Mal awoke to the incessant beep of his alarm around seven thirty in the morning, groggy. Altering the watch last night had him getting up a few hours earlier than he was used to. Rough dreams had plagued his sleep, too, but he could not recall them now. Getting dressed, he splashed some water on his face to shake out the cobwebs. He gave himself a once-over in the tiny, grungy square of a mirror. He looked tired. A good cup of tea was in order, but he was captain and there were things to be done first. With a sigh, he resigned himself to fighting the fatigue and climbed out of his bunk. He decided to look in on the bridge first.

“Zoe.”

“Mornin’ sir.”

“What’s the report?”

“We’ll be in the Heinlein system in less than an hour. Should be at Paquin not much after that.”

“And Ving? Heard from him yet?”

“Got a wave about two hours ago. He was askin’ about you. Don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.”

“Well, at least he remembers. Got a few things to take care of before I relieve you,” he changed the subject. “Can you handle it for a few more minutes?”

“Not a problem, sir.”

“Thanks,” he clapped her on the shoulder. He descended from the bridge and strode through the foredeck. At River’s door, he paused. It was open. Oddly enough, the smell of paint struck his nostrils. He reached out to knock.

“Come in,” River called before he could. He dropped his hand, miffed. He was still adapting to her being able to pick up those things. They all were.

“I’m gonna have to institute a rule that you can only read my mind when we’re face to face,” he called as he clambered down. “Why does it smell like paint in he…” As he stepped off the last rung, he saw why and stood agape. The entire place was covered in flowers. He rotated his gaze around room. They were everywhere. Roses curled up over the ceiling on spiral vines. Daisies decorated the walls. Flowers in every color of the rainbow filled every blank space. Mal’s jaw snapped shut as he found River, smudged with paint, kneel