Simon found River on the couch in the common area alongside the infirmary. She sat stiffly, her brows knitted in consternation, her fingers clenching the edge of a cushion. The conversation on the bridge had gotten loud toward the end and sound carried well along the corridor. One need not be psychic to pick up on the tension in the ship. With an ability Simon described to himself as 'receptive empathy', River must have been quite taxed.

"How are you feeling today, mei mei?"

"It's complicated. He's complicated."

"Which 'he'?"

"He has to see many people about many different ducks, but he always returns to his warren with visions of her. He hopes to pluck that dusky jewel from the wretched hands of wealthy men. Without, great leader. Within, doubting, resentful, insecure."

"Hey," Mal's voice resonated from the top of the stairs that led to the crew quarters, "I heard all that."

"That doesn't make it any less true," River shot back, then closed her eyes and gulped a breath. Simon watched her as she struggled, like a diver nearing the surface, unsure if there is enough life-giving air in her lungs to make it. Her hands trembled as she clasped them together. "One, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, fifty-five..."

Simon recognized the sequence, the Fibonacci numbers, the golden spiral. "River, what are you doing?"

River took another deep breath and swallowed it down, as if she could swallow down the madness that rose to overtake her lucidity, to remove her from sense and propel her into the nebulous, confusing unreality that dominated many of her days. "Numbers. The numbers never change, cannot change, solid, predictable, grounding. The rules always apply. No exceptions. One is A, two is B, three is C, four is D." She took a breath and let is out slowly. "D. Desultory. Demented. Deranged. Defective. Dangerous." With each word and breath, River began to still, her focus returning to the world outside her fractionated mind.

"Delightful," Simon interjected.

River smiled at him and reached out to take his hand in hers. "Devoted. Determined. Deluded. "

"Definitely." Simon smiled at his sister and the genuine way his smile was reflected on her face. The River he had loved so dearly was still inside this jagged, dishallowed person and she was struggling for control. That she was able to consciously calm herself was amazing progress. Simon made a mental note to update the transcript of her care.

Mal stepped down into the common area. "We done talking about other people's business down here?"

"For now." River stood and approached the captain, waving him to bend down to her, and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, "Purple monkey dishwasher." Pole-axed but silent, Mal just stared at her as she nodded grimly and went off to her berth.

"Just when I think she's already beyond the pale."

"Actually, Captain, I think she's making some inroads to recovery."

Assessing Simon's placid expression and the sudden, new ease in his body language, it gave Mal something to consider about his most troublesome cargo. "Huh." He had no love for the trouble that ferrying the Tam siblings had bought him, but they had his hatred of a tyrannical government and its sadistic agents to ensure his allegiance to their fight.

*

Deputy Stacey seemed to have a genuine preference for pulling Jayne around by the elbow. In no position to affect much change in the matter, Jayne could only acquiesce and go where he was led. Jayne had seen the inside of more than a few jails in his time and even the occasional prison. Floorplans differed slightly from one to the next, but they were essentially the same, form following function. The Tiberinus jail had only three cells running along the left side of the room, each containing a basic bed with thin mattress affixed to the wall and a sink-toilet unit. The end cells also had a short bench attached to the exterior wall. None of them appeared to have been used very recently. Deputy Stacey marched Jayne down to the far end, nudged him inside and slid the door closed. Well-versed in the protocol, Jayne backed up a half-step, presenting his hands behind his back to the access opening and felt his handcuffs being removed.

"Meals are at seven, noon and five, so you've missed dinner already. Lights out at eight and don't touch the bars," the deputy intoned disinterestedly. "Gorram it," he growled, then yelled at the open door to the office area, "Lonnie, you're supposed to leave the key in the door when it's empty."

"Um, I think I have it in here. Deng yi xia r. (Wait a second)," came Lonnie's unsure voice.

"Ma shong!" (Hurry up) Stacey just glared at his brother as Lonnie came in and handed him the key. "I swear, Lonnie," he groused as he locked the prisoner away, "you're so stupid, it's a wonder you don't forget to wake up in the morning."

"Well, that's why I set the alarm," Lonnie answered innocently. Stacey just grunted and gave his brother a light shove towards the door.

*

Armed with a basic knowledge of the law of this land and a deepening resentment toward Jayne Cobb's inherent talent at causing chaos, Mal was waiting on the porch of the sheriff's office when the first deputy arrived to open shop for the day.

"Accused types hereabouts are entitled to one visitor, am I correct in understanding?" Mal asked as he followed the deputy inside.

"That's right." Deputy Lonnie unlocked the door separating the anteroom office from the cells and pointed, needlessly, towards the far end.

"Did you have a good time the other night, Jayne?"

"Course I did. A whole night to myself with coin in my pocket? I didn't know whether to shit or go blind."

"And this man they say you killed..."

"I got no independent recollection of him. Not like folk walk around wearing nametags and go se shit. I was in a fight, sure, lots of fellas were, but everybody left under their own power."

"And you didn't beat on anyone bad enough for them to die?"

"Won't that kind of fight."

Mal paused the ruminate on Jayne's asseverations. Local law did not imbue Mal with the authority to examine the evidence used to convict Jayne, so there was little more than their word against his. In a situation such as that, 'they' usually won. "Here's the other thing naggin' at me. Why'd you go and answer your name like that? Gotta be the oldest trick in the book."

"Because last time I answered my name, a pretty whore gave me breakfast."

"Those boys out there don't look like biscuit-dispensing hussies to me."

"This ain't a productive area of conversation, Mal. How's about we change focus to something more solution-oriented, like getting me the ruttin' diyu (hell) outta here? How much is it gonna cost to spring me?"

"More than we earn in a year."

"Net or gross?"

"Shen-me?" (What?)

"Gross take or the net profit?"

"Gross."

"Wo cao!" (Fuck me) Jayne retreated to the bench, scrubbing a hand through his short-cropped hair and down over his face. "What about Inara?"

There was a coldness is Mal's response, "What about Inara?"

"A...," Jayne weighed his vocabulary carefully, "woman of independent means such as herself has gotta have a retirement fund she can dip into for exigent circumstances."

"I've called you a lotta things these past years, but 'exigent' wasn't one of them" Mal crossed his arms over his chest, his face stern. "Let Inara post your bail so you can piss off next time we touch down? Not much of an inducement."

Jayne stood again and faced Mal squarely, body close to the bars. "I don't mind bonded service, wouldn't be the first time, but my trustworthiness ain't the issue here. You're getting your panties in a wad, thinking about her layin' up under dandy men just to save my well-toned ass. Hell, maybe you're getting' off on it." From the flare of Mal's nostrils, Jayne saw that he had struck a nerve. It had become fairly clear to him that Mal had no interest in extending himself to help Jayne, so Jayne did not care a shred if he made Mal angry.

"Inara's business is her own. You want her money, you ask her. Oh wait, you can't. Seems you're only allowed one visitor and that was little ol' me." Mal approached the bars, close enough to Jayne to smell him. "Now, I've got a first mate, pilot, mechanic, medic and passenger all relying on me to keep us flying, fed, and furtive. Can't do that with you bringing hell to my doorstep every time I turn my back."

"You're just gonna leave me here?"

The answer was in Mal's silence, as he stood stalk-still with dour face.

"You do that and you're as good as killing me, Mal."

It bristled up Mal's spine, another accusation of murder from a potential victim who had damn well doomed himself. "I didn't kill that fellow last week, Jayne, you did. Heroing is one of the shortest-lived professions there is, mercenary's even shorter. Your number's just come up."

"If it was Zoe or the Shepherd got locked up without cause, they'd be home before supper got cold."

Mal's hard look took on a cast a skepticism at the assertion. "Know me so well, do you? Maybe you're just not that valuable to me."

Deputy Stacey was at his desk as Mal crossed the anteroom office. "Yuo mei qian?" (Do you have the money?)

"Not today. I leave him to your tender mercies. Gentlemen." With that, Mal strode out of the office and back to his ship.

*

The mid-morning sun cast long shadows across the flat ground of the landing zone as Zoe watched Mal approach Serenity. They had been in close company for some long time and through trials too distressing to tell, so Zoe felt she could read Mal as well as anyone living might. It was a long walk into town and back, a clue to her that he knew he would want time alone to think. Further, his gait and the set of his jaw told her that circumstances had not improved and had probably degenerated in the way that seemed emblematic of their luck. Zoe had hardly expected Mal to bring Jayne back with him that morning, but a small, senseless part of her had hoped. She met him at the bottom of the ramp where he had stopped. "We're not bailing him out?"

"Can't. Utterly, unequivocally can't."

"So on to Plan B, jail-break and derring-do."

"There's not going to be a Plan B, Zoe, not this time. The 'verse is holding Jayne's feet to the fire for this one."

"You've never been afraid to ride to the rescue before. Getting cowardly in your old age?" It was a little poke, a test of the thickness of Mal's calloused carapace.

Mal let it go. "Ain't about afraid. We can't afford to rouse rabble here. This back-and-forth-y transport gig, under-stimulating as it may be, is gonna give us some long-overdue fiscal stability and clients don't look kindly on those who blow up jails and release hardened criminals that the spirit moved them to put away. We've got many, many needs on this ship versus his one." Mal bent, scooped a stone from the hard-packed dust, and hurled it skittering across the ground. For a moment, he simply stared after it. "Admittedly, it's a pretty big one."

"Thought you had a higher standard than that for crew."

Images of betrayal assailed Mal's mind, memories of Jayne doing for himself at the expense of other, sins of which Zoe remained unaware. Loyalty was a commodity to the mercenary, a cheaply bought nobility. "This is his fate. And when precisely did you become a one-woman Jayne Cobb admiration society?"

"He's a good sort, for the sort his is. Hell, he was probably best man at your wedding."

"I ever tell you what a smart mouth you got?"

"Better a smart mouth than a dumb ass. When you were in trouble, he packed on a half-ton of steel and lead the charge." Leaving aside how late Jayne was to the rescue party, the statement was more true than not.

Mal unclenched the fist that had curled reflexively and willed himself to a calmer composition. Zoe was a wall when her mind was made up, immovable and insurmountable. "The decision has been made."

"So that's it for Jayne?"

"That's it."

"And Kaylee?"

"Wei, (hey) what in the name of Tien (God) and sonny Yesoo (Jesus) does this conversation have to do with Kaylee?"

"Jayne gets into trouble, you up and desert him. Kaylee has a problem, you go out of your way to embarrass her in front of the people she has to spend every hour of every day with. I heard a public humiliation, but I haven't heard a public apology yet."

Heat crept up Mal's neck and washed down his arms, prickling the flesh with goosebumps as his anger rose. Any man who jabbed at him like this would feel four hard knuckles in his mouth. It was the best way, sometimes the only way, Mal knew to purge himself of this fast-growing wrath. But Zoe was a woman, who should never be struck by a man, and Zoe was Zoe, who could wreck him without mussing her hair. Blue eyes locked to brown in a granitic stare as Mal spoke, his voice low but severe, "We're not going down that road. This conversation is over. Are we clear?"

"Abundantly," Zoe never dropped her gaze, "sir." She watched Mal as he stalked away into the belly of the ship and was engulfed by the shadows, a resolution crystallizing in her heart. She did not believe in the fate that befell a person regardless of how they act, but only on the fate that falls on them if they fail to act.

*

Simon stood waiting for Zoe in the cargo bay, dressed in the finest clothes he still owned. The uniform of his former station, now a disguise, was at once comforting and a bit foreign. It had been months since a starched collar had touched his neck or his feet had slid into personally-fitted shoes that were polished to a gleam. The layered finery felt a bit bulky now, like a suit of armor.

Confident that he looked the part, Simon focused his thoughts on acting the part. This assignment was more fitting than the one foisted upon him on Canton. There he was a doctor masquerading as a purchaser of mud. On Janus, he would be a doctor pretending to be a different doctor, the fictitious physician whose name appeared on the contrived identification card in his breast pocket. Simon appreciated the odds, so much more in his favor for this mission – press the local constabulary to let him review the autopsy report and, hopefully, ferret out some detail with which to clear Jayne of murder. Synchronously, Zoe would take on the role of detective.

"Looking sharp there, Doc," Zoe said, by way of announcing her arrival. The two briefly appraised each other, both suited up for duty, one in silk, the other in leather. Abreast, they strode down the ramp. "How are you feeling about this?"

"The first step is getting the local law to agree to the inquest. After that, it's just a matter of pathology."

"I thought you were a trauma surgeon."

"I am, but I also excelled at pathology. If there's evidence that's been overlooked or misinterpreted, I'll find it." Simon straighted the knot in his tie just so. "That assumes, of course, that Jayne didn't kill that man."

"Of course."

*

Invoking the right of inquest would turn out to be easier than either Zoe or Simon had anticipated. The sheriff, still enjoying lunch at his desk, seemed unconcerned by the stylish new interloper.

"I'd like to review that autopsy record, including all scans and pictures," Simon's voice was steady and sure.

"Can't," Sheriff Gibson obscenely sucked the last threads of meat from a rib bone.

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't give you records from an autopsy nobody did."

"You interred a murder victim without conducting an autopsy?" Simon was incredulous at the anarchical lack of protocol.

"Don't question me, son." Sheriff Gibson belched out one side of his mouth. "We still got Boone's body."

"It's in the walk-in at the pub," Lonnie blurted out from his desk in the corner.

"Hush, boy."

"May we ask why you've..." Zoe sieved through her mental lexicon for the right, official-sounding terms, "preserved the remains for more than a week?"

"Honoring the man's last wish to attend the hanging of the hundun (bastard) that finally did him in."

Zoe and Simon looked at each other, a silent agreement that the sheriff could not have given a more queer answer if he had said the body would be the grand marshal of a parade.

Simon turned his cool gaze back to Sheriff Gibson, "In that case, it should go without saying that I'd like to perform an autopsy."

"You can autopsy all you like, won't help Cobb one tiny iota."

"He's gonna cut Jeremiah up?" Lonnie was leaning across his desk, reaching his neck to get as close to the conversation as possible without leaving his seat.

Sheriff Gibson did not even look in Deputy Lonnie's direction, just help up two fingers toward him. "Bi zui." (Shut up.) Capitulating instantly, Lonnie sat back and stared at his mess of paperwork.

"I got some truck with the idea of you desecrating one of our own-"

Simon's mouth was already open to protest.

"But seeing as how you've quoted the law chapter and verse, and seeing as how I'm the bulwark of order and justice for this province, I don't see where I have standing to object. If you'll come with me," he gestured condescendingly grandly towards the door, "we'll take you to our presiding doctor and get you your corpse."

As they left the jail, Zoe slipped off to one side. From the mouth of the alley, she could see the window of Jayne's cell, half a meter wide but only a hand high. He might have been looking out, or it may have been a shadow, but still Zoe held up a fist and made three motions in the air, 'hold position, reinforcements inbound.'

*