“I can’t do this!” There was a crash.

“Sweetie?” Inara was passing by Mal and Freya’s bunk but hurried down the ladder instead. “Are you all right?”

Freya was lying in bed, a pillow over her face. On the floor was a china bowl in fragments, mixed with the remains of the rice they’d had for dinner. “Go away,” she said, her voice muffled.

Inara bent down to collect the broken pieces. “What happened? Did it leap up and attack you?”

Freya threw the pillow at her but missed. “Three weeks. Twenty-two days I've been here, being good, not leaving, not even going for a shower.” She stopped and sniffed under her arm. “Do I smell?”

“No,” Inara assured her.

“Good. I mean, Mal’s sponged me down and everything, although we do tend to get sweaty again after … but I want to get wet properly. All over.” She closed her eyes. “I’d sell Mal for a bath.”

“Really?”

Freya paused. “Well, maybe Jayne.”

“If it was per kilo you’d certainly get more.” Inara put the broken bowl on the table and stepped delicately over the spilled food. “Getting a little cabin fever?”

“Little?” She stared at the Companion. “Little?”

“You’d better lower your voice before Simon comes in and sedates you.”

“It’s his fault!”

“I thought Mal was the father.”

Freya raised an eyebrow at her friend‘s dry tone. “I meant it’s his fault the food’s all over the floor. He brought me something to eat and then decided, at the same time, to tell me I can’t come to his wedding!”

“Why?” Inara sat down and took her hand.

“Because the four weeks aren’t up yet and he doesn’t think it would be good for me.” She lay back, staring into the superstructure. “ Good for me.” She shook her head. “Does he think this is good for me?”

“Calm down, mei-mei ,” Inara urged. “Take a deep breath and try using some of that control you learned.”

“Inara –“

“Just do it.”

Freya did as she was told, taking a breath in and holding it, imagining all the tension being absorbed by it, going from clear