"Do y’think Simon'd like this one, 'Nara?"

"Hmm?" Inara drew her attention away from the milling street of people, turning a serene smile in Kaylee's direction. "I'm sorry, mei mei, what did you ask?"

"Just wonderin' if you thought Simon would like this dress," Kaylee asked, holding up a cotton sundress in cheerful lemon yellow. She held it against the front of her body, looking at herself critically in a mirror that hung on the back wall of the little boutique. "Makes me look like a redheaded daffodil, don't it?"

Inara laughed softly, stroking Kaylee’s hair. "Why do you want to buy a dress so badly, honey?" she asked, smiling at the girl's reflection. "It seems to me you do just fine in your everyday wear."

"I know," Kaylee said, miserably hanging the sundress back on the rack. "It's just... Simon's been actin' all weird and kind of shifty lately, like I done something wrong, and I dunno... Guess I kind of want him actin' normal again, 'sall."

"You mean full of heartfelt, longing gazes and blushing stammers?"

"Well... yeah. Guess so."

Inara smiled, giving her friend's shoulders a squeeze. "Mei mei, you don't need a dress to get Simon to act that way with you. He already does."

"But he's been actin'-!"

"Sweetheart, if anything, I'd say he's been doing it even more recently than he has in the past." She ran soothing fingers through the glum mechanic's hair. "Have you asked him why he's been acting differently?"

"Well... no," Kaylee admitted, her hands pausing on a soft white skirt picked out with a floral pattern.

"Why not?"

Kaylee bit her lip, fingering the light material. "Sort of scared what he'd say," she murmured.

Inara shook her head. "Have you ever known Simon to be anything but gentlemanly and proper?"

"That's just it!" Kaylee vented, turning pleading eyes in Inara’s direction. "I don't want him to be all gentlemanly and proper, I want him to want to rip all my clothes off and take me in the middle of the gorram galley!"

Inara bit her lip to keep from laughing at the affronted looks they were getting from some of the other shoppers. "Kaylee, Simon isn't that kind of man," Inara reminded her gently.

"I know!" Grunting in frustration, Kaylee turned back to the clothes, though she was barely seeing them as she thumbed through the rack. "But 'Nara, he ain't even lookin' at me like he wants to kiss me no more! I mean.... sure, he never really tried to kiss me any before, either, but sometimes he'd kind of give me these looks..." She crossed her arms over her stomach, biting her lip. "Now, it's like even that's off limits. I mean, I got needs, you know. Like any livin', breathin' human bein', I got needs a-plenty! And afore, those looks... well, they kind of helped. Made it a bit less achy and a bit more tingly. But now..." She gave Inara a wistful look. "Now, I'm lucky if he even glances at me when I ask for the butter dish. And I don't know why."

"Oh sweetie..." Inara gathered the other girl into her arms, stroking her hair.

"How d'you do it with the Captain, 'Nara?" Kaylee asked, her voice muffled by Inara's shoulder.

"Hmm? Do what, honey?" Inara asked.

"Make him look at you like you’re his favorite kind o' firewater."

Inara felt her body stiffen, and she gently extricated herself from Kaylee's embrace. "I don't know what you mean," she lied.

Kaylee wasn't buying it. "Oh, come on, 'Nara, we all see it," she said with a little wink. "Can't tell me you don't, too. I seen the way you look back at him."

Inara thought little store suddenly felt claustrophobic. "What Mal and I have is... complicated," she hedged, then quickly added, "but not romantic. Certainly nothing like what you and Simon have." She tried another smile; it felt incredibly forced, but she knew to Kaylee it would look genuine. "And if you really want to make Simon look at you, the best thing you can do is be yourself as best as you can be. That's what he wants. Not a girl who dresses up just to impress."

"Just be yourself," Inara thought soberly. "Praise Buddha, Kaylee, that for some people it can be that easy."

Kaylee looked doubtful. "I dunno, 'Nara..." A little smile twitched on her lips.
"You think I can be me and still wear this?" She plucked an apple green dress off the rack: it came to just above the knee, and had strawberry detailing around the waist and collar.

Inara grinned, and this time it was real. "Sweetie, I think that dress screams you, loud and clear."

Simon found himself in the enviable position of being free to wander the market on his own and do whatever he wished with his money. He hadn't had this kind of freedom in a very long time.

He had no idea what to do with himself.

Normally he had River around to keep him busy. He hated that he thought of it that way – "keeping busy" – but that didn't make it any less true. Looking out for River was a full-time job, and he'd been hesitant to let her go off alone with Wash. But she'd been forming a friendship lately with the chipper pilot, and Simon was hopeful that encouraging her to forge new bonds with the rest of the crew might not only help her emotional and psychological well-being, but would also aid in making the crew more sympathetic to her plight. Sometimes it felt like convincing the rest of the crew to trust them was even more of a full-time job than caring for River.

Back when he'd still been a surgeon on Osiris, the roll of currency currently clutched in his hand would have meant nothing to him. He would have spent it on dinner and a trip to the theater and thought nothing of it. Now he found he wanted to use it wisely. He'd left most of his share behind in his bunk – hidden safely in his underwear drawer, because Jayne would only go so far in pursuit of hard currency – but that still left him a sizable chunk to spend on whatever he wanted.

He could buy some new clothes. Or music. Or books. It had been ages since he'd bought an actual book, one with crisp pages and a real leather cover. He could download full texts off the Cortex for a minimal charge, but there was something to be said for the weight and texture of an actual bound novel, or a medical journal, or anything with a Table of Contents and a glossary. He'd even settle for a full set of encyclopedias, if it meant he got to smell that dry, papery scent, like an ancient library.

Settled, he had a plan of action. But where was he going to buy books? Muir was a bustling mercantile planet, but its residents didn't exactly look like the types to appreciate Tolstoy.

He was standing on the street corner, feeling like a fish out of water, when he caught sight of a familiar head bobbing along with the passing crowds.
Absolutely the last person he wanted to see, absolutely the last person he wanted to ask for help. Absolutely the only person who would talk to him, because everyone else seemed prepared to ignore him.

With a heavy sigh, Simon plunged into the swirl of humanity, fighting against the current of moving people until he'd reached the other side of the street. "Jayne!" he called out.

The big man either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. Simon watched him disappear into a dark little store.

Now that he had a goal, the doctor wasn't about to be put off that easily. Straightening his vest, he pushed against the flow of traffic until he was able to stumble through the door into the store. The sun was bright and the store was dark, so it took Simon's eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom. Knowing Jayne, it was probably the kind of disreputable establishment Simon would never have been caught dead in back on Osiris: full of guns and tobacco and strange liquors in dusty bottles and women of negotiable affection.

Blinking to clear his vision more quickly, Simon was shocked to find himself face to face with a little old woman with a smile sweet enough to be his
grandmother. "May I help you, Sonny?" she asked. Her blue-gray hair was piled on top of her head in a perfect bun, held in place with enameled chopsticks.
"Um... I'm sorry, I think I may have the wrong store," Simon said. "I was looking for someone."

"Doc?" Simon looked up sharply to see Jayne frowning at him over the old woman's head.

"Jayne?" Simon glanced around the shop a bit to get his bearings. It would have made him feel better if he'd seen one – just one – wall covered in ballistic weaponry. As it was, the long wall behind the counter was taken up, floor to ceiling, by skeins of yarn.

"What in gorram hell you doin' here?" the mercenary griped, then winced as the elderly woman reached up and gave him a smack upside the head.

"I'll have no salty language in this establishment, young man!" she scolded. "This is a good store, this is."

"Sorry, ma'am," Jayne mumbled, looking shamefaced.

Simon gaped at him.

"What?" Jayne snapped. "Ain't you never heard o' manners? Fancy Core boy like you?"

"I'll let you two boys alone," the elderly lady said with another sweet smile, as if he and the mercenary were schoolboys of twelve. "If you need anything further, young man, you come find me."

"Yes'm," Jayne said quickly. The little old lady stretched up, patted his cheek and hobbled away.

Simon gaped at him, again.

"Knock that off, dong ma?" Jayne growled irritably. "You’re liable to choke on a fly, mouth hangin' open like that, and I ain't the one gonna give you the hind lick maneuver."

"Heimlich," Simon corrected weakly.

"Yeah, well, whatever. Ain't doin' it." Turning away, the mercenary turned back to what he'd apparently been doing before Simon entered the store, which was examining crochet hooks of varying sizes.

Simon stared at the scene for a moment, feeling strangely removed. He wondered if perhaps he was still suffering some lingering after effects from River's drugging of the protein stew. "So," he managed after a few seconds. "You crochet?"

"Hel- Heck no I don't crochet!" Jayne snarled, giving him a dirty glare. "What y’gotta go say somethin' like that for? Wanna ruin my reputation or somethin'?"
"Well, no offense, Jayne, but..." Simon gestured to the rack of hooks. "Unless you intend to use these to gut unsuspecting victims." He paused, then added, "You don't, do you?"

"They're for my mother," Jayne countered with another glare. "Last letter she sent, asked me to pick her up a... a..." Frowning, the big man dug around in his pocket until he withdrew a crumpled white envelope. Unfolding the letter inside, he read in careful, precise fragments, "A woo-den swi-vel hook." Nodding firmly, he stuffed the letter back in his pocket and gave Simon a look as if to say: Take that.

"Oh. Well... That's nice of you." Simon was a little off center. He wasn't used to Jayne doing nice things for people.

"What d’y’mean, it's nice of me? She's my mother. Wouldn't do nothin' else." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Simon realized with a pang of guilt that he hadn't even thought of using his money to buy something for River. They'd been on Serenity for months, but he'd yet to buy her anything outside of medication. Even her clothes were all hand-me-downs from Kaylee and Inara, or thrift store finds from the Rim.

"Thank you, Jayne," he murmured, turning towards the door.

"Huh?" the big man asked.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing." Simon started to leave, then paused and waved a hand at the rack. "Happy hunting."

Jayne watched him go, mumbling to himself about some thing. "Crazy as his loony sister," the mercenary muttered, turning back to the display.

River was floating.

There was air beneath her feet, and her arms were held out to either side as she flew. Laughing with delight, she tried a pirouette in mid-air. Her hair whipped around her and she laughed again. "I'm flying!" she exclaimed.
From his position on the other side of the fence from the trampoline, Wash laughed. "Great, isn't it?" he called up to her. "Try a somersault!"

She did, squealing with delight at the sensation of weightlessness. Up in the sky, she was free as a bird. There were no restrictions or ties to bind her. She could fly.

"Okay, kiddo, time to go!" Wash sounded reluctant to make her stop, but River understood. They had paid for five minutes on the trampoline and it was already nearing six. The operator of the game needed to attend to the economics of the situation.

Executing a perfect backward somersault in the pike position, River landed on her hands on the soft mat that surrounded the trampoline, did an elegant back flip to right herself, and came to a standstill directly in front of Wash, eyes shining with excitement. "I understand now!" she exclaimed.

Wash laughed. "That was quite the dismount, River," he said appreciatively, helping her through the gate as the next person in line for the ride went through the turnstile. "Understand what?"

"Why it is you love the sky!"

Wash grinned. "Well, go on and tell me then. But first, let me buy us sugar. I think we need sugar."

River beamed, tagging along after him as he led her to a refreshment stand. A minute later, they were both wandering through the little carnival carrying sticky cotton candy.

"It is substantial, but melts quickly on the tongue," River observed as she nibbled on the spun sugar treat.

"Therein lies the wonder," Wash explained. "Because you can eat and eat and eat the stuff, but you never get full." He took a big mouthful and munched happily.

"Bad for the teeth."

"I won't tell if you don't."

River giggled. "You are a Fool," she told him.

Wash gave her a mildly affronted look. "Well, you're a princess," he teased.

River rolled her eyes. "Fool, with a capital F. A court jester, portrayed as silly and imbecilic, but in truth a wise counselor to kings." She tore off a chunk of cotton candy with her fingers, stuffing it in her mouth.

"I think Mal would probably have a mild coronary at the notion of me as a wise counselor. No, I kid. A major coronary."

"It's why you love the sky," River continued, bouncing along on the balls of her feet. Her toes wanted to dance, but she knew it would be poor form to do high kicks in the middle of the thoroughfare.

"Yes, you never did finish that thought," he observed. "Tell on."

"In the sky you're free," she answered. "You're able to do all and everything: to be the Fool and the Wise Man. You cross interplanetary distance. You scare cows. You marry Amazon women. You wear loud shirts."

"Which is partially responsible for the scaring of the cows."

River giggled, then sighed. "It must be nice, to have no boundaries," she murmured dreamily, staring at the remnants of her cotton candy. She'd eaten it in a neat spiral, so it now resembled a cotton candy candy-cane.

"That's what flying does for you," Wash agreed with a contented nod.

"Mm." River answered wistfully. Then, softly, "All wrapped up in red tape." Giving him a small, hopeless smile, she added, "I do not even have the freedom of flight."

Wash looked like he wasn't sure how to answer that. Then his familiar smile was back. "Mind you, I wouldn't say there are no boundaries when it comes to flying," he informed her. "I mean, there's this whole drama about the pony for one thing."

River giggled. He was trying to make her feel better, in a self-deprecating kind of way, and she decided to let him. She was having too much fun to be morose. "Captain does not allow animals on board," she reminded him.

The pilot snorted. "Then he should get rid of Jayne."

River laughed, then movement to the left caught her eye. Turning eagerly in his direction, she asked, "May we go on the bumper cars? Please?"

"Depends," Wash said appraisingly.

"On what?"

"On if you're prepared to be waxed mightily, little girl!" Laughing evilly, Wash swept off towards the bumper cars.

Grinning ear to ear, River scampered after him.

Zoe and Book spent their time in the galley, taking stock of what little they had and making a list of what they needed.

As they worked, Book's mind wandered back to the face in the crowd. Was it Hodges? If it was, what was he doing so far out in the black? The thoughts swirled and percolated in his mind. The one thing he knew was that it worried him too much to simply do nothing about it.

Once they finished, Book excused himself to his quarters. As he was pacing - thinking - he heard a low beeping. It took him a few minutes to find the source: Dobson's com-link. His gut clenched as he removed it from behind the panel in his room, where he had hidden it the day Hodges had died. Flipping up the small screen, he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and punched in his old codes, accessing the video messages log.

Hodges had left him a message. That had been the source of the beeping.
When Hodges face appeared on the small screen, Book closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for forgiveness. Hodges was waiting to hear from Book - except not Book, he was waiting to hear from the man Book had once been. Hodges was on Muir for some thing unrelated and he wanted Book to convince the crew to go to him.

"Shouldn't be a hard task for you, seeing you've got their trust and all. You get them here and contact me. I'll take care of the rest." Hodges' grinned, looking more like the devil than he had seven years ago.

After listening to the message twice, he went backwards through the log and played the only other message saved - one that had been recorded when the crew had been ill from the effects of food poisoning.

"Dear God, what have I done?" he whispered, sitting heavily on his bed as his legs gave out from under him.

He had contacted Hodges - had conversed with him and plotted with him - had turned on his friends. Had repudiated the man he had worked so hard to become in the Abbey. With shaking hands, he replayed the video log, watching in horror as he realized what he had done, before making his way shakily to the small sink in his room and vomiting.

He knew whatever he had unleashed, he had to contain it. He had to protect River, the Tams, and the crew at all costs. What the Alliance had done to River was unforgivable - unredeemable - and he could not be a part of furthering their crimes.

He replayed Hodges' message with a clearer, sharpened mind, before punching in a message and sending it. Then, he packed a few things and went to find Zoe.

He found her in the cargo hold. "Do you think Mal will mind if I borrow the other shuttle for the day to meet up with someone I haven't seen in a few years? I got a wave." He was careful in his word choice to never use the word friend - a Shepherd didn't lie. He knew Zoe would assume he'd gone to see a friend, or a member of his order.

"Suspect it'll be fine. We ain't going nowhere for a day or two." Zoe nodded, cautiously. "Everything all right?"

"You'll hear from me tonight," Book replied curtly, before turning away and heading for the shuttle. Zoe watched his retreating back with a small frown. He hadn't answered her question.

Not much later Jayne returned with some new toys and lots of ammunition, so Book and her worry for him slipped to the back of her mind. Jayne headed back out as soon as the ammunition was stored.

When Mal returned some time later with the new Thoroughbred, Zoe let him know Shepherd was gone for the day. "Don't know where he went, sir. Didn't say much other than wantin’ to visit a friend. Must've been mighty important for him to take off like he did. Left me worryin’ a bit. Something ain’t settlin’ right with me, way he left and all. Ain’t sure what, but was furtive, sir. More so than usual."

"What's important to a preacher 'cept heaven and hell?" Mal puzzled.

"Life and death, sir." Zoe’s response was fast and easy.

The information about the Shepherd leaving with the spare shuttle worried Mal enough that he forgot to explain to Zoe that he’d indulged and bought a Thoroughbred instead of another Mule, but he wasn’t distracted enough to stop from taking his new toy for a much longer joy ride.

Mal was feeling on top of the world: he was out riding after stopping to show off his purchase to Zoe. His crew was keeping out of trouble (to the best of his knowledge), his belly was full (though he could do with a little more), he still had a heap of coin sitting in a smuggling cubby in the cargo hold (and he was going to think good and hard on how best to spend it), and so far not a damn thing had gone wrong to prove Inara right. He didn't know why, but he was uncomfortably aware that he was waiting for her premonitions to come true and to have something go wrong. She was right, after all: whenever things started going good, something big and bad usually swept in to turn it ass over tea kettle. It was just a bit too much to believe that this haul was going to turn out to be all honeysuckle and roses.

He wasn't going to dwell on that. Right now, he was going to sit back and enjoy the smooth ride of the hovering machine beneath him. If the Shepherd was right and there was a place called heaven somewhere in the big open, then Mal's personal corner of it was going to be the size and shape of the Thoroughbred. It’s metal parts gleamed like a new penny, not a nick in the paint or ding in the fenders. He'd bought one in a nice mint green, and it was eye-catching and shiny as he idled along the vehicular thoroughfare.

Catching sight of a familiar figure bobbing along the fringes of the pedestrian walkway that ran parallel to the road, he pulled over to the side and called out, "Jayne!"

The big man stopped and looked around a second before catching sight of him. "You bought a new Mule?" the mercenary observed, wandering up and raking an appraising eye over the vehicle.

"Uh-uh, this ain't the Mule," Mal corrected. "This here's the Thoroughbred. Keep it straight, else she's liable to throw you."

Jayne snorted. "Why'd you get it in that pansy ass green color?"

Mal glared at him. "That happens to be mint green, thank you very much, and I got it ‘cause I wanted to. My money, my Thoroughbred." Noticing the bags in Jayne's hand, Mal arched an eyebrow. "Takin' up knitting, Jayne?"

The mercenary scowled at him. "They're for my mother," he snapped.

"‘Course they are."

"Malcolm Reynolds?"

The new voice was unexpected. For a second, Mal and Jayne blinked at each other. "Uh... you just say that?" Mal asked the mercenary.

"Naw. You?"

"Now why in hell would I say my own name, Jayne?"

"I dunno. Why d'ya do any o'the go se you do?"

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew both men's attention to the back of the Thoroughbred.

A young man stood there. He had sandy blond hair and blue eyes, set in a round, youthful face. "I'm guessing you're Malcolm Reynolds," he said.

"And who would you be?" Mal asked, not ready to give anything away just yet.

"An interested party," the man said.

"Interested in what?" Mal asked suspiciously.

"Property," the newcomer answered. "Namely, my employer's."

"Who's that?" Jayne asked.

"I think what you really need to be asking is, what property?" the man said.
After a moment, he prompted, "Go on, ask. I really want you to ask."

Mal shared a look with Jayne. "All right then," he sighed. "What property?"

The young man grinned, slapping a hand on the side of the Thoroughbred.
"This."

Continue to part four