"Where'd the girl go?" Maura asked suddenly, startling Inara.

"River? I'm not sure," she replied, resuming her task. Maura had decided Inara's hands were too smooth to have ever washed dishes, so she had been given the task of putting away leftovers.

"She wander off much?" Maura demanded. Inara looked at the young woman. She knew from Kaylee's stories that Mauralan was older than the mechanic by five years, but looking at the stressed woman before her, Inara could have been convinced she was more than thirty.

"Don't that bother you?" Maura went on. She washed dishes aggressively, as if scrubbing the stains would scrub away the anger she seemed to carry on her shoulders.

"She always returns," Inara answered calmly. "She's not as helpless as one might think to look at her."

"Hmph," the woman sniffed, imitating her mother frighteningly well. "Looks like a cross breeze might send her flyin'. No wonder with Kaywinnit's cookin' to sustain her. That child refused any kinda help we offered her in the kitchen. She figured she could take apart an engine block and reassemble it in her sleep, putting some ingredients together to make a meal wouldn't trouble her. I can tell you, though, it did. Never did learn how to bake a proper cake."

"Kaylee?" Inara asked, thinking of the miracles that had come from the girl's protein experiments. "She does a fine cake. Chocolate is her specialty, of course, but--"

"Bet it's lopsided, just as it was then, too," Maura interrupted hotly. Another dish succumbed to her will and released the last of its uncleanliness. It clanged as she stacked it to dry. She picked up the next dish.

"She mentioned your pies have won awards," Inara tried changing the subject. It didn't work.

"She jus' comes breezin' back in here," Maura muttered. "With her fancy husband and boastin' with those far-fetched tales 'bout fancy heroics and seein' Reavers up close and survivin' to tell and still can't bake a proper cake. Chocolate, hmm? Bet it ain't even Devil's chocolate or tri