Freya was standing in the middle of their bunk, wearing just her trousers. She was staring at something in her hands, her back to the hatch.

Mal lowered himself gingerly down the ladder, watching her all the time, noting the grey aspect of her tattoo. Sometimes he cursed that damn flame, telling him he’d hurt her again, as if he didn’t know. And now he could see her eyes were fixed on her coin, the one she used for meditation. “Frey?”

She seemed to rouse herself, pushing the medallion into her pocket before picking up her bra from the bed. “Mal.”

“You okay?” He glimpsed the side of her breast, but it was gone in a moment as she pulled the bra into place.

“Shiny.” She didn’t turn, just grabbed her shirt, shrugging into the sleeves.

“Then look at me.”

“Not sure I want to.”

He let go of the ladder and crossed the small distance towards her. “It was a long time ago, Frey.”

“Not that long. She’s not decrepit.”

“Long enough.” He reached out for her, but the tension in her back made him drop his hand.

“Before or after?”

“What?”

“Me. Sleeping with me that first time. Before or after?”

He licked suddenly dry lips. “Uh …”

Her shoulders collapsed. “I see. After.”

“But it ain't like you think.”

She span on her heel, her eyes blazing. “Then tell me what it is like, Mal. Tell me how you didn’t ask that woman to marry you. Tell me, Mal.”

“I can’t.”

All the fire in her seemed to die at once, and she sat down hard on the bed. “I was wrong,” she whispered.

“’Scuse me?”

“I was wrong. I don’t want to talk to you.”

Pain spiked through him. “I love you, Frey. No-one else.”

She shook her head. “Just go away.”

Normally he wouldn’t let her do this, not let her sit and wallow in whatever this was. Most times he could bring her round, show her how stupid it was to fight. But this time a surge of anger ran through him, and this time he let it out. “Fine. I’ll go. Not like I wanna have to be explainin’ myself to you again anyways. It was a long t