She sat at the kitchen table and stared at the chess board, the pieces lined up neatly, ready to play their part. She played against herself every so often, first black, then white. It was sometimes the only way she could get a decent game.

Simon would play against her, when he had time, when Kaylee wasn’t keeping him busy, but he was cautious, occasionally prone to flashes of genius, but not enough that he won against his little sister. Unless she let him.

She’d taught the game to Jayne, and he was surprisingly in his occasional deftness, but generally he played it like he did everything – head on, full tilt, gun in hand, his muscles straining at his t-shirt as his mind strained to beat her.

The one she was surprised at most was Mal. She’d never taken him for a chess player, but it turned out Freya had taught him, a long time ago during the war, on one of those interminable waits for something to happen. She didn’t play anymore – she said it reminded her of something and her eyes would sadden. She didn’t say what, and River didn’t peek, just took the next opportunity she could to touch her hand, or slide under her arm to hug her.

So once in a while Mal would give her a game, and he could usually surprise her. They were currently standing at around 50:50, although she had won the last three.

River half-smiled. At the moment the rest of the crew were busy. Simon was down in the infirmary checking the swabs (he’d already miscounted twice), and Zoe was in her bunk cleaning her guns, while Jayne was down in the cargo bay, weight lifting with the other children. Mal and Hank were on the bridge, discussing route changes, Freya and Kaylee were in the engine room, and all she had to do was turn her head to know they were around her and she was safe.

Her family.

Her eyes strayed to the chess pieces again. Of course, that was a good simile as well. Mal was the king, in charge, the leader. Full of these good ideas, even if they didn’t necessarily all pan out. Freya was the queen, of cour