River adjusted Jayne’s collar, smoothing the striped shirt down over his biceps. This wasn’t his old ‘whoring’ shirt – that had finally been relegated to the rag bin after a particularly energetic bout of love-making when he’d ripped it more or less in half in his urgency to get at River’s soft tender flesh. This was new, picked out for him at their last stop by that same loving wife who now stood back to take in the effect.

“So? Will I do?” he asked, noting her critical look.

She closed one eye. “I think …” With a delicate finger she brushed a tiny piece of lint from his shoulder. “You’ll pass in a crowd.”

He grinned, then lifted his head as the rest of the male members of the crew descended into the cargo bay.

“I’d be quite happy to stay behind,” Simon was saying.

Hank grinned, his own crisp white shirt making his grey eyes seem almost blue. “Nope. Be good for you to get out. And I'm not going with Jayne on my own.”

“You won’t be on your own. Mal’s going.”

“Hey, don’t get me involved,” the captain said quickly.

“Besides,” Hank went on, “you need some fresh air. You’re looking pasty.”

“Pasty? I'm likely to be looking green if we have too much to drink.” Simon adjusted the tie Kaylee had made him wear, saying he looked ‘kinda neat’ in it.

“Ain’t there some saying or such about physician heal thyself?” Mal asked, having refused point blank to dress up and was thus more than comfortable in his oldest brown shirt and usual pants.

“Oh, I intend to. Doctor’s prerogative.”

“There can be a bit too much of that sort of thing, if you’re not careful.” His lips curved. “Remember Carson’s Moon that time?”

Simon blushed, just across his cheekbones, as memories of too much smoother before going on stage as an actor almost overwhelmed him.

Freya, following them down, laughed. “Just try and keep them out of trouble.”

“Trouble?” Mal turned to look at her, stopping her on the step above him. “Since when do we get into trouble just going into a bar for a quiet drink?”