Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss Whedon.

This piece can be read as a standalone story which offers another explanation for what Inara is doing on Serenity. But it's actually the first chapter of a longer, darker Mal/Inara/Simon story. I'm a bit nervous about it.

Anyway, for this to work, Jayne has to have been on the ship before Inara, unlike what's implied in “Out of Gas.”

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TRAUMA MEDICINE: So like ... never?

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She was the youngest of the ones who'd survived. Just seventeen. Little more than a kid. But they took her anyway.

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Jayne is in a powerful good mood. Spent the whole of las' night in a bordello with a whore so good he found hisself wantin' to kiss her on the mouth. And unlike most mornin'-afters, he ain't hungover. Cos she served him one hundred percent genuine rice wine, not that gorram wood alcohol stuff you get in most cat-houses. He whistles his way up the cargo bay ramp.

The whistle freezes in his mouth when he sees the Captain striding over towards him, face like thunder, fists clenched and shoulders tense. Jayne ain't been under his command more'n a few weeks but he's already developed a healthy, uh, respect for the man. Fear would be puttin' it too strong. He considers whether he should try to dodge the punch he's sure is comin' or if he should jus' brace hisself for it an' get it over with.

“You're late.”

“Thought you said we was leavin' at ten? 's only jus' gone nine.” Jayne takes a step to the side. Jus' in case.

Mal glares at him. “So you were thinkin' what? That you di'n't have to help out with stowin' the cargo? That we could do all the manual labour while you had yourself one more tumble?”

Jayne looks bewildered. “But .. we stowed all them crates las' night, di'n't we?”

“That ain't the point,” Mal snaps, suddenly realizin' he ain't real sure what the point is his own self and before Jayne can ask, he stalks off to the bridge.

Jayne narrows his eyes as he watches him go. Wondering.

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