Wash stood in the middle of the cargo bay, muttering to himself as Simon walked by. The doctor heard the pilot repeating softly, "Etta kooram nah smech. Etta kooram nah smech."

Simon's anger, hearing the pilot mutter that foreign phrase, surprised him. Of course Wash needed some defense against River, if she should attack him again; of course the safe words were better than a gun -- which River would probably turn against him anyway. But it shouldn't have to be this way. Mal shouldn't have left getting River's medications this long. Simon should have insisted more strongly than he had. But it wasn't really Mal's fault, or Simon's, either. What had been done to River should never have been done to anyone. That it had been done to his sister, his brilliant, beautiful, bratty little sister. . . that anger went so deep, and was so powerful, Simon wasn't sure he'd ever master it.

He walked on past to where Zoe, Mal, Jayne and Kaylee stood in a knot near the bay doors. Wash fell into step behind him, still muttering. The pilot's wife was dressed for business, Simon observed, with her long curls bound out of her way in a neat updo, and her brown coat covering her bulletproof vest and whatever weapons she was carrying.

"Ready?" she asked as he approached, and he nodded. He had dressed carefully, too. His medical kit strap was slung across his chest, and his money tucked safely away in a pocket inside his waistband. All of his money, and some he'd taken from River's stash, too, which he felt more than a little guilty about -- but who could tell what sort of exorbitant price a pirate at the edge of the 'verse might charge for drugs that would be readily and cheaply available anywhere in the Core? He was, he supposed, as ready as he'd ever be to go walking through a den of thieves to buy six months' worth of psychotropic drugs.

He stopped next to Kaylee, and she turned to face him, unecessarily adjusting his vest with trembling hands. "Do you have enough money?" she asked