"Aw, come on, honey. Please? For me?" Wash wiggled his eyebrows at his wife. He held a pair of finely crafted black leather stilettos in his hand, the satin ribbons used to tie them to a woman's calf hanging down. "You don't even have to wear a dress with 'em!"

Zoe stood up slowly and turned around. She had finished removing her boots, and stared at her husband, hands on her hips. "Did you hit your head while me and the captain were gone? Because you don't seem t'be hearing the resounding 'No' I'm sayin'."

Wash pouted, flopping back onto their bed. "No, baby, there was no head hitting." He propped himself up on his elbows, looking at her. "Is it really such a crime for a man to want to see his beautiful wife in something worthy of her?"

She shook her head, a hint of amusement on her face. She unbuttoned her red shirt, untucked it and tossed it on the floor. She still wore a loose fitting white undershirt. "Core knockoffs are hardly my style, sweetcakes."

Her husband leered. "But those legs," he groaned, "would look so very, very nice in these heels."

Zoe raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing on her face. "I like the way you say that husband." She winked. "Say it again."

"Those legs," Wash repeated, his voice low and growling, "would look very nice in these heels." He ran his eyes up and down her figure, the shoes temporarily forgotten. "Of course, they'd also look very, very nice wrapped around my waist."

Zoe's smirk grew to a full-on smile. She took several steps forward, stopping at the edge of the bed. "You really think so?"

Wash swallowed hard. "Oh, yes, baby, I think very much so." He leaned back and watched with growing excitement as Zoe crawled onto the bed, straddling him.

"I think we need to test that, Mr. Washburn."

Wash nodded vigorously. "Yes, we do Mrs. Washburn. Lots and lots of testing just to make sure. I've been known to be wrong, on the occasion."

"This don't mean I'm wearin' those shoes," Zoe purred as she bent to kiss him.

Wash let her have her way. "I'll concede, right now, since you're being all coy with the lips on my ears and everything," he breathed heatedly. "But I'm not joking when I say I want to see you in these shoes bao bei. I don't steal from the captain for just anyone, you know." He stroked her legs as she moved closer to him.

"And that's another thing," she protested. "Can't be goin' around pilferin' our cargo, honey. Captain's rules."

Wash slapped her on the rump lovingly. "Can we please not talk about Mal right now? We're testing, remember? Legs around my waist."

"You're gonna have to put them back when we're done, lover."

"Worrying about the shoes later, please."

Zoe gave him a skeptical glare that meant he wasn't going to win this argument, but she didn't say anything since the legs-around-Wash's-waist testing was a little more pressing at the moment.

Inara was fuming as she linked up to the Cortex. She needed to talk to Miri – needed to make arrangements to leave Serenity and get away from it’s hun dan of a captain, before she did something she would really regret…like burst into tears in front of him. He had already made her cry once – not that he had known it – and she had vowed it wouldn’t happen again.

He didn’t know her and he didn’t understand her, anymore than she knew and understood him. Men like Mal Reynolds were outside her purview and she had been a fool to think it could ever be otherwise. From the moment she had first laid eyes on him, she had found him intriguing; unlike any one else she had ever met because there was no subterfuge about him. He presented himself the way he was and couldn’t understand that Inara was doing the same for him.

She was a Companion – she had never pretended to be otherwise. Was it wrong to give people what they needed? Being a Companion wasn’t just a job, it was a way of life – one that she’d been part of since the day of her birth. She had never questioned that she would one day be a Companion; had never allowed herself to wonder if she could be anything else.

Tapping in the proper connection sequence on the Wave monitor, Inara saw herself reflected and distorted and blurry against the empty view screen. It held her gaze longer than she intended. As a little girl, she had been taught that a Companion was a mirror reflecting back only what others wanted to see - but as she gazed at her reflection she wondered if that’s really who she was. Being on Serenity had taught her many things about herself but in the teaching it seemed to Inara that she was losing the identity she had crafted since childhood.

Mal accused her of lying to him, when she never had. Perhaps she hadn’t told him about Simon, but failing to tell somebody something was not lying no matter how much Mal said it was so. He had never told her anything about himself; had not offered one iota of information about his past to her – so why was she a liar when he was not? Was she a liar?

Malcolm Reynolds was the only one in the ‘Verse, besides her mother, who had the ability to make her doubt herself. She'd be glad to put him behind her. Which just went to prove she could lie to herself as well as she could to anyone else.

"Inara?"

The Companion looked up to find another woman smiling at her from her display panel. Apparently her wave had gone through without her noticing. "Miri, I'm sorry," she apologized with a self-conscious smile. "I was thinking."

The other woman raised an eyebrow. "Important things, I hope?" she questioned with a knowing grin. "After all, a lady wouldn't like to think she'd been kept waiting because her associate was wondering if they'd left the iron on."

Inara felt her smile grow. She had known Miri Janus since they were children together on Sihnon. Unlike most Companions, Miri didn't come from wealth: she'd been a scholarship student, chosen by the Guild because of her strengths in music, language, art, as well as a plethora of other highly desirable skills.

Her unique background had made Miri somewhat of an outsider among the other girls, but Inara had found her a refreshing change from the legion of well bred, high class drones that usually populated Sihnon's Training Houses.

"No such thing, Miri, I promise," she assured the other woman. "I was just trying to decide how best to inform the captain that he'll be losing the rent on this shuttle in a short while and that I'll be needing my security deposit back."

Miri's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "You're leaving Serenity then?"

Inara nodded. "I think it best," she sighed. "Things are changing." Nandi. Me. "I'm changing." It's time to move on.

"But I thought you loved it out there!" Miri replied. "The last time we spoke you seemed very happy."

I was, Inara thought sadly. Instead she managed a tight smile. "Although I do enjoy chatting, I actually did have a reason to Wave you, Miri," she said, turning the course of the conversation. "We’re going to be landing in Pastiche later this afternoon and I was wondering if you have time for a visit with an old friend. I wanted to talk with you about the Guild expansion. From the list Janael sent me, it appears things are moving forward rather quickly."

Miri laughed softly. "Work doesn’t stop just because you’re out in the black, 'Nara."

Inara inclined her head in acknowledgment of that statement. "Are you seeing success?"

"There's a fair bit of untapped potential out there," the other Companion shrugged. "We’ll see how it goes. The Guild is pressing forward."

"Are there plans yet for a Guild House, or just the Training Houses?" Inara asked.

"Just the Training Houses for now; help the girls get their feet wet and give everyone some breathing room."

"Do you know if any of the Training Houses are searching for teachers? I've been in the black too long. I think it would do me well to stay grounded for a while."

"I'm sure we can always make room for the daughter of Epoline Serra. Have you spoken to her yet? It's her birthday today, you recall."

Long years of practice were all that kept Inara from flinching. "Yes, I know. And I have."

Miri must have noticed her tone, because she gave her a reproachful look. "She's your mother."

"She's not my mother, Mi-Mi," Inara clarified. "I just happen to share her bloodline."

"I think you're being unfair, 'Nara."

"I don't really want to discuss this," Inara held up her hands to stop the argument before it even started. "I'm more interested in finding out about the new Training Houses -- I don't want any favors, Miri," she asserted. "I can go where I'm needed, but I won't force myself on anyone either."

"You wouldn't be forcing, Inara," Miri relented, letting the matter drop. "So, when can I expect to see you?"

"No later than four," Inara responded, smiling with genuine affection at her friend. "It will be so good to see you again. I’ve missed you."

"I’ve missed you too, ‘Nara," Miri responded. "I’m dying to hear about all your adventures, face to face. Will you bring your captain with you?"

"He’s not my captain, Miri," Inara replied calmly, even though her stomach was doing flips. "Besides, he’s got a job to do."

"That’s too bad," the other woman grinned. "From the little you’ve let escape in your Waves, he sounds very…interesting."

The mayor of Nickelcreek was the kind of man who oiled his moustache into ridiculous little points and thought the style improved his looks. He was round and pink, and reminded Mal of a suckling pig. All he needed was an apple in his mouth to complete the look.

He was wearing a flashy maroon suit and kept mopping his forehead with a wrinkled white handkerchief. He was clearly a man who suffered from a serious case of vanity that was no doubt going to waste on a dried up Border world like Pastiche.

"Mornin'!" Mal greeted with a cheerful smile as the man's face appeared on the Cortex screen. "I'm Malcolm Reynolds."

The mayor nodded tersely. "Mayor Hubert Heckle."

Long years in the black had taught Mal not to laugh at a man's name. The memory of the black eye he got the first time he snickered at Jayne's name was enough to convince him of that. Still, that didn't mean it wasn't hard to keep a straight face when a man had a name like Hubert Heckle. "Got a shipment of shoes for y'all," he informed the man, proud that he hadn't cracked even a hair of a smile.

"Francesco Chans?"

Mal nodded. "Yep," he affirmed without flinching. "The genuine article."

"They better be," the little man threatened. "We won't accept imitations here, sir. We've got standards."

Mal kept the smile plastered on his face. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir," was all he said. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Of course, I expect to be allowed to inspect the merchandise," Heckle replied and straightened himself up until his thick, fat neck pooled over his tightly buttoned, fancy-collared shirt.

Seriously, an apple. Right between his teeth. And some parsley shoved somewhere less virtuous. "That won't be a problem, sir. We've got a few crates for you. I'll just have my crew unload them when we arrive and then we'll talk about transferring the payment."

Heckle's previously pleased expression vanished abruptly and he looked at Mal like he'd sprouted a second head. "The seller is with you, is he not? I wish to exchange funds with him directly."

Mal blinked. "Mr. Heckle-"

"Mayor Heckle."

"Mayor Heckle," he corrected, withholding several other, less savory expletives, "this is my ship and my job, therefore payment will be handled through me."

Heckle straightened up, mustache twitching. "You listen here, young man! I know the types of cons gentlemen such as yourself like to pull on places like Nickelcreek, and I'm telling you now I won't stand for it. We've got standards," he repeated, as if it were the town motto, "and I intend to see to it that those standards are upheld.

"I don't know if you're aware, but we were recently chosen as the host of a new Companion training house." The man's chest swelled with pride, and his pink face got even pinker. "An honor like that is a rare one out here on the Border, and I intend to see to it that the fine folk who work and take their ease there are provided with every imaginable comfort while in the vicinity of this town. So not only will I inspect the merchandise, but I will speak with the seller directly. And I tell you this right now -- I will also know if you're attempting to hornswoggle me. And I don't hold with hornswogglers."

Mal felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. "Hornswogglers, huh?"

Heckle jerked a terse nod. "Hornswogglers."

The two men stared each other down. Mal wanted nothing more than to tell Heckle where he could shove his standards. Instead, he steeled himself and grated out, "Fine. You want to meet the seller? You'll meet the seller."

"Why isn't he with you right now?" Heckle asked suspiciously.

"He's sleeping." Mal replied tersely. "You know what these Core folks are like. Don't you worry, I'll shake him awake for when we land and make sure he knows you're wanting to speak with him."

"Excellent." The mayor clapped his hands together, ostensibly bringing an end to the conversation. "Have your crew unload the cargo into the dockyard's warehouse. I trust you'll have the seller ready to meet me in time for dinner?"

Mal managed a tight smile. "With bells on."

"Marvelous. I'll send my rickshaw to pick him up. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm a very busy man, Captain." With an infuriating little head bob, the mayor reached out a hand and closed the connection.

Mal watched the screen blink off, fingers flexing at his side. "Arrogant, hun dan son of a whore," he snarled under his breath, before turning from the monitor. "Now where in hell am I gonna find me a prissified Core shoe guru at this time of day?"

Continue to part three