“I don’t want any.”

“River, you have to eat.” Simon stared down at the unappealing sludge in the saucepan. “It’s good. It’s …” Even he couldn’t find the right words to describe the grey mass just lying there.

“Smells like crotch.”

He stared at her. “It doesn’t. It’s …” He looked down again, then grinned. “God, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Hey, that’s my best cooking you’re denigrating there,” Mal protested from his place at the head of the table.

“And it’s well up to standard,” the young doctor said. “Can’t you just take yourself off the cooking roster? This seems such a … a waste. Of your talents,” he added quickly. “I could order it, as a doctor. For the sake of our health.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, but for now, it’s all there is.” Mal lifted a lump to his mouth and held his breath as he chewed.

“Plenty for seconds,” Hank agreed, stirring his bowlful and tipping even more sweetener into it.

“It doesn’t help,” Kaylee said sadly.

“Hey, you doing it too?” Mal asked, staring at her. “Thought you’d at least be on my side.”

“Oh, I am, Cap’n,” she declared brightly. “And whatever’s left I can use as engine sealant.”

“Mal, admit it,” Hank said, obviously feeling the urge to commit suicide. “You’re crap as a cook, and since Freya ain’t been on board the last month you’ve got worse.”

“Your mind certainly doesn’t seem to be on the stove,” Zoe put in, holding a small piece of rusk so Ben could chew on it.

“And you can keep out of this,” Mal said, pointing at her with his chopsticks. “And okay, I’ll admit I wasn’t thinking about food when I was cooking, but -”

“Freya?” Hank suggested.

“She does seem to be on my mind a bit.”

“Only natural.” The pilot poked his food. “But could you think a bit more about cooking next time?”

Mal looked at his crew, and sighed. “Okay, fine. Everybody get their coats.”

Kaylee looked up expectantly. “Cap’n?”

“I’m buying breakfast. But you’ve gotta be in the cargo bay in five minutes or you get left.”

“ Xie xie [