Dinner that night was, not surprisingly, a subdued affair. Jayne had come back and thrown a few pots and pans around, at least until Simon took pity on him and told him to go and work off whatever the problem was.

“It’s my turn,” the big man had insisted.

“I know. And you’ll take it. Just not tonight.” Simon put his hand on Jayne’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, you need to sort it out. And I for one don’t fancy eating anything you might manage to cobble together in this frame of mind.”

Jayne stared at his brother-in-law. “Doc, I …”

Simon waited, but the words had seemed to dry. “When you’re ready, Jayne,” he said softly.

The ex-mercenary nodded and strode out of the kitchen, without a thank you or a backward glance.

Simon sighed. Whatever that ticket had been, it had affected him greatly. The sigh turned to a slight chuckle as he opened the stores to see what was available. It amused the doctor sometimes to ponder whether Jayne was still the same man who’d tried to sell them on Ariel. River had wrought so many changes, he’d seriously considered checking the big man’s DNA for signs of cloning. It was a thought that kept him occupied for many hours down in the infirmary, particularly when he was sewing up the various knife wounds and bullet holes their life provided.

Still, if Jayne cooked in this state, it would be more than usually inedible, so taking supper duty was Simon’s way of sparing the crew, and therefore not too much of a chore.

Nobody complained, clearing the dishes and polishing the plates.

Normally everyone would sit around for at least an hour, drinking coffee and talking about the day, planning the next job, or just chatting about nothing in particular. This time, though, as the meal finished the children needed no urging to go to bed, the events of earlier still hanging over them.

“Permaybehaps an early night wouldn’t do any of us harm,” Mal said, watching Freya lift Jesse onto her hip and walk towards their bunk, whispering quietly to her, stroking her hair