The whore's name was Jasmine…or Jennifer. He couldn't remember. Didn't rightly care either. She was soft, warm and had a great set of tits and that was all that mattered. Sitting in the corner of the room his right hand nursed a large drink of some shitty brand of grog and his left sat on the fleshy part of the woman's thigh. He was well and truly on his way to being drunk and it felt gorram shiny. The whore lent backwards and began nuzzling his neck. She smelt like cheap perfume, sweat and sex. He knew how it worked with women like this. Chances were that he wasn't the first guy she'd picked up tonight. Probably wasn't the second either judging by the smell. Didn't matter. He only had one use for her. Taking a swill of his drink he closed his eyes and lent his head back. The feel of the whores lips on his skin coupled with the potency of his drink was quickly lulling him into a feeling of deep relaxation. She wiggled against his lap and he felt himself get hard. A picture of a woman dancing flashed through his mind and he grimaced in response. Hell, he was a man. And crazy or not she was still a woman. He'd given little thought to how she looked before because he'd been too busy trying to either get rid of the crazy moonbrain and her brother or trying to avoid her. She wierded him out with the strange way she spoke. But now, now that he'd seen a new side to her, he sure as hell wasn't gonna feel guilty because she gave him a hard-on. Besides, he told himself, it only happened because he hadn't been with a woman in so long. It was a natural response. He remembered the look on her face when he'd gone back to the ship that afternoon. He felt himself get even harder and whispered into the whore's ear. The sooner he got his release the sooner he could forget about crazy girl. The whore giggled in response, got of his lap, took his hand, and led him to the steps at the side of the bar that led upstairs to her room.

Mal watched his hired gun be led up the stairs by the whore. There were times when he envied Jaynes' ability to simplify things. He didn't think too much about things. Sure, it got him into trouble sometimes, but for the most part it didn't appear as if he suffered guilt or remorse, or sleeplessness because his brain wouldn't shut down. Turning towards the bar he caught his reflection in the old broken mirror against the wall. The war had aged him in ways that no one could see. It had hardened him, taken away the naive young man with dreams of a bright future. It it's place it had left him bitter, cynical and closed off. The loss of Wash and Book weighed heavily on his shoulders. He knew it wasn't a burden he carried himself. He saw it the faces of those nearest to him. Zoe had disappeared into a shell of seeming indifference, Kaylees' smiles were no longer 100 watt bulbs, and Jayne…well Jayne was Jayne. And as for Inara, well he just didn't know. The woman mystified him. He knew that he was in love with her. Had known it for a long time. Yet he'd decided a while back that there was no place in his life for sentimentality. Hell, the war was over, but the events of Miranda just proved to him that allowing anyone too close was a risk he was unwilling to take. Zoe was a constant reminder of what could happen to him if he ever let Inara close. Over the time that they'd known one another he had built up a wall that kept her at arms length. At night lying in his bunk he dreamt about her, about how she'd feel laying next to him. And for the briefest moments when his feelings of loneliness are their strongest, he contemplates the 'what if's. His mind conjures all manner of possibilities, dreams, and desires. But with the harsh light of morning comes reality and he knows that his dreams were just that. Dreams. Lifting the glass of amber liquid in front of him he threw back the contents, pushed back his stool and left the bar. Outside a cool breeze blew down the length of the empty street. The sun had well and truly set and he stood in relative darkness, the only lights visible were those escaping from the windows of the buildings that lined the walk. He wondered briefly what the others were doing and as he started walking back towards the ship it occurred to him that he had never felt as lonely as he did right then.

Lying on an open patch of grass a couple of hundred yards away from the ship, Simon felt more relaxed then he had in a long time. Kaylee lay peacefully within his arms, her right leg nestled gently between his own, and her hand placed over his heart. He needed this. 'They' needed this. Living with the constant presence of others was not conducive to their relationship and being able to escape the confines of the ship was like a balm. Yet laying there with Kaylee he could not help but think about River. His guilt new no bounds at the suffering she had enjoyed while he himself was off following his dreams. Each time he looked at her he was reminded of his own failure and it chaffed him. During the last year he had discovered things he had never wanted to know, things that he was sure would scar him for life. He felt guilty laying here with the woman he loved. It had occurred to him many times that his sister may never know the love of a man, the peace of being able to rest with the one you love, the joy of being a mother and a wife. His heart broke for her. Hearing him sigh, Kaylee lifted her head and looked into his eyes.

'It's not your fault Simon' she whispered, a soft smile on her lips.

'How is it you always seem to know what I'm thinking?' he smiled back at her.

'Because I know you'. She reached out and traced the line of his jaw, her touch light and gentle. 'Because I see it in your eyes'.

'I have a lot to answer for Kaylee' his voice was guilt ridden and he turned his face away from her.

'It's not your fault' she said again, stronger this time. Her hand moved to his chin and she turned him to face her. 'It's not your fault'.

'I love you Kaylee'

She brought her face to his and their lips met. Soft and gentle, for she knew that that's what he needed.