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"If you get a weird feelin', just get out of there." Mal didn't look up from the gun he was cleaning, but Inara could hear the concern in his voice, and resented it.
"He's a perfectly reputable client with no black marks in the registry." The I can take care of myself was, she hoped, understood.
"And he's crazy as a shithouse rat. Leastaways, that's what I hear."
"You've been making inquiries on my behalf?" She wavered between being annoyed and touched.
Mal shrugged, fiddling with the cap for the small bottle of oil. "Not like there's anything else to do on this tumbleweed of a moon."
Inara was torn, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her. "What did you hear?"
"Leitão was Alliance during the war," Mal said, a sour look crossing his face. "Afterwards, he made his fortune in casinos. Not owning 'em – gambling in 'em. Some kinda pai gow genius, I guess. Finally enough joints decided he must be cheating some way they were too slow to figger out and banned him, but he'd already made more'n enough to retire on. That was round 'bout a year back. Why he came out here's beyond me, 'cept no one's likely to get in his hair out in the middle of nowhere."
He wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. "The Guild registry is quite comprehensive concerning Leitão shian shen's personal background and preferences."
"Preferences like what, whether he likes blondes or brunettes, on top or on their knees...?"
Inara cut him off hastily. "His records date back eighteen years with not a single complaint against him. There was nothing in them about any ...psychological imbalance."
"All right, so maybe he's not gonna make you dress up as his mommy and spank him. Maybe. All I'm sayin' is, folks 'round here keep shy of his place, and he don't socialize with them either. They say he ain't right in the head."
She resisted the urge to tell him that clients did not make Companions do anything, but that she would gladly spank anyone who asked for it. Mal, for one, was asking for it right now, testing her, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of letting it bother her. Or of letting him see that it bothered her, if she couldn't manage the first.
The truth was, though, there had been something slightly unsettling about Evariste Leitão's message. Nothing in the content itself had been amiss – he had been perfectly polite, respectful, hopeful but not desperate. True, he was offering a higher sum than she would normally have been able to command – much higher – but it was rare for registered Companions to pass by such an isolated world, and perhaps he merely hoped to entice her into staying longer.
Staying longer was precisely the problem. Serenity was running on empty, or just about, and leaving without filling her up would land them sitting in the black like ducks. The thing was, fuel wasn't free, and they hadn't had a paying job in what seemed like forever. Mal kept saying something would come along, but it had been two weeks so far, and nothing had. Wash was starting to joke about getting a job tending bar at the local saloon, though when he'd gotten to the part about how Zoe could be the dancer, his wife's arched brow had quite eloquently told him where he could shove that idea. Kaylee was trying to decide which parts of Serenity they might be able to sell and still fly away, and Jayne was making noises about whether they might be able to steal enough fuel to make it to Persephone, but nobody wanted a run-in with the law at this particular juncture, not without the certain ability to make a hasty getaway afterwards.
Leitão's formal request for Inara's services had come shortly after their landing, but she had delayed her response. There had been something that bothered her about him, some niggling doubt – a slightly too-bright smile, perhaps, or the way his tongue darted out to moisten fleshy lips. Maybe the man just didn't blink quite often enough. In better days she wouldn't have thought twice before listening to her gut and deleting his wave. But the amount he was offering would be enough to fill Serenity's tank twice over.
"It makes sense," she told Mal firmly.
The captain remained obstinate. "Ain't in our deal that you should subsidize Serenity's fuel. You pay your rent on the shuttle, we're square."
"What good does it do me to pay my rent if we can't get off this world?"
"Work'll come. It always does."
"This is work!" Inara snapped, more angrily than she'd intended. Mal had a way of getting around her defenses, making her lose her temper. She took a deep breath, calming herself. "It's a one-time offer. You can consider it an advance on my rent if it makes you feel better. It's in everyone's best interest. I promise I won't make a habit of helping you," she added before she could stop herself. Perhaps she hadn't regained her composure quite as thoroughly as she thought she had.
"Just speakin' hypothetically, if I said I thought it was too risky and ordered you not to go, what would you do?"
Inara frowned and bit back the urge to immediately announce she would go anyway and flounce off in a huff. It would be juvenile in the extreme to take a job just to spite Mal. "Hypothetically, I would tell you that I can take care of myself, and point out that you are in no position to give me orders. I am not one of your crew, Malcolm Reynolds."
To his credit, Mal nodded, looking just a little shamefaced. "Look, maybe we could come to some sorta compromise here. You get the cash, I get some peace of mind, everyone ends up happy."
"Do you have a suggestion, then?"
***
"It ain't usual," Jayne protested, plucking at his too-tight collar. "Companions don't travel with servants or bodyguards or whatever."
"What do you know from Companions?" Mal muttered to the mercenary, resisting the urge to meddle with his own unaccustomed livery. "Ain't like you could ever afford one."
"Hey, I been flush once or twice in my life. Besides, I seen vids," Jayne replied with a sniff. "And I say he'll kick us out on our asses."
"Not if he wants Inara he won't..."
"Could you two possibly stop chattering and pull?" Inara said from her perch in the rented rickshaw's seat. "Honestly, it's so hard to find good help these days."
Leitão's house was on a hill just at the edge of town, and for a time conversation took a backseat to the effort of hauling the Companion up the steep, dusty road. The approach gave Mal plenty of time to regret his plan, but there wasn't any turning back now. Finally they drew onto the more-or-less level drive lined with sycamores that curved up to the house – almost a mansion, in truth, at least compared to the clapboard shacks most folks here lived in. Although this was a dry world, Leitão had a fair garden around his house, not just desert plants either, but thin-leaved sweet-smelling things that probably soaked up water like sponges. It was ostentatious, wasteful, and probably didn't endear him to the locals overmuch, but it sure was pretty.
A manservant, having evidently observed their approach, was waiting at the door to admit Inara with much bowing and courtesy, but Mal and Jayne got no more than a curt jab of the chin to indicate where they could station the cart before the door shut. Mal wondered anxiously if Jayne had been right for once, but Inara must have said something to the fellow, because he soon re-emerged.
"Dona Inara has requested that you be provided with refreshment while you await her return," the thin-faced man said, looking at them as though they were stinking up the place (which, come to think of it, they probably were, having just hauled a rickshaw up a big gorram hill).
"Thanks kindly," said Mal, and nudged Jayne, belatedly, to do the same. The butler escorted them up the stairs and into the front hall. There were no guards, but he would've bet anything the place was wired tight for safety. Sure enough, a subtle but sensitive security scanner pinged at their weapons, and with a snooty look the guy in the monkey suit held out a lacquered tray for them to lay their guns on. Mal resisted the urge to shuffle and gawk like a tourist, but the place was grand, at least for a dustball of a world on the Border. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, elegant ink brushwork decorated the walls, and the pale wood floor was polished to a high gloss. Self-conscious, Mal wiped his feet on the little mat by the door and followed the butler, who seemed in a hurry to get them out of the way.
Passing by the open door to a fancy little parlour, Mal heard Inara's voice, her laugh, and turned his head toward it involuntarily, like a compass swinging to north. She was standing with her client, her face open and cheerful as she leaned on his arm. Leitão was shorter than her, with the girth of a man who didn't have to work, or even walk overmuch. Not the build of a former soldier, even one going on a decade out of the field. Mal pegged him on sight as the quartermaster-type, some sort of petty officer with a tight fist and a nose for a bribe. Mustache, greased-down glossy hair, flapping lips. If Mal hadn't already hated him, he would have hated him instantly.
He must have stared a minute too long, eavesdropping on their conversation without really wanting to (Inara was saying how peaceful it was here, Leitão was agreeing, saying that was just why he'd bought the place...) The butler cleared his throat in an effort to move them along. Leitão, hearing the noise, turned his head to see what the problem was. Seeing a pair of dusty servants cluttering up his hall, he frowned and crossed to the door, scrutinizing them with a frown on his heavy-jowled face.
"Raul, take those to the kitchen," he not-quite-growled.
The servant all but abased himself. "Immediately, o senhor. You!" he snapped, turning on the two laggards, "follow me!"
"Oh, and Raul? Make sure they get some of the xarope de figa to drink, after you've brought some up for my guest of course," Leitão added in a more contemplative tone.
The servant hesitated only an instant, but Mal noticed the pause nevertheless. "Of course, o senhor."
The door closed, and Jayne and Mal followed their guide to the gleaming kitchen, where they were instructed to sit on a bench just inside the door. The strong overtone of "and don't touch anything!" was clear. The servant – Raul, apparently – retrieved a pitcher of pale green liquid from cold storage and departed with a final sniff of disdain. A small and obviously expensive housecleaning robot whirred softly about the floor, seeking out any miniscule crumbs or dust and targeting them for destruction.
When they were alone, Jayne spoke. "This Leitão guy, he looks sorta familiar. Can't place him, though."
Mal frowned. Jayne usually only remembered people who'd double-crossed him in the past, but he couldn't figure how Leitão was likely to fit that profile. "Did you screw him over?"
Jayne's brow furrowed as he thought. "Not so's I remember. The list is pretty long, though."
Mal sighed. "What's xarope de figa, that's what I wanna know."
"Fig somethin' or other, I guess. Fig juice? Sounds like it'd give you the trots. That ain't real romantic."
"Delightful. It must be pricey, since Mister Raul there seems to think it ain't suitable for the likes of us."
Jayne shrugged. "Drink extra, then. Get our money's worth out of this chwen set-up." He leaned back against the tiled wall, kicking his booted feet out in front of him. "Wish they hadn't confiscated the guns, but I guess it's to be expected, goin' in the front door and all. I never go in the front door if I can help it. Anyway," he added, "I'm pretty sure we can take 'em both bare-handed if Inara calls for us."
"Ain't gonna be bare handed, if it comes to that," Mal muttered, but the approaching footsteps silenced them both. Raul returned, giving them a look that suggested he was surprised they hadn't turned the place into a pigsty in the three minutes he'd been gone.
"Thirsty work, pulling a rickshaw," he said, going for the cold storage again. "The master has generously offered you some of the xarope de figa to drink. I certainly hope you appreciate it." He poured them each a tall glass of the greenish liquid. Mal sniffed his, naturally cautious. There was a vaguely herbal scent beneath a layer of honeyed sweetness.
"What is it?" Mal asked, hoping he didn't sound too rude or uncultured. Not that being rude and uncultured was necessarily a bad thing, but he didn't feel the need to give this puffed-up little man anything else to lord over him.
"The base is boiled fig leaves," Raul said smoothly. "I make it myself – it's quite time-consuming."
Jayne had already taken a hearty swallow. "Tasty," he said. "Good for the digestion, I bet. Loosens things up?"
"Ah, yes. It is... quite healthful."
Mal sighed and drank his share down. It was tasty, miles better'n the recycled water you got onboard ship, or even on the dry worlds outside the Core. Raul was busying himself in tidying up a counter that was already more or less spotless, and Mal couldn't help feeling like they were being surreptitiously supervised. Like they might steal the silver if they weren't watched. Which, to be fair, in Jayne's case was probably a valid concern. The big man was already restless, and if Mal knew anything about Companions (he'd seen the vids too in his younger days), it was likely they'd be here for quite a few hours to come. He pulled a deck of cards from his breast pocket, stashed there for just such an eventuality, and started to shuffle. "Hey Raul, want I should deal you in?" Maybe he could lift a few credits from the snooty butler – that would make the time pass quicker.
Raul looked over, surprised. "No, that's quite all right." He flicked the cloth in his hand at an invisible speck of dust on the credenza. "My duties don't permit me such leisure at present."
"Suit yourself," he said, and dealt a hand to Jayne. "You got an eight?"
"Go fish," the mercenary said with a grin. Odd to say, especially for a man in his line of work, Jayne hadn't known any card games when he'd joined up with Mal's crew. Zoe'd tried to teach him some of her mighty repertoire, but most of them hadn't stuck too well. "You got any of... the little guy with the funny hat..."
Mal arched an eyebrow. "Kings?"
"Th'other one." Jayne looked more confused than usual. "This is the ship that Jack built. This is the pulse drive that powered the ship that Jack built..."
"Jayne, you been at the still?" Mal asked, bewildered. He glanced down at the cards in his hands and found them blurry, wavering before his eyes. "Wong ba duhn," he heard himself say, as if from a great distance. And that bastard Raul was just standing there watching them, and now Jayne seemed to have passed out. Mal tried to get to his feet, but staggered and fell, fingers scrabbling at the cold tiled floor.
***
"Good evening. I hope you rested well." The voice was unctuous, solicitous, and completely at odds with the restraints that were holding him against the (ivy-covered?) wall. With effort, Mal raised his head, but getting his eyes to focus was a harder task. They were in a garden, maybe a greenhouse – he could hear the soft trickle of water, the rustle of leaves, see shades of green overhead. He could barely make out blurs shaped like Jayne and Inara over to his left, similarly immobile, but he couldn't see Leitão, just hear him. I knew this guy was a sicko, was the first coherent thought that he managed to form.
"I wish I could make you more comfortable, so that you could better enjoy the surroundings," Leitão continued, "but this will have to do for now. Until the Feds arrive, that is." He sounded like he was smiling, and Mal had the sense that he was in the room there with them, not speaking to them over an intercom. He could hear the man breathing, gorram it, but the lights were too bright in the direction the sound was coming from for him to see. Somewhere beside him, Inara groaned softly, and Jayne struggled against his restraints, to no avail.
"I don't suppose you remember me," their captor said evenly. "Why would you?" Shit, Mal thought, trying to rack his muddled memories. Had they dealt with this guy in the past? Was this someone he'd encountered during the war, maybe, harbouring a long-nursed grudge? Zoe, you can figure out something's gone haywire and come in guns ablazin' any time you like.
"Five years back," the disembodied voice prompted. "A private pai gow game in New Dunsmuir, at the home of... it doesn't matter. You've robbed so many people, you probably can't keep track of them all."
This wasn't ringing any bells for Mal, but apparently it did for Jayne, who'd stopped struggling. His voice still slurred, but he was coherent enough. "I remember that job sure enough, that was a sweet haul. I bet after that night, your pal there bothered to spring for licensed security guards, am I right?"
A sharp intake of breath from Leitão, and Mal privately cursed Jayne. Try and remember the gorram people you've robbed, he mentally lectured the man. He'd have strong words for him if – when – they finally got out of this, but for now he kept his peace.
"Evariste," Inara said slowly, "it doesn't have to be like this..."
"You're right, it doesn't. We could strike a deal, mayhaps. You stay here with me, and I'll let your ruffian friends leave unharmed. They might even make it offworld before the Feds get here, if they're lucky."
Inara sighed. "You can't imagine the Guild would let you get away with holding me here against my will." Privately, Mal had no idea what the Guild would be able to do about it from this distance, but maybe they had resources he didn't know about.
"What a registered Companion is doing travelling with thugs like these, I can't even begin to guess," Leitão continued as if she hadn't spoken. "But then, maybe you won't be a registered Companion for much longer, eh?"
Mal could easily picture the look on Inara's face – he'd seen it directed at himself often enough. "What are you talking about?" she said dismissively, but he could hear a hint of worry under her confident words.
"You must have had a good reason to leave. Why don't you tell me about it?" he said, deceptively calm.
Mal expected nothing but stony silence from Inara – she'd never seemed inclined to open up about her reasons for leaving Sihnon, and he wasn't the prying type. He was shocked when she started to speak, still slow and slurred, but clear enough that they could all hear her. "I had a client..."
Leitão seemed to move in closer – Mal could hear the shuffle of his feet. "His name?"
"Why should it matter...?" Her breath seemed to be coming harder now, as if she was in pain. "Piet... Pieter Vandiver," she gasped, as if the words were being sucked out of her.
Mal didn't know the name, but Leitão sure did. "The Trade Minister."
"J-just a junior bureaucrat at the Trade Commission when we met. He was so kind... treated me like an equal, not just a w... warm body. We would talk for hours..."
"You fell in love," Leitão guessed, and Mal knew with a sinking heart that he must be right.
"It's not supposed to happen," Inara mumbled. "He asked me to come with him to Londinium when he was elected to Parliament. The Guild... strongly suggested I refuse. They could tell what was happening, I suppose. They said I'd be High Priestess before too long if I stayed..."
Leitão gave a sympathetic murmur. "And so you did as you were told, but after he was gone you found you couldn't stomach sitting there and following their orders any longer. So you left. Did you follow him?"
"Yes," said Inara, almost too softly to be heard. "I didn't tell the Guild where I was going at first. But when I arrived on Londinium, I learned that he... he'd already found a new Companion there. So I l-left again, once and for all."
Mal risked a glance in her direction, just long enough to see that her cheeks were gleaming wet. He couldn't imagine a 'verse in which Inara would just spill her secrets and her tears like this, least not without torture. There must've been something more than just knock-out drops in that drink, he decided. Some sort of tongue-loosener, maybe, or brain-softener.
Leitão tsked softly. "A very sad tale. So perhaps you would not be so averse to leaving the Guild after all..."
Inara drew her head up proud. "The Guild is my family. I may disagree with them, hate them, wish to be a million miles away from them, but I could no more abandon them than I could cut off my own arm."
"We'll see about that," Leitão said, turning his attention to Jayne. "Mister... Cobb, is it not?" Jayne muttered something that sounded like a curse. "I'll take that as a yes," said Leitão. "What did you do before you were a thief?"
Jayne launched a glistening gob of spit onto the floor, but he talked anyway. "Dug peat, same's everyone back home. Hated the damn stuff. Gets under your nails, into your skin, into your lungs... I was two years off Lindow 'fore I ever felt clean."
"Ah, Lindow. A very... pious world, from anything I've heard. No drinking, no dancing... It couldn't have been much fun for a young man like yourself."
"There was drinkin', least if you knew where to find it."
"There always is. But that wasn't the real reason you left, was it? Don't tell me. Let me guess. There was a girl... a pretty girl, with orange ribbons in her long brown hair..."
Mal wondered where in the hell Leitão had come up with that one. Best he could figure was maybe Jayne had a picture he carried on him somewhere, and the guay toh guay nown had found it when he'd searched their unconscious bodies.
"Wasn't like that. Not what you think. Over the water and over the sea and over the water to Charley," Jayne half-sang, half-mumbled.
"Who is she, then?" Leitão sounded as though he was growing impatient.
"M'sister. Two years older'n me. Or, she was. Dead now."
There was a long pause before Leitão said breathlessly, "You killed her."
"Didn't," Jayne protested, his voice low and strained. "Just... didn't save her. This is the Reaver, tattered and torn, that ate the maiden all forlorn... We hid. I hid better'n she did, I guess. I saw, after, what they did to her. Opened her smile up to her ears... Shoulda been able to stop 'em, gorram it. Mama buried her in the bog, and I'd dream of her there in the dark, moss filling up her too-wide mouth, peat-water tanning her hide black..."
"You still have those dreams, don't you." It wasn't a question.
"Shut up!" Jayne shouted. "You got no business dosin' a man up and pryin' into his brainpan like that!"
"Actually," Leitão said, "that was my business. For a time." And Mal knew then just what type of man they were dealing with. This man was nothing so simple as a quartermaster during the war. He'd been Alliance Intelligence, sure as anything. Mal sincerely hoped he'd get the chance to kill him before they left. If they left.
Leitão continued. "I could ask you about other people you've robbed. I could make you tell me their names and everything you took from them. It would make a pretty gift to give to the Feds, wouldn't it."
"Chwee ni duh," Jayne spat. "You go ahead and try – I never knew half their names. Didn't know yours, did I?"
"Still, I suspect that, given time, we could compile a list substantial enough to put you away for a few decades. Hard labour doesn't appeal to you much, does it? Breaking your back, and not even the satisfaction of a pile of peat to warm your croft at night when you're done." Leitão laughed, a mean little chortle. "It's too bad I don't have the time to drag it out of you right now. It would be a pleasure. But I think I ought to find out a thing or two about your other friend here before you have to leave..."
Mal had dreaded the moment when their captor would turn his attention to him. He'd heard the others spill stories they wouldn't have told willing in a million years, and he'd been steeling himself to keep the same thing from happening to him. He wasn't going to let the drugs loosen his lips if he had any say in the matter. The only problem was, he wasn't sure he did.
"Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds," the little bastard said, savouring the words. "Can I call you Mal?"
"You can call me Kiss-me Kate if you want, doesn't matter one whit to me."
Leitão stepped closer. Mal could see his silhouette at the edge of the brilliant light. "Do you want to do this the hard way, sergeant?" He drew out the last word into an insult.
"Whatever's hardest for you suits me fine."
"Tell me a little bit about yourself." His voice wasn't smooth and oily anymore, it was hard and cold. "Where you grew up."
Mal felt as though someone was rifling through his memories, jiggling the locks on all the doors he'd shut long ago, testing to see which one was loose enough to spring free. "Grew up on Shadow," he heard himself saying, despite his best efforts. "Granddaddy had a ranch. Cattle, mainly, some horses." He tried to keep talking about the ranch as long as he could. The ranch was safe, mostly. "Big fields of golden wheat or prairie grass every direction you looked, blue sky 'til forever. Worked hard from sunup to sunset every day but for Sunday..." That was starting to stray into dangerous territory, so he tried to turn back. "Everything passed to Ma after the... the accident." That was no better, maybe even worse, but he couldn't seem to stop so much as just veer to one side a bit. "Woulda gone to me, too, one day, 'cept..."
"The war."
Leitão insinuated the words so softly it felt like Mal's own thought. He nodded, hung his head. "I was gone from there, joined up early. Just about everyone did who was fit to shoulder a rifle."
"And some who weren't."
Sweat broke out on Mal's brow. "Ain't. Talkin'. 'Bout. That," he said through teeth gritted so tight he wondered if they'd shatter before his mind did.
"Better she was in the army than staying home on Shadow, though, wasn't it. At least in the army she had a fighting chance."
"She never had a chance, not at a bloodbath like Sturges!" Mal blurted, not stopping to wonder how Leitão had guessed so right. "Lina was dead before she fired a shot! Her clip was still f-full..." He paused, gasping for breath, throat closing around tears long unshed.
"Mmm. I saw Shadow, afterwards. Only from orbit, mind you, but it was enough to see what it had become. A dead, black rock. Nothing survived there, Reynolds. Not even a single blade of that golden wheat."
That was better - the anger cleared his head, at least a little. "I know," Mal whispered, squinting into the light, hoping he was looking Leitão square in the eye. "Your top brass figured they'd teach us a lesson. How'd that turn out for you?"
"The more pressing question is, how did it turn out for you? I see your ship is called Serenity – some part of you never left that battlefield, did it."
"Yeah, I left a thing or two behind there, I ain't ashamed to say so. Others left a whole lot more'n I did."
The soft swish of a door opening saved Mal from whatever question might have been coming next. Raul spoke quietly to his master. "O senhor, there is... company."
Leitão didn't swear, but he gave a frustrated little snort. "My presence is required, I take it. Where are the Feds? They should be here by now."
"I do not know." Raul sounded nervous. "They say if you do not come out with their comrades, they will... come in and retrieve them themselves."
"Actually," said a familiar drawl, "we got tired of waiting already. Mama always said I was too gorram impatient."
Leitão did curse then, and Mal's heart soared. Good ole dependable Zoe. He tried not to think about how, even if they busted out of here, they couldn't fly away. He tried not to think about how he'd look Inara in the eye tomorrow.
"Don't think about moving for that button," Zoe continued calmly, "or you'll have a crater in that flabby chest of yours. Doc, you and your sister get 'em untied." Simon and River moved into the spotlight and began working on removing the restraints that held each of them.
"You are fools if you believe you can escape," Leitão said to anyone who might be listening. "The Alliance will be on your tail before you can break atmo."
River, who was just bending to free Mal's legs, straightened up like a ramrod. "Captain Leitão," she snapped, military-sharp. The portly little man jumped to attention by long-drilled instinct. "When you make your report to the Feds," she continued, "are you planning to include that little piece of information you've hidden from them all this time?"
"I have no idea what you could mean." But he was sweating now, Mal could see it.
"You think they'd have let you retire out here if they knew you were a Reader? They don't let people who can peel a mind like a grape out of their clutches so easily. They'll have you back in Spec Ops before you can say a Hail Mary, and they won't let you out this time until you're brainfried or dead, whichever comes first. Don't worry, though," she added, mimicking his soothing tones, "at least they'll protect you from the Syndicate and the tongs and all those angry casino owners."
Leitão's face had gone a pale, sickly shade. "Get out," he managed to whisper. "Get out of here."
Much as Mal wanted to murder the bastard, he knew there was a better (if less satisfying) way out of this situation. "You give us the means to fuel up, we'll be out of your hair in no time."
Leitão nodded vigorously. "I'll pay the price we agreed on." Inara arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Double!" he pleaded.
"That and a black mark in the registry," Inara said sternly, smoothing her rumbled gown.
"Fine, I'll transfer the credits, just get out before they get here!" He was half-panicked now, hands shaking like leaves. River gave him another glare, and he shrank away from her as if she was a demon out of hell.
Zoe kept her hogleg trained on his chest as the others exited the room, just as a precaution, but it seemed he was inclined to let them go without trouble. "When your check-in didn't come in like it was scheduled, I figured something must've gone wrong," she said as they walked out the front door.
"What check-in?" said Mal, over Inara's thanks. He turned to the Companion in surprise. "You set up a check-in with Zoe and you didn't think to tell me?"
"I didn't want you thinking you'd won," she said with a hint of a smile that made her beautiful despite her disheveled hair and gown. "Listen. About what you – we said in there..."
"Who said anything? I didn't hear a word," said Mal evenly, keeping his eyes ahead of him. "You, Jayne?"
"Nothin'."
"Fine," Inara sighed. "Good. Wonderful."
They left the garden, fig leaves clamped firmly in place.