The get-together was to be in an old hanger somewhere on the outskirts of town, and he had started protesting even as the words left old man Bower's lips. "Young Malcolm--" they came slow and measured past whiskers as white as a calf's belly, "you know I can't let you an' your folks leave without joinin' in on our little celebration, now can I?" And he was shaking his head, thinking I ain't so young, and pulling away, claiming bad storms on the horizon, something about a job they were already late for. But Kaylee, grinning like she could see the bows and the pretty in multitude already, beat him to the reply.

"Cap'n never said no to a dance, Mister Bower," she chirped merrily, shooting Mal a look that said there's no gorramn way you're shakin' your head at this. Not today. So Mal shrugged weakly, and accepted the invite.

He trailed in the heavy clomp of Jayne's boots back to the ship, listening to the busy chatter of Kaylee from behind, and thought it a little ironic that in living a life of crime, he should be feeling more nervous of a evening of sociable mixing than the prospect of staring down the shiny barrel of a gun. If he was given the choice, in fact, he might have almost said he'd jump at the latter.

Wash, arm hooked through Zoe's and making Mal presume that particular arrangement a default not in any circumstances to be switched, grinned and eyeballed Mal teasingly. "How are you with your old contra lines, Captain? Now, Zoe here's of the opinion I'm pretty much a three-footed Quasimodo when it comes to the dance floor, but I'm quite determined to turn heads tonight."

Zoe smiled, pressed a kiss to her husband's cheek. "That's right, honey," she said patiently. "You go turn some heads."

"What you're turnin' is my gorramn stomach," Mal said grumpily. "Kaylee...I should've clamped a hand over that mouth of hers, but oh no--she get wind of Bower's damn shindig an' there's our travellin' time cut down a day."

"Oh, sir." Zoe stared at him witheringly. "You'r