was saying, “he’s just disappeared in ta thin air. There ain’t nothing left. His office is bare and his safe’s empty. Go look fer yerself if ya don’t believe me, but I’m tellin’ you straight, Badger’s gone and I ain’t got no clue what we’re supposed ta do now!”

***

Inara’s shuttle was very quiet. Candles flickered on the surfaces and the main light was dimmed. A solitary cone of incense smouldered on her dressing table. Inara sat, legs tucked neatly beneath her, in the middle of her elegantly made bed, her back against the head board. The only noise was the gently slurping of Little M as, held firmly in her supple limbs, he sucked sleepily on his last bottle of the day.

The child’s eyes flicked open every so often, his spaced-out gaze fixing on Inara’s face as she bent over him and then his eyelids would begin to droop once more and his sucking would become more erratic. Inara watched his struggle with sleep with quiet amusement, listening closely to his contented sounds as he slurped his supper.

Unbidden, the thought came to her, that this child in her arms represented everything that was so utterly unobtainable for her. What man would want a Companion as his broodmare, the mother of his children? Most men she knew, though they claimed well enough that it would never bother them, could not quite get past the knowledge that she had slept with countless others. Even when she told them that this was different, that this coupling wasn’t a job to her, they still had the tendency to get jealous. And even if she ever found the sort of extraordinary man who could rise above man’s competitive nature, a Companion’s tool is her body. It is her art form. She would never command the same high price or the same prestige once she had given birth. A baby would alter the structures of her life exponentially; all her carefully constructed modes of living would come tumbling down. A child, her child, would go off like an atom bomb, radiating out from a central point and infecting everything else she held dear and was accustomed to.

But it wasn’t just motherhood that the dozing baby represented. It was the idea of a family. A tight unit of two people and the life they had created together, living as a single entity. Sure, over the years, several of her clients had offered her the security of becoming their “mistress”, of having a single client and being cared for and kept by them alone; a sort of marriage bond in a way. But it was such a limited security, such a guarded attachment, such a formal contract. In many ways such an arrangement was a macabre spectre of a real marriage; a sham. Everyone would treat them as a couple, but in the back of each person’s mind, Inara knew, would be the knowledge that, when you stripped away the clothing, the house and the trappings, she was no better than a whore.

Any partner Inara had would be perforce to be dressed up for. He would never see Inara truly naked, stripped of her make-up and her pretences. She envied Mal and Hat, Zoë and Wash, their comfortable ease together. She envied moreover their ability to argue, dispute, disagree and make-up. Such relationships had a charm all their own, especially when one was required to be constantly acquiescent to one’s own clients.

Lost in thoughts of regret and longing, Inara didn’t immediately notice that Little M had finished his milk. His eyes had flicked open and he was looking at her with a slightly wild and nervous expression. Recognising the signs, Inara lifted him into a sitting position and began to gently pat his back. Suddenly the child gave an almighty belch followed by a stream of projectile vomit, which rose up in a great arc and flopped across the delicate covering of her bed. Inara groaned resignedly and made a mental note to put the coverlet in to soak before the stain dried.

Lifting up little M on to her shoulder, she uncoiled herself and pulled the sheet from the bed in one fluid movement. Tucking it away, she bent to smooth the remaining bedclothes. She straightened up and began to wander slowly about her room, neatening a make-up jar here and straightening a trinket there. Suddenly the beauty of this little room in which she spent her days overcame her, the soft light covering the luxurious wall hangings and the exquisitely fragile china. She considered the disruption and disharmony that a baby would bring to this room, to her life. The thought of the muddle and the clutter made her shiver. Suddenly she found herself quietly thankful that her life precluded the motherhood road. Let others subjugate their personalities, their very selves to the whim of a helpless infant; she would have none of it. She would go on, enjoying her very pleasant little life, full of luxuries and little triumphs and not strive for the deeper, more profound joys (so she was told) of motherhood. Frankly, she could do without.

Grinning to herself, she transferred the now peacefully snoring baby to his cot, which Mal had earlier hauled into her shuttle and began to prepare a perfect cup of tea.

***

Hat’s head throbbed. She was propped up in a sitting position against the soft pillows of a passenger bunk bed, but she was downright miserable. She was fed up with being confined to quarters, seeing only Inara and Little M. She hated not knowing what was going on and whether they’d found River. She figured they hadn’t found her or they’d have been back on Serenity and she’d heard no one since Inara took the baby to put him down.

But then, that’s how it worked, wasn’t it? You didn’t hear anyone and then suddenly there they were, waiving a knife or a gun at you and threatening to hurt people. It made her so gorram angry and more than a little scared. She was fed up with people menacing her family. She might be a grown up with a child of her own, but there were two things she desperately wanted right now. One was her mother, a woman she hadn’t seen in years and a good thing too since she was currently pushing up the daisies back on Zephyr and, she reckoned, she was probably mighty hideous by now, what was left of her, anyhow. And the other was to have a good cry.

There was nothing stopping her doing the second part, she surmised. It weren’t as if there was anyone around to see her, but it was such a weak thing to do. She was just feeling sorry for herself because her leg hurt and she’d been cooped up all day. She’d get over it once the others returned and life got back to normality.

The door to the passenger room slid open quietly and her husband put his big tousled head round the door slowly, clearly uneasy about the reaction he might provoke. Hat, much to her own disgust, took one look at his apprehensive expression and burst into tears.

“Hey!” Mal headed for the edge of the bed and sat down gingerly. “What’s up? You cryin’ for a reason or just cos?”

Hat sniffed rather pathetically. “Just ‘cos? Just ‘cos?? I think I earned it, Mal! My leg hurts, we ain’t found River … Do I really need a reason?”

“No how, I guess …On the River front, though, thought you might like to know… Nope, we ain’t found her as yet,” he said hurriedly to her anxious exclamation, “but, there’ve been rumours of a hullabaloo of some not small distinction. Something about a Fed ship crashin’ in suspicious circumstances, reckon it has something to do with River. Plus there are some as sayin’ Badger’s disappeared, which I am choosin’ to see as a good thing…”

“Like as not,” said Hat, thinking carefully, “those three bushwhackers were Badger’s men, would explain how they knew how to get on to Serenity and where to look for us, give ‘em the element of surprise.”

Mal nodded. Hat’s descent into femininity did not seem to have abated and tears were welling up in her eyes as she considered the attack. He looked at her shrewdly. “They really got to you, didn’t they?”

“Well, wouldn’t you be scared, Mal? It ain’t like I have a gun strapped to my hip to defend my family…”

Mal smiled smugly. “Scared is good, the more terrified the better, you ask me, may keep you outta harms way, so you just go on bein’ scared…”

Hat sighed and rubbed at a tear. “So no, ‘there there, it’ll be all right, your man’ll protect you’ then?” Suddenly she laughed. “Are we ever gonna act like normal people?”

Mal didn’t join in her laughter. He looked at her seriously. “I’ll always do my best to protect you, you know that, but you gotta know that there may be occasions when I ain’t able to or I plain ain’t there. You gotta be prepared for them.”

Hat looked restless and tired. “And I will be, Mal, I promise! But could this be one a those times where we just pretend there ain’t any dangers, where you hold me and kiss me and tell me everything’s gonna be alright, even though it ain’t?”

Mal smiled softly and took her in his arms, stroking her back. “Everything is gonna be ok, I promise.” He said softly.

From a position snuggled against his chest, Hat shook her head. “Now I know yer lying…” They sat for a while, hugging each other tight. Hat looked up at him. “I missed you, you know,” she whispered.

He smiled down at her, gazing at her with intensity. “Hey, I’ve been roamin’ Serenity most nights, just can’t seem to get comfy without you in my bed. I’m so gorram tired it ain’t funny.”

They kissed, at first softly then more deeply and Mal shifted so that he was stretched out on the bed, his wife curled up to his chest as best she could with one leg sticking out straight. Hat kissed Mal softly once more and then settled upon him. Within minutes they were both asleep.