Chapter 9

There was something about that kitchen table that made Simon think. Jayne would sit at it, and it was only a tool, a prop for feet. Inara would sit at it, and it would be shamed that she deigned to do so. Zoe sat at it, and it was functional but treated well. Mal sat there, and it was well-treated, but clearly subordinate. It was when Wash and Kaylee sat there, and Shepherd Book as well, that the kitchen table was something precious and special, a beloved piece of a beloved ship. Simon didn’t mind the kitchen then.

“We’ll be on Greenleaf soon,” said Book, chopping the pale protein bars into small cubes at the table while Simon rummaged in the cupboards.

“Day after tomorrow,” answered Simon. “And I’ll be glad.”

“Don’t like flying?” asked Book.

“Well—no, not particularly,” said Simon, surprised at the question. It was not what he had meant. “I get claustrophobic.”

“Quite an irony,” said Book with a low rumbling chuckle.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter what I want anymore, does it,” murmured Simon, reaching back into the dark recesses of an oddly positioned cupboard to pull out a bag.

“Mm, that looks promising,” said Book, looking up.

“Pasta,” said Simon, surprised.

“Let me see,” asked Book, and Simon came over to show him it. “Ah, whole grain. Roughly ground, too; probably a payment from one of the Rim worlds they visited.”

“Is it too old?” asked Simon as Book gave him the pasta back.

“No, the bag is well sealed. We just need to find something to do with it,” Book answered.

“Other than that, there’s just dried milk and canned things,” said Simon with a sigh.

“No flour or cornstarch, though, so no white sauce,” mused Book. “No canned tomatoes, I suppose—too much a luxury for this crew. Perhaps a spicy brine sauce...” he trailed off.

Simon looked up at the clock and then to River, sleeping on one of the armchairs in the alcove. She had grown used to taking naps, but Simon found that she slept less fitfully when out of the infirmary—no surprise, as the bed there