Chapter 4: Ain't got much more than the basics

A/N: A new year, a new chapter. Happy New Year everyone! Just a little reminder (seeing as it's been so very long between chapters), back in chapter 2, after Nandi insisted she'd pay her way somehow, Mal answered, "Well, once we break atmo you can do some chores, maybe." He refers to that comment in this chapter. Ok, hopefully everything will make sense now :)

After breakfast the next morning, Nandi took her smoke-stained dress from the day before to the ship's laundry. The soap she found under the sink was cheap and unscented, but it was strong and it did the job. There was a tear in one sleeve that would be easily mended, and once she took the hem up by a couple of inches to hide the blackened singe along one side, it would be good as new. Nandi hung the dress up to dry and returned to her cabin. She sat on the bed and drummed her fingers on her thigh as she looked around the bare room. She'd hadn't slept very well – the engine noise, among other things, had kept her awake – but she didn't feel like a nap. If circumstances were different, she would have gone to see if Inara was free to chat, but there was no mistaking from their exchange last night that the Companion wanted some space. Inara would talk to her when she was ready, as she always had back at the training house.

Nandi wasn't used to being idle. At the Heart there was nearly always things needed doing, or if something was bothering her, she'd go down to the kitchen, clear herself some bench space and whip up a batch of something. She'd take out her frustrations on a ball of dough, or lose her worries in a cloud of nutmeg and cinnamon.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. Maybe she still could. She rose and headed for the galley.

When she got there she found the preacher reading at the table under the star-studded windows. She'd travelled in the Black before, but could rarely afford a room with a view. Starlight at ten in the morning would take some getting used to.

"Shepherd, do you think anyone would mind if I did some baking?" she asked.

The preacher raised his eyebrows."Not at all, but aside from protein, we don't have much by way of ingredients," he said apologetically. He pointed to a locker on the far left. "In there you'll find the canned food, although the only cans left ... lost their labels a little while back. And in the one next to it you'll find some flour, sugar, salt. There's not much more than the basics, I'm afraid."

"That'll do nicely, thank you, Preacher," she said confidently, opening cupboards and acquainting herself with the contents.

"Alright, well, just let me know if you have trouble finding anything." She detected a note of honest scepticism in his voice. So he doubted anything edible could be produced from such slim pickings. But what he didn't realise was that she'd had plenty of practice making something out of nothing these last few years. She smiled to herself and set to work.

It was about lunchtime when Mal crossed through the dining hall and saw Nandi at the sink washing dishes.

He paused. "You do know I was joking 'bout the chores, right?"

"Just cleanin' up my mess," she replied.

He noticed a tray of fresh dumplings on the counter. At the same instant, he caught the mouth-watering aroma drifting through the galley. He breathed in deep.

"I thought the pantry was nigh on empty," he said. "What's this?"

"Bao!" cried Wash joyously from the dining table, where he was hunched over his own serving.

"Fresh bao?" Mal asked, eyeing Nandi warily.

She turned away from the sink to face him. "You don't like bao?" she asked evenly.

"I like it well enough," he replied cautiously. "Just learned not to trust women who make it for me, is all."

She raised an eyebrow at his cryptic response. "Well, if you don't want any–"

"Didn't say that," he said quickly. They smelled too good to pass up, despite theSaffron-y connotations.

He grabbed a dumpling off the tray and stuffed it in his mouth as he continued on towards the engine room. After a few steps, he paused. It tasted even better than it smelled. In fact, it tasted better than anything he'd eaten in months.

How the hell did she make something that tastes like pork filling?

He turned back. "Thass reary good," he said around a mouthful of dumpling, then strode off.

Wash brought his plate over to the sink and picked up a dish towel.

"What was that all about?" Nandi asked him, nodding after the captain.

Wash began drying a bowl. "Oh, he was just referring to the time his wife knocked him out with her lipstick," Wash replied nonchalantly.

A sudsy plate nearly slipped from Nandi's fingers. "Shenme?"

"Actually, it's quite a story," said Wash. He leaned back against the counter top. "Our tale begins with the intrepid Captain Reynolds on a stagecoach, wearing a dress and bonnet..."

Nandi passed most of the afternoon on the bridge, firstly waving her friend on Bridget about her need for temporary work and lodgings (her request was granted, but not quite as easily as she'd expected) and then reclining in the co-pilot's chair and being regaled with more tales of the crew's adventures by the friendly pilot.

Dinner passed much as it had the night before, although she was convinced Inara was avoiding her. The Companion hadn't been seen all day and she'd chosen to take her meals in her shuttle.

That evening, Nandi was passing the infirmary when she ran into Jayne on his way back from the showers. His hair was damp from being freshly washed and she noticed his beard was neatly trimmed.

"They's some shiny dumplin's you made today, Miss Nandi," he said politely. "Ain't nobody on board cooks that good."

"Well, I'd certainly be happy to offer a few pointers," she replied kindly.

"Actually," the burly armsman took hold of both ends of the towel slung round his neck and smiled suggestively, "it was them other skills a' yers I was hopin' you'd be in'erested in sharin', if you get my meanin'..."

Mal was in the cargo hold doing some final checks before they set down on Janus in the morning, when he spotted Jayne and Nandi talking outside the infirmary. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he didn't need to. He should've known it wouldn't take Jayne long before he tried it on with Nandi. Maybe he should've taken his sex-crazed gunman aside and cautioned him to leave Nandi alone, although his warnings about Inara hadn't stopped Jayne from propositioning her the first chance he got. Mal had never found out exactly what Inara's response was, but it had been enough to keep Jayne from ever bothering her again. Well, doubtless Nandi would send Jayne scuttling back to his bunk with his tail between his legs, too.

Both Nandi and Jayne stopped talking as Simon walked past them into the infirmary. Yep, no question what topic was under discussion. After another brief exchange, Nandi took Jayne by the arm and led him towards the passenger dorms. Mal felt his stomach disappear somewhere past his knees. He had half a mind to go after them, all loud and captainy, tell them there'd be no "trade" on his ship without his say so. But after wrestling with that notion for a few moments, he realized it would just embarrass all of them (well, Jayne probably wouldn't have the decency to be embarrassed). But more to the point, she was a whore, and just like Inara, he had no right to tell her who she could or couldn't do business with.

Ain't no good reason for you to care anyway, Reynolds. Spending a night with a woman don't make her yours. If Jayne Cobb can wrap his jiandan brain around that fact, surely you can too.

Mal saw nothing for it but to head to his bunk – right after he pushed a few really heavy crates from one side of the cargo hold to the other.

Chinese translations

shenme – what

jiandan - simple