Indigo hadn't changed that much. His hair was a little longer, caught back in a ponytail tied with a strip of greasy leather, and white now instead of the dirty blonde Jayne remembered. His moustache was still luxurious enough for him to chew if he wanted, although his face was thinner. In fact his whole body seemed more wiry than before.

“You look like shit,” Jayne said conversationally.

“Getting shot does that to a man.”

“Yeah.”

Indigo started to turn, but the pistol pressed firmly into the base of his skull grated on bone.

“Stand still,” Freya ordered.

“I feel like I'm at a disadvantage,” Indigo said calmly, like he was at a tea party being introduced to the mayor. “You know me, but I don't think I've had the pleasure.”

“Not likely to’ve, either,” Jayne said. “You ain't anywhere near being in her league.”

“Your girl?”

“Captain’s wife.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Freya didn't respond.

“Now all the pleasantries are out of the way,” Jayne said, carefully taking the rifle from Indigo’s hands, his thumb slipping the safety back on, “you wanna explain how come you ain’t decaying six feet under in the cemetery?”

“Not particularly. And surely not with a gun to my head.”

Freya jabbed with that very gun, the force almost making Indigo take an involuntary step forward. “Is that it?” she asked, but her question was to Jayne. “Is that the Sharps?”

He looked down at the rifle, at the heavy stock, feeling the odd weight distribution. “Yeah. This is it.”

Freya leaned forward, her breath making Indigo’s hair vibrate. “Do you have a single excuse for why I shouldn’t just shoot you now?” she asked, her voice low, almost normal. Unless the person hearing her knew her.

Jayne did. “Uh, Frey, ‘part from anything else, the bullet might go through him, and I’m kinda standin’ in the line of fire.”

“Then move.”

“You shoot me,” Indigo said, equally quietly but with utter conviction, “and your kids ain’t gonna be safe.”

“ Hwoon dahn .”

This time the shove was enou