Author's Notes: Various drabbles, written at various times, most in response to a request for prompts in a "drabble-a-thon", some just because I felt like it. None of it is mine, of course, I', just glad to be playing with it.

Mal

He makes her angry.

He makes her angry all the time, on purpose, of course. No one can be that annoying without trying. He wonders if she realizes that. And if she does, does she wonder why? It's a simple answer, after all, and she isn't a simple woman, not by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn't want her to know and he wants her to know. He needs her to know, but he can't tell her, so he just continues to provoke her, to work her up until her eyes are wet with rage and frustration, until she's snapping at him, like a woman, not a whore.

It's that easy; Companions don't get angry at their men. They may be trained not to, but he thinks it must be easy for them, with the worthless men who choose them. Not real men, they, not men who can work a ranch, not men who can fight and die for a cause, not men who can love a woman with all the strings attached. Not men who are worth getting angry at. He wants to be worth some emotion from her. Anger is all he has.

His crew doesn't understand it...they think he should do something crazy, like be nice to her, like fall in love with her. They don't realize he already has.

Simon

Simon is watching her paint her toenails. He loves her feet, the way she lays them on his lap while they are talking, trading little pieces of their pasts, weaving them together into a future. He loves the way she strokes his legs with her feet when they are making love, using them to communicate her pleasure and her needs. He loves the silly colors she paints on her toes, different shades for different moods, all of them seemingly wonderful. It's as though she speaks to him with her feet, because merely talking is not enough for her.

He reaches over to cup one of her feet and she giggles.

"Simon, you'll ruin the nail polish. 'Nara lent it to me special."

"Let me do it."

She tilts her head and leans forward to place her palm on his chest, over his heart. "Aren't you just the sweetest boyfriend?" and hands him Inara's nail polish. He notes the expensive designer name on the bottle, and is only momentarily surprised that she lent it to Kaylee. He and Inara have that in common, they love delighting Kaylee with luxuries she probably doesn't even recognize the monetary value of, although she never misses the sweetness of the gesture.

He begins stroking the polish onto her toes, doing a immaculate job, because, he is, after all, a highly qualified surgeon, with perfectly trained hands.

"Why, Simon, I had no idea you were so good at this," she says, but he hushes her, concentrating on the job at hand.

When he is done, he will reach for her, as he does again and again, to soothe the agonies, fill the losses, atone for the past. But for now he concentrates on painting each toe a perfect rose.

Kaylee

She had Simon, she finally had Simon. Well, in her bed, she had Simon. And in her cabin, most of the time, anyway. When he wasn't with River, which, come to think of it, was quite a lot. But she wasn't so sure she had him in her life. Kaylee wasn't sure what the difference was or why she felt it, but there was a difference and feel it she did. There was that part of him she couldn't touch, not with her chatter or her smile or even with her body. He was there and not there. He was with her but he wasn't with her. He was with the past. River's past. Miranda's past. The horrors they went through to get there and out alive again never left Simon, sorta the way they never left Mal, but it was different for Simon, because he wasn't prepared for life's horrors the way Mal was, after Serenity Valley, and maybe beforehand too.

I was there too. I saw it too, Simon. I know what terrible things people can do and still love you... she wants to say to him, but she's afraid that he'll let her know that he thinks it's easier for her because she's simple and he and River are not. She's afraid he'll say he doesn't love her. So she takes what pieces he gives her and pretends that she has all of Simon, waiting for it come true.

Jayne

Gorram girl freaked him out. Sitting there at the end of the table, smiling at him, like she knew what he was thinking all the time. Worse, like she didn't mind what he thinking. Lucky for him, her brother wasn't a mind reader or he'd wake up with a knife in his gut. Likely he would anyway with River on board. Not that he was thinking 'bout turning her over to the Alliance. Not for any sum no how, not anymore. He valued his own skin too much for that, that was sure. Anyway, she wasn't acting so damn crazy all the time since Miranda. Only most of the time. Still, she come in handy in a fight. She sure fixed them Reavers but good. Nerves stronger than any man he ever met and her just a pretty slip of thing. And she wasn't half-bad as a pilot. Yep, Jayne had learned one lesson when it came to her. He had no intention of gettin' on River's wrong side again. Problem was, he found himself with all kinds of other intentions when it came to River. Intentions that would lead that knife in the gut, if he was lucky. He needed to get some planet with a good whorehouse, get nice and sexed up and forget all about the girl. Get himself someone tiny, with long brown hair and some big, soft eyes. Yep, that'd do the trick.

"Didn't work for Mal. Won't work for you." Spoken out of the blue from the other end of the table. She was writing in Preacher's old bible, the one he left he before he took off, not looking up at anyone.

Gorram girl just freaked him out.

Book

Derriel Book left a lengthy morning devotion anxious for breakfast. The outside world was calling to him and he wasn't certain if he needed to atone for his past sins in a more active way than prayer and meditation or if it was just the same old siren call of temptation. There was no guidance to be found in others, only in himself and his prayers that morning had consisted of little more than the repeated phrase "What to do, what to do?" without benefit of a clear answer. Now he was hungry and hoped that a cup or two of Brother Samuel's strong coffee might clear his head. Running was not permitted in the monastary, but he was certainly striding at quite the clip when he walked right into Brother Joshua.

"Why, my apologies, Broth...What on earth?" he couldn't stop himself from exclaiming.

"Like it, Brother Derriel?"

Like it? How on earth to answer that question? Brother Joshua felt called to public preaching outside the monastary's wall, but God had not seen fit to grace him with a commanding appearance or tone. Brother Joshua was inconsequential looking, with a soft, almost squeaky voice and often found himself orating to no one at all. Apparently he had decided a change in appearance was what he needed, for he was decked out in a bright red coat, green jodphurs, a yellow shirt and black cowboy boots, embroidered with, heaven help him, turquoise thread.

"I do beleive that I shall make quite the impression on folks in need of counseling. Grab their attention, first, Brother Derriel, grab their attention first. The spiritual guidance will just follow naturally from there. Folks'll be drawn to a fine looking man and listen to all he has to say. Don't you agree?"

Well, no, he didn't. Or if he did, Brother Joshua's peacock-like appearance wasn't likely to get the results he craved. But he admired his Brother's devotion and surety. He knew where he was called and he would take any avenue open to him to answer God's needs.

"You look mighty fine, Brother Joshua, mighty fine to me."

Inara

Inara sat quietly at the xiang qi board, waiting for Wash to take his turn. He was her favorite opponent, despite the fact that he generally ignored conventional strategy and made mad, sweeping dashes with his pieces, when he wasn't clustering them up in one area of the board or another because, "They were nervous today." His tendency to concede a loss by marching a toy dinosaur across the game's surface with a mighty roar, scattering the pieces to the floor, should have driven her mad, instead of invariably making her laugh as they knelt together to clean up. With Wash, there was only laughter and friendship, things that didn't usually come easily between a man and a Companion he wasn't paying. Men were either condemning her or guiltily wishing they could have her, sometimes both. Wash did neither, utterly committed to his wife and understanding of the fact that most people didn't have the luxury of deciding how they were going to make their way in the world. Inara felt that one could confess anything to Wash, a secret shame or a desperate desire, and it would be okay. He wouldn't have the right words; few honest men did, but he wouldn't use the wrong ones either. Not that she was going to do that, she had no desire to confess to anyone, but it was nice to know he was there, aboard Serenity, flying true.

Mal

Mal was bored. Sitting on a hard bench watching a Buddhist New Years celebration was not his idea of a good way to spend a few hours off Serenity. Still, Inara had invited him and he got the notion it was important to her, so he went along with her. He had to admit that it was nice to have her sitting so close to him, as payment for his troubles. Inara smelled better than anything in 'verse, far as he could tell.

"So, what are we watchin' here, 'Nara?" The crowd was so noisy he had to lean in even closer to speak to her. She was as flawless looking up close as she was from a distance, something else that made her stand out from the other women he'd been this close too. Although remembering how he's gotten that close to the other women raised the kind of thoughts he was best off not thinkin' when he was with Inara.

"It's a lion dance. A well done performance brings prosperity and wards off bad luck," Inara briefly explained.

"That's a handy idea. But what about a bad show? Catching one of those might not be a good plan. Are you sure this is safe?" he teased.

"That's enough out of you," she answered him, without heat. "The dance is done by martial artists, Mal. Maybe you can get a few tips for those fights you always seem to end up in."

"Right, 'Nara, I'll just prance around in a lion costume and Niska will leave me alone."

"Well, if it worked, I'd be happy. Anything to stop me from worrying about his grudge with you would be nice."

Worrying? Inara was worrying about him? Well, he knew she wouldn't let him die, naked and thirsty on a strange planet, no matter how much he annoyed her, but worrying was a whole different matter.

"Thanks, 'Nara." Mal said simply

"Thanks for what, Mal?" she asked. "I didn't do anything special."

He took her hand in his, easily, because he was thinking about her friendship, not her beauty.

"Just you. Just thanks" he said inarticulately.

Inara squeezed his hand. "Well, you're welcome."

And they watched the dance.