Most o' the crew was holed up on Serenity. Mal told them wait, so's they waited. He weren't goin' to be but a few minutes. Market had a lot to offer, but Mal don't like bein' out n' 'bout on Persephone more'n he had to be. Too many folks that had a bone to pick with him n' his were out there. Givin' the vendor a coupla bits o' platinum, Mal hoisted the sack o' goods over his shoulder and high-tailed it back to Serenity.
After unloadin' ammunition (no grenades, t' which Jayne properly pouted on), he continued on t' the kitchen. Tuckin' tea n' various sorts o' protein in their proper bins, Mal turned back to the sack he'd left on the table. The girl was sittin' atop the table beside it, legs crossed as fine as you please.
"Ni hao, xìntiānwēng," Mal greeted, brows liftin' in surprise. "Gettin' so's you can fly 'bout without so much as a feather makin' a sound."
"Feathers make sounds, but captains are too busy listening to the stars."
"I reckon that's true," Mal conceded, reachin' inside the sack. Out he pulled a single, perfect mango.
River's eyes widened, her legs straightening before her.
Noticing, Mal held it out to her. "You want it? It's yours."
"I know," River told him, curling her fingers around the fruit. Mal hadn't let go of it, hadn't eased the fruit into her hand, so River's fingers brushed against his.
His eyes narrowed as they studied two sets of hands – one rough and weathered, one small and sure.
"Of course it is," River said solemly. "Albatrosses have got to have their captains."
And before Mal could work out what she meant by that, her lips met his.
Then they were both flyin'.