Malcolm Reynolds was half-drunk and all-the-way tired. It had been a month since he’d dug Wash’s grave and watched his best friend and rock crack into tiny fissures only he could see. One month since he’d been able to draw a deep breath without feeling like a drowning man.

Zoe did her drinking and grieving in the quiet of her bunk, pretty much like she’d always done everything else. First few nights back on the ship, he’d sat with her in the galley, both of them too gorram numb to do anything but stare into their cups. But the fifth night, Zoe had sighed from somewhere deep down in her soul and gotten up, wishing him good-night and snagging the bottle on her way to her bunk. Mal knew she’d pull through. Weren’t nothing that woman couldn’t handle given time and space to do it, he thought. Maybehaps that’s why she’d been able to abide being with him all this time.

He listened to the hum of Serenity’s engine, steady and true just like Zoe, despite dings and dents of its own. Closing his eyes, he pictured River, his little albatross, sitting graceful as a dancer in the new pilot’s chair, staring out at the Black with much more lucid eyes since vomiting out Miranda’s secret. She didn’t have Wash’s experience yet, but in pure natural ability she was turning out to be a fine pilot. Just as well, seeing as how he didn’t seem to have the heart to hire anyone else on for the job.

Running his hands over his face and through his hair, he had the vague idea that he should go to his bunk and try to get at least a few hours of sleep. It didn’t seem likely that he could actually accomplish such a thing, but he supposed it was worth at least a try. Taking one last sip of Kaylee’s latest batch of inter-engine brew, he glanced up to see Inara gliding gracefully into the galley.

“Oh,” she said, vaguely startled to see him at the galley table. “Good evening, Mal.”

“Evenin’, ‘Nara,” he said, wondering how it was that she always managed to look so gorram beautiful, even in the middle of Serenity’s night at t