Mal had a headache. So far he’d had it going to bed, and despite Freya’s mental ministrations he’d woken up with it too, pounding away just inside his eyeballs. And, after a somewhat restless night, he still hadn’t decided what to do about the girls. More and more he was coming round to the idea that maybe Inara might be able to help, even if it was just to offer some suggestions, but right now the notion of waving her and having to put up with her laughter was more than he could take.

He stared out at Mead, noting that a number of ships at the dock had departed during the night, and he knew most of the Browncoats at the wake had gone.

“Gotta go, Mal,” Pickett had said. “My wife’ll kill me if I don’t get home. Lizzie’s got a dance recital tomorrow, and I gotta be there.”

They’d shaken hands, Mal promising to keep him informed.

“Take the time you need,” Pickett went on. “This has been something of a shock, and you need to gather yourself. Long as you’re on Verbena before the week’s out, that’ll be fine.”

“We’ll be there.”

Pickett wasn’t the only one gone. Lann Chen, Kilburn, Tolley … they’d all flown back into the black. Harry would have gone too, but Monty was sticking around for a while, and as he’d cadged a lift with the old goat, he couldn’t exactly go without him. Hil was also still hanging around.

“Won’t go until you know what you’re doing, Mal,” she'd said. “That’s what we do. We stick together.”

“Thanks, Hil.” He was grateful, very grateful, only it didn’t help his current predicament.

“Here,” Freya said from behind him.

He turned away from the view of the dock, and smiled at his wife carefully crossing the bay floor. He walked forwards to meet her half way. She held out two more of the little white pills.

“Simon’s secret weapon?” he asked, taking them from her.

“You have a headache. These will help.”

“Thanks.” He tossed them back, rinsing them down with the cup of water she handed to him. “These aren’t addictive, are they?”

“Only if taken on a re