"Oh, I love the theatre on the Core. We used to go every other weekend when I was on Sihnon." Edwin, Mayor Heckle's son, spoke with his hands, his food forgotten on his plate. "The dancers were always so expressive, moving, speaking with their bodies." He smiled at Simon.

Simon smiled back. "Sihnon always has the best dancers in the Core. But Osiris -- Osiris will always be home."

Jayne grunted, bringing Simon's attention back to the big man. He was eating and obviously angry. "Do you need something, Sue? Butter? More vegetables?" The doctor smirked, enjoying Jayne's discomfort more than he should.

"No, boss, I'm just fine," the mercenary said, barely keeping the annoyance out of his voice. Simon only smiled wider.

"Reid, it's so nice to meet someone else who knows where I'm coming from," Edwin interjected, grinning at Simon.

It took the doctor a half second too long to answer to the name he'd chosen and he felt Jayne kick him under the table. "Oh, yes! I've been out here on the Border far too long, surrounded by criminals and brutes, and not a bit of civilization in sight."

"Sue," Edwin asked, smiling broadly at the mercenary when the larger man snorted, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine, kid," Jayne answered, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Just need to get some fresh air. Y'don't mind, do ya, boss?" He nearly growled the last word, directing the end of his comment at Simon. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed away from the table and stalked out to the porch.

Inara and Miri were walking, arms linked, through the ceremonial garden behind the Training House. Tall fences blocked out most of the wind, though the plants that sprouted up from the ground were all desert varieties, hardy and dry. Paper lanterns cast a warm, honey-gold glow over both women.

"There will be a panel, you understand," Miri murmured. "You left quite abruptly last time. They'll want to make sure you won't do the same again."

Inara sighed. "Yes, I know. I can handle it."

"I can convene it as early as tomorrow, if you’d like," Miri offered. "I’ll be leaving for Sihnon soon, but I can arrange this for you before I go."

"Tomorrow?" Inara stopped walking. "I'll have to say a proper farewell to Serenity's crew. It's the least I owe them. Especially Kaylee." She smiled sadly as she imagined the hurt look that would no doubt suffuse the cheerful engineer's face. "They've been good to me. I'll miss them."

"Even the captain?"

"Yes," Inara conceded. "He can be difficult, but he's personable in an obstinate, pigheaded kind of way." An amused smile touched her lips, and she didn't bother to fight it. She was tired of fighting, and now she didn't have to anymore. "Stubborn as an ox, really. Sometimes I think he keeps his ship in the sky through sheer force of will."

"He sounds intriguing."

Inara resisted the urge to snort. "That's one way of putting it."

"Have you ever serviced him?"

This time when Inara looked at her friend, she was in time to see Miri glance away quickly. "What are you implying?" she asked. Something about this situation didn't feel right all of a sudden.

"Nothing, Inara. I was simply asking a question." Miri gave her an indulgent smile. "You just seem to radiate an affection towards him that made me wonder."

"Wonder what exactly?" Inara didn't like the direction this conversation was headed.

"Just...wonder."

"I don't think I like what you're insinuating."

"Mei-mei, I'm not insinuating anything. But there's no denying, money is thinner the further you get from the Core. Perhaps, instead of rent, you and your captain worked out some kind of arrangement..." The other Companion let the sentence trail off, as if expecting Inara to fill in the rest.

For a moment, all Inara could do was blink at her friend in bewildered disbelief. "Miri, I know the Guild law better than anyone," she protested. "When it comes to matters of personal financial responsibility, it is strictly forbidden for a Companion to --"

"This is the black, Inara. The rules aren't as clear out here as they are on Sihnon."

Inara pulled away from her friend, shocked. "Rules are rules," Inara said, off-put by Miri's placid stare. "On Sihnon, on Athens -- anywhere -- it doesn't matter. An offense of that nature..." She trailed off, frankly floored that Miri would even suggest it. "Trading sex for services? That's the work of a…a…"

"No need to get emotional, mei-mei," Miri soothed. Only it wasn't soothing. It was...slick, like oil.

Inara slit her eyes. It was funny, really; she'd known Miri most of her life, but looking at the other woman now, she almost couldn't recognize her. "I've done nothing wrong.""

"Of course you haven’t," the other woman agreed lightly.

"What's going on here, Miri?" she demanded.

"I just want you to be prepared, Inara," Miri explained. "I’ll have to ask you these questions tomorrow, especially since you would be instructing novices. The leadership will want to be assured that you haven't compromised yourself or the Guild."

"I would never do such a thing."

Miri’s smile did nothing to soften her feline features. "Of course you wouldn’t."

"What are you playing at?" Inara snapped.

"I don't play, Inara."

"No, you never have, have you? Even when we were children, you were always the prim one."

"Not prim, Inara. Poised." A flicker of steel in her gaze was the only indication that she was losing patience. "I couldn't run and hide behind my mother's skirts if I misbehaved."

Inara stared. "That's what this is about," she murmured after a moment, dumbfounded. "You're jealous."

This time the flicker of steel turned to a flame in Miri's eyes. "Oh, don't be so self-absorbed, Inara," the other woman sneered. "Why would I be jealous of you? What is there to be jealous of? A hand-me-down shuttle on a flying garbage heap? I have more dignity than that."

Inara shook her head, staring at her friend as if she'd never seen her before. "Ai ya, I see it now," she murmured, shaking her head faintly. "All this time, Miri --all these years -- you had me believing you were my friend and it couldn't have been further from the truth! I remember when you came to the training house; my mother knew right away you had potential. That alone should have been my first clue. It must have been like Christmas come early when you discovered your roommate was Epoline's daughter. Drop the name 'Serra' in the appropriate ears and you could get anything you wanted."

Miri straightened her back until she stood ramrod straight, face resettling itself into icy calm. "You want me to feel guilty for using you? For advancing myself through you? Why should I feel any guilt about that? If you weren't going to use the cards fate had dealt you, then I was going to make sure they didn't go to waste."

"So all this time, our friendship has just been a game." It wasn't a question. "I was just a pawn."

"You were the queen," Miri corrected. "You helped me take the board. When you weren't there, your name was all I needed. In fact, I've never properly thanked you for leaving. Everyone was so confused when you left; they all came to me, asking the same question over and over again: 'Why did she go?' Surely I would be able to answer such a simple question; after all, we'd been attached at the hip since we were children!" She affected a sad face. "But I didn't have any answers for them. A mystery, I told them. All for the best, I said. I knew enough to reach for your power."

"And that's what this is all about, isn't it, Miri? Power. That’s all you want."

"Power is the only thing worth wanting, but you don’t believe that, do you? All your life, all you’ve ever wanted is for someone to love you," Miri sneered. "That’s why it was so easy to use you - because you’re so desperate. Your mother sees it, and it makes her sick that you’re so weak."

"My mother," Inara repeated, smiling coldly. "Let me tell you about my mother. She knows exactly where to draw the line between emotion and professionalism. She makes her clients believe -- fervently believe -- that she cares about them. Perhaps she does; I don't know. But they believe, and that's all that matters. I don’t think she knows that behind her façade, there’s nothing there but an empty heart."

Coming to a stop a hand's breadth from Miri, Inara gazed up into the taller woman's face. "I'll never be my mother," she said, voice level, "and believe me when I say I'm grateful for that. There’s such a thing as feeling too much; but there is also such a thing as not feeling enough. That's where you fall.

"You've spent your entire life manipulating those around you. And for what? A title? Power? As if they were the only things in life that mattered." Her face softened with pity. "You used to have a heart, Miri, but you've sold out for personal gain. There's a name for people like you."

Miri shrugged, "Is this the part where you slap me and call me a whore, Inara?"

"No, Miri. This is where I say goodbye. I’d like to say I’ll miss you, but I don’t really think I will. After all, there’s nothing there to miss." Turning on her heel, she began to walk away.

"You’re throwing away your life, Inara. You don’t deserve to be Epoline's heir!" Miri called after her. "She loves me like a daughter!"

"That woman doesn't know how to love a daughter, Miri," Inara muttered without looking back. "Believe me. I know."

Simon and Edwin found Jayne on the porch, smoking a cigar. He turned and glared as they exited the house. "What do you two want?"

Simon returned the glare holding up the box of samples. "We're discussing the goods, and wanted to make sure you hadn't wandered off, Sue. You tend to get yourself in trouble."

Jayne sputtered, "I get myself in trouble? Didn't you get kidnapped once? Weren't that a good day," he added, looking almost wistful.

Simon bit back a smart retort, remembering Edwin was still there. "Pay no attention to him." He sat in one of the wrought iron chairs, pointedly looking away from Jayne. "Like I said, not very bright. Doesn't know that insulting one's employer is a good way to not get paid." He deliberately emphasized the last part and vowed to tell Mal exactly what he thought about getting shanghaied into one of the captain's idiot schemes with Jayne of all people.

The mercenary mumbled something Simon was sure was obscene. Ignoring him, the doctor smiled at Edwin. "I think we should talk more about the shoes and less about my trained man-ape, don't you?"

Edwin glanced over at the larger man. "Oh, I don't know," he mused, voice low and a grin on his face. "I think it might be fun to talk about him."

Simon looked from Edwin to Jayne and back again. The mercenary was leaning against one of the porch's white columns, staring at the town and chewing on his cigar and ignoring them.

"Nooo...," the doctor said, drawing out the phrase and watching Edwin's face. "No, I... don't think so. He's… infuriating. Idiotic, to be sure. Ridiculous. Rude. Uncouth." He ticked off the characteristics on his fingers. "Foul-mouthed and occasionally smelly."

Edwin raised an eyebrow. "If you say so," he murmured. "I think he's rather handsome."

To say Simon was floored would have been an understatement. Kaylee would have called him buffaloed. "Really?" he managed, after much internal debate.

Edwin laughed. "I could probably stare at him all day." After a moment, he turned a twinkling smile at Simon and winked. "Now, about these Francesco Chans."

He picked up one of the shoes, the same blue stiletto his father had examined earlier. He sniffed it and flicked it with his finger. Then he picked up a black pump and examined it. He knocked on the sole, holding it to his ear like a conch shell.

Simon tried not to look nervous. He'd have done a better job if Jayne's leg hadn't been bouncing up and down in the corner of his eye like an anxiety-ridden jackhammer. The mercenary had slung himself down in a chair when he saw what Edwin was doing, and now he was watching the scene with hard blue eyes.

Edwin set the shoe down with a sigh. "Not bad," he said appreciatively. "You two are good."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked, feeling his heart sink into his stomach.

Edwin smiled at him. "I mean these are some of the higher quality knock-offs I've seen."

He heard Jayne swear.

"Listen," Edwin said, leaning in. "I'm not stupid. You're not a fashion designer, and he's not your bodyguard. These aren't Francesco Chans, and this isn't on the up and up." Simon's face fell, and Jayne looked murderous. "But I don't particularly care."

"Huh?" Jayne straightened up in his seat. "What do ya mean?"

"My father is an idiot. As you saw," he nodded to Simon, "he has no idea what 'refinement' means, and he doesn't understand me at all."

"So…you're gonna lie to him?" Jayne asked the obvious question, and for once Simon was grateful, since he wasn't sure he could speak at the moment.

Edwin looked at Jayne. "Well, maybe. Pulling the wool over my father's eyes would entertain me, but that's not really enough."

"We'll do anything," Simon was quick to promise.

Edwin smiled at Simon, and then looked back to Jayne. "There's a party I've been invited to tonight. It would be an unforgivable faux pas if I were to show up without a date." He raised a meaningful eyebrow.

Jayne stared at him for a minute. "So?"

Simon tried not to laugh.

"So, I need a date," Edwin re-iterated.

"Yeah, I heard ya. I ain't deaf. Get yerself a whore."

"I'm afraid all we have are female whores around here."

Jayne looked at the younger man in confusion.

"Simon?" Edwin asked after a moment.

"Hmm?" Simon didn't trust himself with real words just now. If he opened his mouth, he was going to bust out laughing.

"You really weren't lying when you said this one was slow, were you?"

"Oh, he'll get it eventually," Simon assured the mayor's son. "Just watch his eyes. You'll know he gets it when-"

Jayne's eyes suddenly grew wide. His mouth worked involuntarily, but no sound came out.

"When that happens, actually," Simon finished, grinning.

"NO RUTTIN' WAY!" the mercenary howled, leaping up from his chair and backing away until the porch railing pressed against his backside.

Simon gave him a stern glare. "Jayne, I do believe he's asking you out." He couldn't resist a wicked smile at the mercenary's expense. "You're not going to refuse our host, are you?"

"Hell yes I am! No ruttin' way!" he repeated and put his hands out as though Edwin would suddenly jump on him.

Edwin looked over at Simon, ignoring the mercenary's tirade. "Jayne, is it? That's hardly better than Sue." Turning back to Jayne, he asked, "So, what do you say?"

"You deaf, boy? I said no ruttin' way!"

"I'll make it worth your while."

"Ah, hell, I don't even wanna hear --"

"For one thing, I won't turn you in to my father," Edwin continued, cutting him off. "He tends to get a bit... snippy when people try to 'hornswoggle' him."

Jayne closed his mouth with a snap.

Edwin smiled. "Good boy."

Simon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

"Second, I'll see to it you get paid," the other young man continued, lounging comfortably in his chair. "You do want to get paid, don't you?"

Jayne's eyes sparkled with greed, and Simon knew the other man was hooked. Jayne was a man of principle, after all, provided it was spelled 'principal' and was spoken in the monetary sense.

"So if I don't go, we don't get paid?" the mercenary asked.

Edwin nodded.

Jayne visibly fought with himself. Simon almost felt sorry for the larger man, being forced to choose between two of his greatest loves: money and his masculinity.

"Ta ma de!" Jayne finally exploded, glaring at both men. "No. No ruttin' way! I ain't doin' it!" But his resolve was visibly weakening.

Simon shrugged and leaned back in his chair. The battle was already won; he could tell from the dollar signs dancing in the mercenary's eyes. "Then you can explain to Mal why we're not getting paid," he said, crossing his hands behind his head. "It's all the same to me."

Jayne glared at him, before turning his baleful gaze to Edwin. "I ain't kissin' ya or holdin' your hand or nothin' like that, dong ma?"

"Just showing up with you will cause enough of a stir, I'm sure," Edwin replied. "Although I might insist we link arms one or twice." His eyes sparkled.

With a growl, the mercenary stabbed a finger in Simon's direction. "You tell a ruttin' soul and I swear I'll gut you with a toothpick."

She moved through the grounds as quickly as she could, wanting only to return to Serenity. She'd been a fool -- there was nothing for her here, only the things she'd given up position and comfort to run away from. This wasn't her world anymore.

"Miss?" A pretty blonde head was hanging out of a window from one of the buildings that had already been completed. "Miss Serra?" There was awe in the girl's tone.

"Yes?" Inara lifted her head, trying to swallow the emotions that had been rising up painfully within her.

The girl's head disappeared. "It is her," she said, in a muffled voice, and then, before Inara could quite process what was going on, a flock of young girls in the simple white shifts of novices rushed out of the building and crowded around her.

"I'm Sayla, and this is Aaralyn," the blonde said, indicating the redhead beside her. "You're really Inara Serra, from Sihnon?" Aaralyn was shyly fingering the richness of Inara's gown.

"Yes, I am." She turned to look at Aaralyn. "Where it isn't considered manners to touch people without permission," she said, her tone gently correcting.

"Sorry," the girl mouthed, blushing and smiling at the same time, reminding Inara a little bit of Kaylee.

"We have examples of your calligraphy for training," Sayla said, undauntedly excited. "They say you were the most gifted, and would have been a scribe or artist in the House if-"

Inara smiled. "I took great joy in calligraphy during my training, and still do." Remembering those days, sitting in a row of young girls like these, her whole body intent on the brush-strokes, soothed Inara's agitation. "Do you study the dulcimer as well?"

"Yes, miss," Aaralyn said with a slight wrinkling of her nose. "But the music master doesn't even seem to listen, just keeps saying, 'You're playing it, not-'"

"Feeling it," Inara concluded, her heart contracting. Nandi.

"Are you really coming here to teach us?" Sayla demanded. "To stay here?"

"I..." Inara swallowed. "I don't know," she whispered, confused by the sudden transition in her feelings. These girls had made her remember the things she'd forgotten, the things that she loved about being a Companion: how it gave young girls years to explore their talents and polish themselves into beautiful women. She smiled at the girls almost tenderly. "We'll see."

Simon was in the mess when Mal entered. He must have been there for quite some time, judging by the empty plates in the sink and the book that was open on the doctor's knee. The captain hadn't heard them return, so he could only assume Jayne wasn't back yet. He didn't know what to think about that.

"So," he ventured, moving deeper into the room. "How'd it go?"

Simon only smirked. "I think Jayne can tell you better." He turned a page in his book and went back to reading.

Mal frowned, rummaging through the cupboards before emerging with a fruity-oaty bar. "Um, speaking of, where is Jayne? Did you get him killed? I know he's a big dumb animal, but we ain't got another merc lined up, and he's kinda useful."

Simon looked up and grinned as the captain took a seat at the table. "No. He's not dead. Though he might wish he was when everyone finds out where he's been."

"Okay, stop talking all cryptic like your sister and tell me what's going on."

"No can do, Captain. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it for oh," he looked at the time, "another five minutes or so."

Mal rolled his eyes. "Really, sometimes I wonder why I bother talking. Am I even the captain of my own ship?" He took a bite of his bar.

Jayne chose that moment to come stomping into the mess. He was wearing a bright purple shirt, his best whoring shirt clutched in his hand. He glared at Simon. "I don't want to hear a ruttin' word, Doc." He grabbed the bottle of Kaylee's moonshine Wash had left there earlier, popped the cork and took a long swig straight out of the bottle. He slammed it down, hand still wrapped around the neck, sucking in air like he was dying. "I'm serious Doc. You're a dead man."

Growling, he headed toward his bunk, nearly running into Kaylee and Book on the way. He stopped her, fishing bits of paper from his pocket. He shoved them at the little mechanic, muttering grumpily, "More boy numbers than you know what to do with. I’d give some to you, Shepherd, but y’ain’t interested in that kinda thing."

Kaylee backed into the mess, hands clutched together, as she watched Jayne stomp down the hall towards his bunk. "Uh, can someone explain Mr. Grumpypants to me?" she asked, turning around to face Simon and Mal.

Simon was doubled over with silent mirth. He sucked in a breath, and let out a full peal of laughter. Both Mal and Kaylee looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Simon? You all right over there?" Kaylee looked concerned.

He waved a hand, trying to catch his breath. "The mayor's son," he choked out. "Figured out we were trying to sell fakes."

"What?" Mal demanded, sitting up straighter.

Simon waved a hand in his direction as he regained his breath. "Don't worry, we sorted it out." He chuckled and wiped his streaming eyes. "See, Edwin - that's the son - had a party he had to go to."

"Yeah?" Mal said. "And?"

"And he needed a date."

Kaylee blinked. "So?"

"He took a real shine to Jayne." Simon smirked.

Mal blinked. He looked at Kaylee, who was just as confused, but giggling anyway. "You mean to tell me," the captain said slowly, "that to finish this job, Jayne went to a party? With a guy? As his date?"

Simon nodded. "And we got paid."

Mal blinked. "Er zi de xiao diao gong niu!"

"Aww, that's so sweet!" Kaylee cooed. "Jayne looked all handsome dressed up in that purpley shirt." She paused, thinking. "Well, he looked special at least."

"He certainly got enough numbers," Mal smirked, glancing at the bits of paper his mechanic was now clutching. "Not that they’ll do you much good, little Kaylee."

Zoe climbed down to the bunk she shared with Wash, making very little sound. She stepped off the bottom rung and looked over at her husband, who was tucked cozily in bed. "Wash? What the hell are you doing?"

Eyes wide, he tried futilely to hide the shoe he'd been rubbing lovingly against his cheek. "What? I'm not doing anything."

"Baby, you were molesting that shoe. The shoe that does not belong to you." Zoe took a few steps toward the bed, where her husband had just recently been fondling a black kitten heel.

Wash held it close to his chest. "I was not. And Mal won't miss them anyway. It's just one pair. Besides, what he doesn't know won't hurt him," he said, trying the tactic Kaylee and River had told him.

Zoe put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

Wash stood his ground, holding the shoe close to his body. "Mine." He stroked it with one finger and gave her a playful grin.

She extended a hand, her face completely serious. "Give it to me, Hoban Washburn."

He tried to hold out, but after just a moment of Zoe's eyes on him, he sighed, the mirth fading out of his eyes and handed it over. "The left shoe is by the ladder," he muttered.

She shook her head and walked back to the ladder, dropping the shoe next to its mate. She sighed and headed back to toward the bed, untucking her shirt on the way. "Sometimes your kinks make me wonder, honey," Zoe chuckled as she tugged her shirt off over her head.

"It's just one pair of shoes, Zo'."

"Two pairs, counting that other pair you took. You put them back like I told you to?" His silence was all the answer she needed. "Wash, you can't go stealin' cargo. I told you that."

"They're shoes, Zoe!"

"I don't care if they're earthworms. We don't take cargo. Mal's rules."

Wash crossed his arms as she sat on the end of the bed. "Why is it a problem if I want to keep a pair for my lovely wife to wear?"

Zoe leaned down to unlace her boots. "Can't run in heels, Wash, and if you can't run you can't fight."

"So, you're just going to kill my fantasy, just like that? Real great, Zo'." His tone had turned flat and for once he wasn't joking.

Zoe finished unlacing her right boot and set it neatly to the side before starting on the left. "It's not like that, and you know it. I have a job to do aboard this ship. When the captain tells me to do something, I don't ask questions. Mal says don't take cargo, so we don't take cargo." She didn't look up at him, but continued to untie the cords.

"Right. Just blindly follow Mal to the ends of 'verse, no matter who it hurts." Wash shook his head, his lips tight. "Sounds like a damn good plan to me."

She sat up stiffly. "You suggestin' I shouldn't follow the orders of my captain, baby?" she asked.

"Are you going to tell me that you'd have been okay having killed Simon knowing what we know now? Just because you had Mal's say-so? We can't always blindly follow the leader and you need to see that."

Zoe took a deep breath before turning around on the bed. Her eyes bore into his. "You're talking mutiny, bao bei . I don't think you want to be doing that."

Wash rolled his eyes, and then focused again on his wife. His tone was slightly softer. "No, I'm not. I'm just saying sometimes you need to question your leaders. No one is infallible, not even the great Captain Malcolm Reynolds."

Her jaw tensed. "You 'bout done? 'Cause this same argument is gettin' a mite tiresome."

"I guess I'm done. I'll just sit back from now on, my mouth shut, watching you get rid of everything that bothers you: my shoes, Simon, whatever strikes your fancy."

Zoe stared at him. "Where's all this coming from, honey? You're not giving up, and I can't figure out why. You really want to win this that bad?"

He yanked on his boots and marched to the ladder. When he got there, he paused and looked over his shoulder at her. "Simon could have died, Zoe, and you don't even seem to care. You know I'm right. Deep down, you know I'm right." He swung an arm up, and climbed out.

The knock at Inara's door was soft, but it was a knock nonetheless. That in itself wasn't surprising. What was surprising was who it was that was doing the knocking.

"Mal!" Inara felt a surprised smile cross her face. "You're knocking now? When did this begin?"

Mal did his best to avoid looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but Inara wasn't buying it. "I just... I figured you might not be here," he explained. "I thought maybe you'd just sent back your shuttle."

Inara raised an amused eyebrow. "So you decided to knock on the off chance I might not be here to hear it?" She smiled, truly amused. "Have you been privy to any trees falling in the forest recently?"

Mal chuckled and ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. "Yeah, well..." He let the sentence trail off with a noncommittal shrug, and Inara didn't pursue the topic. She knew what he was thinking anyway. It was one thing to come barging into her shuttle when he knew she was there. It was another thing entirely to come barging into her shuttle and finding her gone instead.

"Would you like to come in?" Inara stepped aside so he could enter. She tried not to focus on all the implications bundled up in the column of space between them as he stepped into the shuttle. "Would you like some tea?" she asked, moving towards her sitting area.

"No, thank you kindly," Mal declined.

"How did the job go?" she asked, fixing herself a cup. Smiling up at him from under her lashes, she continued, "You don't look the worse for wear, so I imagine no one got shot."

Mal grinned. He had an infectious smile. It made her want to smile as well, when it didn't make her want to slap him. "I think it went fine enough, but you'll have to find out from Simon and Jayne. They did the lion's share of the work."

"Simon and Jayne?" Inara raised her eyebrows in surprise as she sat, raising her teacup to take a dainty sip. "You mean they had to work together?"

"Yep."

"And they didn't kill each other?"

"Surprisingly enough, no. Though I 'spect it was touch and go there for a while, judgin' by what I heard."

They shared a soft laugh before companionable silence fell again. Inara filled the quiet with another sip of her tea. This was unusual. They'd spent the last week at each other's throats, and now they were smiling at each other. She wasn't sure how that was possible, but just now, she didn't want to question it.

"So," Mal ventured after a quiet minute or so, "how'd the visit go?"

Inara took the time to deliberately swallow her tea. "It went," she hedged. She didn't feel in the mood to rehash all of her emotional baggage with him; not now, when it was still so fresh. Probably not ever.

"That good or bad?" Mal pressed.

Inara looked uncertain. She'd uncovered her former friend as a long time enemy and realized Pastiche was perhaps not the place for her. Even though Miri was based in the Core, the little backwater planet might hold too many bad memories. But she'd met the girls, seen how eager they were to learn from her... In short, she'd come to some fairly hefty conclusions on some fairly major questions, which could only be a good thing.

She looked down into her teacup and recognized it as a prop, a way to occupy her hands so she wouldn't start wringing them in her lap. "I'm not sure."

"How come?"

"It's...complicated," she supplied, knowing it wouldn't be enough but unwilling to say more.

"Complicated?" Mal held his hands out to either side, like a set of scales. Bobbing the left one, he said, "Good time." Then, bobbing the right, "Bad time." He wobbled back and forth, as if trying to find balance. "Which one was it?"

Inara sighed. "Why do you want to know, Mal?" she asked wearily, setting down her teacup so she could rub her throbbing temples. "It doesn't affect you."

She'd obviously said the wrong thing. Their short-lived peace came to an end as Mal snapped, "It does if it means you're gonna be stayin' on my boat much longer."

"Why are you so eager to get rid of me, Mal?" she demanded. "What have I ever done to you but pay you rent on time and earn you respect in certain circles?"

"You lied to me."

She fought the urge to rub her temples again. "Mal, we've been over this. The debacle with Simon was regrettable-"

"Regrettable?" Mal cut her off, choking halfway between a laugh and a bellow. "Did you say regrettable? Inara, I nearly killed him! Do you understand that? He could've died, 'cause you never told me you knew him from before!"

"But I did!"

"Yeah, when I all but had the barrel in his mouth!"

"What do you want me to say, Mal?" She held her hands out to him, palms upward in a sign of repentance. "That I'm sorry? I am! You will never begin to understand how sorry I am!"

"No, I won't!" Mal answered hotly. "On account of you won't tell me! You won't tell me a gorram thing, Inara, and how'm I s'posed to take that? You won't say why you didn't tell me 'bout Simon, you won't tell me why you came out here to the black in the first place. Hell, you won't even tell me if you had yourself a good time on Pastiche! I mean, what kind of feng le hun dan d'you think I am?"

"I'm not lying to you, Mal," Inara protested, though the argument sounded weak even to her own ears.

"But you ain't tellin' me the whole truth, woman, and that's near as bad!" Mal threw up his hands in frustration.

Silence fell between them, full of static and inertia, before Mal sighed. "I expect the truth from the people I got around me, Inara." His voice dropped like a lead weight in the silent room. "Captain's gotta have trust, or the whole gorram ship's gonna fall down 'round his ears."

"It's...not that I don't want to tell you anything, Mal," she explained miserably. "It's just that...I can't."

He cocked his head. "Can't or won't?"

She forced herself to hold his eyes. "Can't."

Mal shook his head again. "Now see? That right there's another gorram lie. You can tell me anything; all you gotta do is move your mouth to say the words. But what you're implyin' is you won't. And that don't set right with me."

"What do you want me to say, Mal?" Inara whispered, dropping her eyes to stare at the floor between them.

"Tell me one thing you ain't never told me before," he said softly. "One thing that'd make me trust you again. Then we'll talk."

The silence stretched on.

"Right," he said with a sharp nod. "Message received." He spun on his heel and marched towards her door.

"My mother hates me."

Mal stopped, but didn't turn around. Inara ended up talking to the back of his boots, unwilling to bring her eyes up to stare at his shoulders.

"She's a Companion, too," she continued, "and I was a mistake. Companion's don't have babies." She laughed bitterly. "It tends to scare clients away."

Mal wasn't laughing, and he still hadn't turned around. Inara schooled her features back into a mask. "It's not even that she hates me," she murmured, a rueful smile twisting her lips. "She doesn’t hate me. But she doesn’t love me either. My mother is a perfect Companion because she feels nothing. She’s not like me, Mal -- I have a heart."

Inara’s voice shook slightly at this, "I wish I could hate her, but I can't do that either. She's my mother, Mal. How can I do anything but love her?" She shook her head. "I frighten her, I think, because deep down she knows that a mother is supposed to care for her daughter, and if she can't even do that, maybe she's not as perfect as she pretends to be."

"Why are you tellin' me this?" Mal asked, turning his head just enough that when she looked up, she could see his profile over his shoulder.

Inara swallowed. "Because I can," she whispered.

He turned around. Inara found her gaze drawn inexorably to his eyes.

The captain smiled. "Well, all right then," he murmured. "Now I know."

Transalation
er zi de xiao diao gong niu = son of a bull with a small penis

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Title: Heart & Sole
Writers: Literary Lemming & Kari
Executive Producers: Michelle Makariak (Michmak)
& Jen Hook (Mistress Shiny)
Special Edits: Michael A. Haines, Van Donovan, Sophie Richard
Art: Jen Stacey
Head of Animation: TaeRowyn
Proofreaders: Sarah Wilkie & Rebecca Black
Dialect Editor: Sophie Richard