Chapter F. Truth

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Characters and world belong to Mr. Whedon and co. Mistakes and follies, my own.

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Kaylee was in her hammock, thinking. Holding Simon’s journal. The red leather was warm from being held in her hands so long. She had been running a finger along the edges, which were turned over and sewn down along the inside cover. She heard Mal clanking down the hallway long before he half-leaned into the room and stuck the book into the folds of the material. Not well hidden, not in plain sight.

“Kaylee?” he called out, leaving the several questions he could have asked dangling.

“Just thinkin’, Cap’n.” she said, turning her head back to see him, popping up over bright stripes.

“’Bout who?” he asked, and did not wait for an answer. “You planning on pinin’ the whole trip?”

“Ain’t pinin’ Cap’n!” she said, sounding shocked. And then arch and prim with: “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” as she turned back to face the engine. But she turned to cover her blush, spoke to cover her guilt.

“Fine, then. Ain’t my business anyway, as... as them that knows are always saying.” Things grew quiet, words fading into the hum of the engine. Before it settled into the restful silence of easy spirits, Mal spoke again: “Hopin’ we’ll make it back to Aramis. For your birthday,” he ventured. “The black ain’t much a place to celebrate.”

“Cap’n,” Kaylee said, truly shocked, “Qi you ci li! Ain’t no place in the ‘verse like Serenity.” Mal smiled at her impulsive pat to the nearest wall. As is reassuring the ship. “’Sides, ain’t where you are, it’s who you’re with.”

“Maybe hittin’ my point, mei-mei.” Mal’s quiet statement shook Kaylee. She was used to coldness and dry wit, to sarcasm and commands. Kind as his line of thought was, he sounded weary. The impression grew, as he continued. “Just ain’t fair, what I wanted to say. You being so clear, and all, and that boy never saying a word. Like a closed book.”

“Cap—” Kaylee’s breath caught, but Mal kept talking.

“By right’s ya outta know wh