Part III - And There Was Pie

"Triceratops are herbivores." River leaned back in the co-pilot's chair, resting her bare feet on top the instrument panel. Her long hair spilled over the back of the chair halfway to the deck, swaying from side to side.

"Ah." Wash picked up the triceratops, with whom he had been menacing the raptor. Wash was beginning to suspect that he was identifying a mite too strongly with the triceratops, whom he called "Joel" inside his head when left completely to his own devices.

"It would have eaten plants," she informed him matter-of-factly. "Not other dinosaurs."

Wash mulled this for a moment. "What if he was a mutant triceratops?"

"Wrong teeth."

"Mutations can't affect teeth?"

"The chances of a genetic mutation affecting the entire–" River began, and then stopped and tipped her head back, smiling upside down as her brother trooped up the short flight of metal stairs leading to the flight deck. "Simon!"

"You're back early," Wash noted with surprise. The boy still looked a bit pale and shaky. He was willing to write it off as hangover, except for the eyes. There was something in his eyes–a look Wash recognised, having seen in too many people's eyes of late. Something like defeat.

"I found everything I needed," Simon said with a shrug. "Did you have a good day, River?"

"Wash let me fly the ship."

Simon turned to Wash, confused.

"Actually, um, I just let her sit in my chair. We never left port."

"An aught-three Firefly can execute a one-eighty turn in point-zero-seven seconds."

"How... interesting."

"She ain't wrong. Don't know how she knows it–since, as I repeat, we didn't budge from this spot all day. But she ain't wrong."

"The grav thrust required is achieved by cutting the hydraulics, and rotating the engines while simultaneously rerouting all power through the starboard acceleration thrusters. Did you bring me anything?"

He handed her a paper-wrapped package. "I brought you more drawing paper."

"Thank you, Simon!" River gave him a kiss on the cheek, and skipped out of the bridge, grinning.

"She might make quite a pilot someday," Wash said fondly as River's footsteps retreated in the distance. "Of course, she might also make quite the mad scientist, or really interesting dentist. You find your shoes yet?"

"I imagine they'll show up eventually. They're not Jayne's size."

"You okay, Doc? You seem a bit–"

"I'll be in the infirmary," Simon said stiffly. "I've things to unpack."

Wash watched him go, and sighed. "There but for the grace of being ten years older and happily married to a stunningly beautiful woman, go I."

Inara was standing on the catwalk, watching, when the mule came struggling up the ramp, labouring under its burden. Jayne and Zoe hopped off as soon as Mal reached the level floor of the cargo bay, and began unloading the giant grey stasis module.

The tiny silver bells that trimmed her shawl made random music as she walked down the stairs from the catwalk to the main floor. Mal had always liked that shawl. Thought it was quite becoming. Or maybe it was just the idea that, belled like a cat, he could hear her coming that appealed to him. He was never sure.

"How'd it go?" she asked Mal as he picked up a skein of webbing, so they could secure the box against the port wall for the duration of the journey to Paquin.

"Same old, same old–man gave us a package, and the address to drop it off. Oh yeah, and we got half in advance. As that's usually my favourite part, I thought it bears mentioning." He tossed the webbing to Zoe, who caught it one-handed. "How 'bout you? Our Kaylee show you all the sights to be seen in Riverside?"

"Actually, I showed her some she'd never seen."

"So she a mite better today?" he asked before he could stop himself. If Inara caught on, she let it slide, and for that he was grateful. But he knew that one of these days, he was going to have to go to Kaylee to find out how Kaylee was doing, instead of using the companion as a buffer.

"See for yourself." Inara tilted her head towards the airlock, and he turned to see Kaylee walking up the ramp. Her arms were laden with packages, and she was smiling brightly.

"I see we did some shoppin'," Mal said, gesturing to the brown paper packages she was shifted from arm to arm.

Kaylee smiled broadly at the Companion. "'Nara got me a shiny new dress."

"Did she now?" Mal smirked. "Well, you can wear it next fancy party we go to what involves no sword fights."

"Awful big of you, sir," Zoe said as she secured the cargo with the webbing.

"I'm magnanimous."

"You are that," Zoe said with a raised brow as she trooped up the stairs to where her husband waited for her.

"So I take it the visit went well?" Mal asked as Kaylee shifted her packages in her arms, balancing one box on top carefully. "Your momma stuff you full of her peach pie?"

"Yep–and I brought one back to share." Kaylee held up the small box by the twine, giving Mal a sunny smile. "'Cept you don't get any, 'cause you're mean."

"You denying me pie?"

"Yes, sir. No pie for you," she informed him as she skipped up the stairs.

"I call dibs on the captain's pie!" Jayne yelled from where he was securing the mule for takeoff.

Mal turned back to Inara, ruefully amused. "It appears I am to be denied pie."

"Told you you should have apologised," Inara said sweetly.

"Our little Kaylee don't stay mad–or sad–for long. She's already on the mend."

"You think so?" Inara asked as she leaned against the railing, watching Kaylee disappear through the hatch that led to the mess.

"Wash, we got a full house?" Mal called up to the pilot who nodded.

"All hands accounted for."

"Let's get locked up."

Serenity lifted off Zephyr, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. The sky stretched out before her, the golden late afternoon sunlight giving way to the blackness of space as Wash guided the ship through the upper atmosphere. They broke orbit smoothly, and the endless night closed around them like a whisper.

"You sad to be going?" Mal asked Kaylee as she watched the planet shrink behind them on the screen Kaylee had just repaired in Wash's console.

"Ain't my home no more," she said with a shrug. "I love my folks, but Serenity's home."

She dropped her soldering iron back into the pocket of her coveralls, wiping her face with the side of her wrist. Mal grinned as she left a long smudge along her nose, merely transferring the grease from her hand to her face.

"Still, got to be hard–leaving folks behind."

"My cousin Mac's got two new horses, and she's getting' married this spring."

"That a fact?"

"Brian Cooper, works with my uncle Charlie in the refinery. Seems like just yesterday, we was having sleepovers, and braiding each others hair."

Mal chuckled. "Xiao mèimei, it was just yesterday–you're still a babe in arms."

"Old enough to be your mechanic." She punctuated the last syllable with a poke to his ribs with one grubby finger.

"Old enough to be my mechanic," he conceded the point gracefully. "Kaylee, what I said yesterday–"

"Yeah?"

"You know I didn't mean nothing by it. I'm just ornery by nature."

She looked wary for a moment, but then broke into a smile. "You're just a mean old man."

"That I am." He gave her a one armed hug, kissing the top of her tousled brown hair. "So... do I get pie?"

"Nope." She grinned, and headed back towards the engine room.

Inara found Mal on the flight deck, staring out at the stars as they streamed past. Wash was ostensibly steering the ship. However, his wife was sitting in his lap, which might be impairing his ability somewhat to execute any complicated manoeuvres. She guessed he'd laid in the course for Paquin, and the auto-pilot was on.

Mal didn't turn around when she came to stand beside him, following his gaze out into the black.

"You seem surprisingly happy about the pie," she said finally.

"Ain't the pie–or lack thereof."

"Then why are you smiling?" she asked, curious.

Mal leaned against the guard-rail, arms crossed, an insufferable half-smile playing about his lips. "I know what this is really about."

"Do you, now?"

"Took me a while, but I finally figured it out." He grinned broadly at her, and leaning forward, said in a conspiratorial whisper "You're livin' some romantic dream vicariously through Kaylee."

Inara froze, mouth open in shock. "And you arrived at this shattering insight into my character how, exactly?"

"C'mon, Inara–you can be straight with me. You're getting a kick outta being little Kaylee's fairy godmother in this whole mess precisely 'cause if your white knight ever showed up, you'd have to charge him."

"You're the one who has made this all about you!" she snapped, feeling a flush rise up her neck. "All your talk of 'I'm just worried about Kaylee' and 'Somebody's got to be looking out for Kaylee.' But it's not about Kaylee–it never has been."

"Do go on–I am fascinated. Do people pay you for this? Does the psychoanalysis come before or after the sweaty parts?" His flipness only served to infuriate her further–just as it always did. It was as if he went out of his way to humiliate and embarrass her. And she was getting tired of his little mindgames.

"It's all about the fact that so far as you're concerned, no man is good enough for the women aboard Serenity." She lifted her head a fraction, trying to pin him with her best haughty stare.

"And I suppose you include yourself in that little club, now, dontcha?"

"Isn't that what your idiotic behaviour on Persephone was all about?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you. You'd like to believe that my knocking that liúmáng Atherton Wing down a peg or two was all about me just pining away for your love."

"You arrogant, pig-headed, ego-maniacal–"

"See, you calling me names makes me think I've hit close to home, here. Maybe I'm not the one who's pining."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, Mal–the very thought of you makes my heart go pitter-pat. You've found me out. The last year has simply been a charade, so I could feel your manly arms around me–"

"See, I knew you had a thing for me."

"I am going to rip off your arm and beat you to death with it."

"Such words of love."

"Your right arm–effectively ending your sex life, such as it is."

"I am overcome with emotion. How do you feel about a June wedding?"

"All I want is for Kaylee to be happy. Kaylee and Simon both. And they were happy. They'd be happy, if you had just kept your yúchûn mouth shut. But it's Zoe and Wash all over again–"

"You two know we are right here, and can actually hear you–right?" Wash said from the pilot's chair, and was ignored.

"Why do we always come back to Zoe–"

"So you do think Wash is good enough for Zoe?"

"It's okay, honey." Zoe rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Ship can fly itself. Let's get us some pie 'fore Jayne eats it all."

"I want to stay and watch the fighting," Wash grumbled, but followed his wife down the short flight of stairs.

"Don't matter what I think of him–they's married, they's happy, and all of us have come to terms with–"

"Gôu pì," Inara snapped. "It doesn't matter how much you like Wash, or how much Zoe loves him. Deep down, you still believe that he's not good enough. Simon's not good enough. No man is good enough for any of the women in your life."

"Well they ain't!" Mal exploded, all pretence of amusement banished. "That what you want to hear? It has been my experience that men are sishengzi. They lie, they cheat, there ain't a one of 'em that I'd trust with any gal's heart–yours, Kaylee's, Zoe's, my m–anyone's."

"Your what, Mal?" Inara pushed, fully expecting him to push back–and not caring if he did. "If we're going to have a screaming match about this, I'd like to know where it all started. Is there some childhood sob story here that has bearing on the matter at hand? What, did your daddy wrong your momma?"

Mal stiffened. "Don't you dare bring my mother into this–"

"I didn't. You did."

He glared at her, and she took an involuntary step back at the pure fury that shone in his eyes. With a muttered curse, he stalked past her and down the hall. She listened to his angry footsteps as the echoed through the ship, and she was left alone with the stars.

There was something to be said for the therapeutic effects of homemade peach pie, topped with whipped cream.

Wash lifted a forkful to his lips and stared at it first. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this particular treat, and wanted to make it last as long as humanly possible--or longer. He closed his eyes as the burst of flavour hit his tongue, savouring the different textures--the flaky pastry, the tart and sweet fruit, and the light yet rich cream.

Wash was in heaven. His wife, on the other hand...

Zoe was staring off into space, a slight frown marring her lovely features. She got that look sometimes, like she was working on a puzzle, and frustrated that she could find all the corner border pieces, but there was still a gaping hole in the middle of the picture that would show her what she was supposed to be looking at.

Wash figured that his job was to sit back and let her work it out in peace when she had to, or tease her out of her black mood the rest of the time. He weighed his options for the moment, and made a calculated guess.

"You'd better eat your pie," he suggested, "or Jayne might think it's up for grabs."

Jayne looked up at the mention of his name, peaches and cinnamon smeared across his lips. He was hunched low over two pieces of pie--his, and the slice originally destined for the captain, and was like a dragon protecting his hoard. His eyes narrowed as he chewed, and then he transferred his attention back to his fork.

She smiled at him then, the special smile that she saved for small children, idiots, and husbands, and allowed him to lift a forkful of pie to her lips.

Wash couldn't help but grin at the look of pure bliss that crossed her face--he knew that look, too. And usually he never saw it outside their bunk. It was a good look, and he might sacrifice half his own slice, if it meant he could see it written across her face a few more times.

A place for everything, and everything in its place. Simon's maternal grandmother had always said that, when he was a child. Granted, that had been in reference to her spice cabinet and not a fully stocked infirmary. But the end result was the same.

He stood back and admired his handiwork. The blood supply was safely in stasis, waiting for the next catastrophe. He'd stowed the boxes of syringes and bottles of alcohol in the cupboards, and replenished the depleted stock of antibiotics. Rows of vials were neatly labelled and set in trays for easy access. He'd even managed to get a variety of heterocyclic antidepressants, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, and anti-psychotics which he was hoping to use to synthesise a cocktail that would work on River's unique form of paranoid schizophrenia.

He thought if he could just block the medial nucleus from receiving certain kinds of sensory input, that somehow he could regulate her responses. But it was such a long shot, not to mention not his field of study. As a trauma surgeon, he'd handled the usual range of emergency room cases–severed limbs, burst appendices, severe lacerations. They'd always sent the neural trauma patients to another ward. The second a patient left the ER, they vanished from his mind. His world.

Now, his sister was his world. This ship was his entire world.

If he were still on Osiris, he could have gone to dozens of different resources for advice on treatment. The finest specialists in the Core. He could have gotten her the help she needed–the help he wasn't qualified to give her.

Instead, he was on an ageing and decrepit midbook transport vessel with a rudimentary infirmary, using Inara's cortex access to download whatever medical journals he could access. And even that had to be done carefully, lest he tip off the Academy as to River's whereabouts. After all, what use would a Companion have for the published writings of neurosurgeons?

He opened the "freezer" to put away the last plasma pack, and stared at the bundle of carefully wrapped packages pushed to the back.

The makings of an intimate dinner for two.

He'd felt the ship take off–the steady vibration of the engines shattering the silence he'd only started to get used to since they'd landed on Zephyr. He assumed that meant Kaylee had returned–but he'd remained childishly hiding in the infirmary, nursing his hurt.

Just when he'd begun to believe they had made progress, he'd been thrown into an utter tailspin–his mind obsessively imagining every worst case scenario and playing them out in his mind. What each scenario had in common was Kaylee in the arms of another man who understood her, her world, the life she'd chosen. In the dark recesses of his mind, she was laughing and smiling. Completely free of all the doubt and awkwardness that seemed to be the hallmark of their fledgling relationship.

After all, what could he really offer her? What woman in her right mind could see any kind of future with a wanted fugitive? He was broke, the Alliance having crashed his accounts when he fled the Core with River. There was a price on his head which meant at half the ports they docked he had to stay on the ship, hiding lest he be spotted in town. Even when he did go out, he was constantly reminded of his shortcomings. The assault on Niska's skyplex had proven that he couldn't protect her. If River hadn't been there...

And there was River.

No matter what his feelings for Kaylee, River would always come first. That was too much to ask from anyone, even someone as caring and giving as Kaylee. He would never be able to be the kind of man she could have any kind of real relationship with. She deserved more. She deserved better. She deserved to be happy.

"Ai-ya," he muttered, closing the door and rubbing his eyes with one hand. He was suddenly so very tired.

"Hey," came a voice from the doorway. He looked up to see Kaylee standing in the doorway of the infirmary. One hand rested on the doorjamb, but she made no move to come in. "There's pie, in the mess. If you want some."

"Pie?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of baked goods while wallowing in the depths of his despair.

"Yeah–my gran's recipe. Peach pie. Got cream for it, even."

"You made pie?"

She laughed. "Oh no–me and baking never did seem to get along. My momma made three, and give me one to bring back, is all."

"Your mother–she's on Zephyr?" he said carefully, and she nodded.

"Yeah. Didn't nobody tell you? My folks live in Riverside–"

"Your father. He's in Riverside too. Of course." The words spilled out of his mouth, one after the other, as he collated this new and surprising data. "You met him this afternoon at the swap shop."

"How'd you know?" she asked, mystified.

"I saw you," he said, suddenly feeling light-headed.

Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. "How come you didn't–"

"I didn't realise it was your father."

"Well, who'd you think it–oh." He could see the exact second the realisation had dawned behind her hazel eyes.

"I didn't know," he said quickly. "Wash and Jayne told me about Bester, and I thought–"

"You thought I had a guy in every port?" she asked, anger bringing a flush to her cheeks.

"No!" he back-pedalled quickly, "I mean, if you wanted one–I mean, there's no reason on my account..."

"Huh," Kaylee said, staring at the floor. "I see."

The silence that descended was deadly. Simon wracked his brain for what words would make it better, and in his panicked state, came up empty.

"Kaylee..."

Her eyes slid away from his, and she tapped a finger against the metal hatchway absently. "So there's pie. And Wash found your shoes."

Then she was gone, and he was alone.

"They're, um, a little charred," Wash said apologetically as he handed Simon his shoes.

He and Zoe sat at the table, remnants of pie on the plates in front of them. Shepherd Book was in the lounge, engrossed in his bible, and Jayne sat opposite him, cleaning a very large gun.

"Charred?" Simon was almost afraid to ask.

"They were in the oven," Zoe said, fighting the smile that he could see tugging at her lips.

"We turned it on to warm up the pie–" Wash continued, and Simon held up a hand, signalling him to stop. He took the shoes, which were warm to the touch but appeared mostly undamaged, and sat down to lace them up.

He took the borrowed shoes back over to Book, ignoring Jayne, who took his presence as a cue to hock up a wad of spit into his cleaning cloth and began to vigorously rub the barrel of the cannon.

"Thank you, Shepherd."

The preacher smiled up at him, marking his place with a scrap of paper, and setting the bible aside. "The good Lord instructs a righteous man to clothe the naked stranger, welcome him and feed him. I imagine that extends to friends with missing shoes, as well. Did you have a productive day in town?"

"I got everything on my list."

"Yet you don't seem too pleased with your accomplishments."

"It's not that, it's..." Simon trailed off, unsure how to even begin. "I have an amazing talent for saying exactly the wrong thing, when I am trying to say the right thing."

"I believe that is genetic," Book said with a twinkle in his dark eyes. "And a trait not uncommon to our gender. I'm sure she'll forgive you."

"You don't even know what I said, or to whom–"

"It doesn't take much to figure that out, son. Kaylee's a special girl, with a very big heart and a powerful need to share it."

"Her heart ain't exactly what she's opening–" Jayne said with a chuckle, and before Simon knew what he was doing, he'd gotten two handfuls of Jayne's shirt, hauling the other man to his feet.

"Don't you even–"

"Or you'll what, pretty boy?" Jayne growled. "Our little Kaylee may not like you so much, if I messed you up some."

"Jayne!" Book thundered, and Jayne gave Simon a shove that sent him backwards. He landed hard on the padded bench, and tasted blood from where he bit his tongue.

Book stood between them, and while Simon couldn't see the look on the preacher's face, Jayne backed down.

"I ain't the one who started it," Jayne muttered as he picked up his gun and his gear. "It's always Jayne's fault. I'm sick of ev'rything always being my gorram fault."

Simon closed his eyes as Jayne marched out of the mess, leaning back against the wall.

"Perfect."

Book gave Simon a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and then handed him a foil wrapped plate. "I saved a slice of pie for River."

"Thank you."

"Just have a little faith." The preacher smiled at him paternally. "Things will work out."

Simon found River in the cargo bay. She sat, her back up against the grey cryo unit, legs stretched out in front of her amidst a sea of paper. Her head was bent over her work, long hair tucked behind her ears.

"You're not supposed to be here alone, remember? Captain Reynolds said–"

"Not alone," she muttered, pencil pressed to paper, tip of her tongue peeking out between pursed lips as she tried to capture a swirl of hair against a long neck. Dropping the sketch to the floor, she reached for a clean sheet of paper and quickly sketched out a woman's silhouette.

Faces stared up at him from the pages littering the floor. The same girl, caught in different poses once again.

"And we're not supposed to touch the cargo, mèimei. You could get in trouble..." He began gathering up the pages, and realised he could see writing through the drawing. He flipped the portrait over, gasping when he recognised the page. "River! This is my journal!"

She shrugged. "It doesn't signify."

He sighed. "I bought you a pad of drawing paper, remember? And Shepherd Book saved you a slice of peach pie. Come back to our rooms–"

He took her by the arm, and she pulled away. Scooting back against the container, dark eyes wide, she drew her knees up to her chest. "She's afraid of the dark!"

"You can leave the light on in your room."

She shook her head. "She's supposed to be what he lost, but she isn't. She isn't her."

"River..." Simon was taken aback by his sister's sudden outburst. Tears filled her eyes, slipping unchecked down her cheeks.

"She doesn't know how to be her," she said, her voice breaking.

He gently laid a hand on her shoulder, and this time she didn't shrug it off. "Come to bed–it will be all right."

She allowed him to guide her to her feet, and she wrapped an arm around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder as they walked back towards the passenger dorm.

When River was finally asleep, blanket tucked up to her chin, every light in the room blazing, Simon returned to the cargo bay.

Kaylee was sitting on the floor, in almost the same exact position River had been earlier. She was staring down at one of the sheets, letting it rest lightly on one canvas clad knee. The teddy bear sewn over the pocket peeked out from beneath the overhanging sheet. She was wearing a top he'd seen her wear a few times before–iridescent and brightly coloured and patterned, it was in stark contrast to the worn and stained coveralls. As always, she had unzipped the top, letting half of the coveralls fall around her waist and he could see a tiny ribbon of skin where the shirt didn't come down low enough.

"River was looking for paper, apparently," he said from the hatch and she started.

She hastily stacked the pages, looking flustered. "I'm sorry, I didn't read it–"

"It's okay."

The silence that stretched between them made Simon want to run. Flee. Bury his head in the sand.

Instead, he sat down next to her, making sure their shoulders didn't even come within inches of touching.

"The girl's pretty," Kaylee said as she placed the sketch on top of the stack. "Who is she?"

"I don't know. River's done a hundred sketches, and I'm not sure she knows, either."

He watched as Kaylee tucked her hair behind her ears. One lock immediately fell forward, and she tipped her head back slightly. His fingers itched to touch her cheek.

"I never knew could River could draw."

"She can do anything she puts her mind to, I sometimes think." He picked up the sketch, and studied the lines. The girl in the drawing was half turned away, and he couldn't see her eyes.

"Anyway, um.. I just saw the mess, figured you wouldn't want Jayne or anybody finding 'em–"

"Thank you."

"I'm gonna head off to bed."

He caught her wrist as she started to rise. "Kaylee, wait. Please."

"Simon..."

He got to his feet quickly. "I want to fix it. I want to go back to the way things were."

She looked at him, bewildered. "The way things were?"

"Before whatever happened that made you stop smiling. Before whatever happened that made you leave a room as soon as I enter it. Please. Just tell me what I need to do."

"Simon, I..." She swallowed, blinking rapidly. "I don't... I don't know..."

"What I said, before–I know, now, that I hurt you, and I didn't mean to. I just meant... I don't own you. You're free to be with whomever you want to be with. I just... want you to be with me."

"Why?" she blurted out, and then covered her mouth with curled fingers. But it was too late to push the word back in, unsay it.

"Why...?" He was completely lost.

"Why'd you kiss me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Why did I–I thought... I thought you wanted me to."

"Was that the only reason?"

"No, I... I wanted to. I guess I didn't think about it–I didn't give myself time to think. River says I think too much, and maybe she's right. I do think too much. I wanted to kiss you, so I did. Was it wrong? Did I do it wrong?"

"Naw, you did it right. You did it perfect." Her chin trembled, and he could see her jaw clenched against tears. "You did everything just perfect."

"Then why–"

"I just... I didn't want to be just the best of limited choices." She looked away, hazel eyes swimming.

"Wha–no! No." He took her face in his hands, tilting her chin so that her eyes met his. "Kaylee.... There could be a hundred girls on this ship, and I wouldn't even notice. You shine so bright."

"That's what 'Nara always says," she said with a watery hiccup of a laugh.

"Well, Inara's right. Shhhh, don't cry, qin ài de Kaylee," he whispered against her hair, and kissed the tears from her cheeks. When his mouth found hers, he could taste them, hot and salty on his tongue.

It was slow and careful. Not like before–not full of smiles and simple things. It wasn't simple anymore, not for either of them. It had grown thorny and complicated, and so much rested on the weight of her lips moving softly against his. The smiles had been replaced with tears, and Simon wanted to coax the smile back.

Her arms went around him tentatively, and he pulled her close to him, losing himself in her. Her breath was warm against his cheek as her mouth opened beneath his, tongue tracing his lips curiously. She grew bolder, sucking on his lower lip as he slid his hands over her shoulders before coming to rest at her waist. One hand kneaded her hip, fingers splayed against the canvas. She gasped as he pulled her even closer against him, the kiss deepening as one leg slipped between hers.

The hunger that tore at him almost frightened Simon with its intensity. He couldn't get enough of her–her body pressed up against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth teasingly. He knew that all of the obstacles between them still existed. But they suddenly didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was her–the taste of her on his tongue. The way her body fit against his, the little sounds she made in the back of her throat as she moved against him. The sounds she drew from him, as he pressed kisses to her lips, her jaw, any part of her he could reach.

Kaylee was the one who pulled back finally, one hand coming up to trail fingers down the planes of his cheek. Her face was alive with something like wonder, even has her breath came in laboured gasps.

"Nî hâo mêi," he said as he rested his forehead against hers, tracing her lips with a fingertip. "My beautiful, beautiful Kaylee."

Her mouth curved into a tentative smile. "I feel like I'm going to just... pop. Like my skin is the only thing keeping me—"

"–from flying apart," he echoed. He pulled back, brushing her hair back from her face with a smile. "Me too. So, um... do you want to maybe go back to my room?"

"To talk?"

"To talk. And there might be some talking. Yes."