It had been a hard thing, deciding to come. Not to the wedding itself; she was delighted for River and her beau, so pleased that the girl – woman now – had found love and stability and a life as close to normal as she could.

It was knowing Mal would be here, of course.

That he’d given away the bride was no surprise, especially with Simon standing as Best Man, but the outright open affection between them, that had surprised her. Not that the affection itself was unexpected, they’d always shared a bond, the two of them, but for Malcolm Reynolds to show that much emotion, that much softness, in public…

She sat, after, idly twirling the bouquet of dried silk flowers that River had undoubtedly intentionally thrown to her, waiting. She knew he would come.

“Means a lot to her, you bein’ here,” he said as he sat beside her on the window ledge; beside but far enough away not to be considered next to her.

She could feel his eyes on the bouquet and wondered if he mourned for opportunities long past. She stilled her fingers. “Terry seems a fine fellow,” she said, lifting her gaze to find the newlyweds on the dance floor.

“Seems an awful lot like Simon, you ask me,” he groused, and it was plain in his tone that he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of the match. But it was just as obvious that River had him wound around her little finger and he would have denied her nothing her heart desired. It was a welcome glimpse of the man she preferred to remember and she smiled, forgetting for a moment.

“He reminds me of you,” she said, a touch of fondness in her voice and he looked at her, a wry smile finally curving his lips as he looked away, silently acknowledging that he’d thought as much himself.

“Think she’d have sense enough not to go marryin’