The shuttle ride was quiet, with only the sound of Zoë jacking shells into her Winchesters and the noise of the engines breaking the silence, and Mal took full advantage of the break from volume to think things through and sort out his own thoughts. He thought back to the first captain-crewman talks, not just with Steve, but the rest of the crew. Thinking back on Wash’s mustache, Jayne’s readiness to change sides, and the full, drum like sound and sharp crack that his fist made upon colliding with Simon’s face, it brought a hint of a smile to his face. 'Good Times', he thought to himself, 'Who would have thought that punching the Doc could relieve so much stress?' And then there was the matter of what he would do with Steve. The crew only knew half the story, except for Wash, which, like women moving furniture every couple days, was one concept that he just couldn’t wrap his head around. The two were completely different. One was a brilliant pilot, an honest and open soul, the voice of reason on that mad boat. On the other hand, Steve had served in the war with something less than distinction, over 17 accounts of disobeying a direct order, and brawling with his commanding officer on a weakly basis. Then again, you’d have thought that the CO would have eventually figured out that Steve was just not the kind of person that could find humor in someone jumping out at him from behind a shower curtain. Mal was stumped, he knew that Steve was never completely honest with the crew on matters about his personal life, both current and past.

Mal decided, then and there, that if Steve made it out of this scrap, he would receive a bullet in the brainpan. 'A man let’s his fellow shipmates hold his life in their hands, and theirs in his,' Mal reasoned, 'the least he could do is be honest with the other nine folks living on Serenity'.

Feeling guilty at his sudden mental outburst, Mal did what he always does in a tough situation, clean his gun. It was old, a relic from the man he had been on Shadow, and a reminder of what