Inara has been sitting on the bridge when Mal finds her. This iss a singularly remarkable thing, as it is well enough understood that the bridge is his domain, not hers. He wonders if he’ll have to start asking her to knock.

She is sitting, barefoot and cross-legged, in Wash’s chair. Again, a singular event, as only two people had sat in that chair since that day. Zoe and River. Even Mal takes the other chair by force of habit.

But there she is, staring out at the rain. Even though she never turns, never moves when he enters, he knows she senses him, is waiting for him.

Softly, so he almost doesn’t hear. “Is it done?”

“Yeah. Job’s done.”

No need to go over what got done, nor what had led up to it. She’d lived through it it, he’d seen the aftermath of it and the doc had to clean up after it. No need to involve anyone else.

Still, a promise was a promise. He’d sworn that the man who did it would pay for it. Malcolm Reynolds is a man of his word, at least as far as she is concerned. A foolish man, a conflicted man, but one of his word.

No need either to name names. Mal had long ago forgotten the name that fellah’s momma gave him. He had simply become “The Job.” Made it much easier not to give a ruttin’ gorram.

Besides, there is the bitter irony of him having to do the job that her precious Guild wouldn’t. At least not any more. His mouth turns up at one corner in a grim smile at that thought.

Least they coulda done was tell her beforehand.

Sadly, like so much of the Alliance’s doings, she never saw it coming until it was too late to be done for it. They’d left her to twist because she had become an inconvenience…an embarrassment…to them.

And thus it is once again left to Mal to tidy up the mess somebody else made. River. Wash. Inara. He wonders how much longer he’ll be willing to do clean-up duty.

She turns around to face him, finally.

“Is it really done?”

He’d laugh and make a cutting remark if he didn’t know the driving force behind her fears.

“Really most s