Chapter 10

Jayne pushed up again, taking on the extra weight he'd just added to the bar. The bench cut into his back as he pumped, and he remembered that he'd been meaning to tape up the split in the cushioning for weeks. He tuned it out now, and concentrated on his muscles as sweat started dripping down his arms.

He liked lifting weights; it was a good way to help release built up adrenaline. Not as much fun as bashing someone's head in, but more practical in close quarters. He worked without a spotter today. Jayne didn't much feel like company, not even Book, though he had an odd fondness for the old man. There was precious little privacy on the ship most of the time, and even less now that they'd almost doubled the passenger list.

He worked hard, knowing he couldn't have the cargo hold to himself much longer. Someone was bound to wander in eventually. Just one more reason to not like strangers on board. It was one thing when they took on paying customers. They, quite obviously, paid. But this charity crap Mal was getting them into, Jayne didn't like it. Not that he was going to say anything else on the subject. He didn't want to get kicked out of the dining room again. Man had to eat, after all.

"Impressive," a voice called out. Jayne set the bar back in its place and looked over to see Jean strolling in, moving stiffly.

"How's the ribs?" he asked.

"Still fractured." She leaned against the wall as Jayne sat up, crossing her arms protectively over her stomach. He looked her over as he wiped sweat off his forehead. It had seemed crass, even by his standards, to check her out while she was bleeding in his arms yesterday. But she was up and walking and well on her way to recovery, and he had no problem noticing her now.

"You sure you're supposed to be walkin' 'round on your own?" he asked, focusing back on her face. She smirked.

"I'm sure the good doctor would disapprove. So I don't really care. He seems nice enough, but gods, he can be a real pain in the ass." Jayne laughed and stood, walking over to join her.

"So what, you're just testin' your boundaries? Seein' how long it takes for him to come yell at you?" He expected her to laugh, or at least smile, tease him back. Instead she frowned, her face becoming serious.

"No, actually. I wanted to talk to you. Alone."

"Really?" Jayne asked, curious. Another time he might have made a joke about her wanting to be alone with him, or just plowed right on in and hit on her. But her face and tone was unmistakable. She was not happy with him.

"Yesterday, in the infirmary, you told Helo you found me because you heard a noise. I didn't make a noise, and you didn't seem to be looking for a person when you first walked in. You lied, and I want to know why." Jayne was at a complete loss. He certainly hadn't been expecting this conversation, and his mind was struggling to come up with a handy lie. But as he looked at her, arms still crossed, gazing back at him solemnly, he realized he didn't really want to lie. Too many lies just muddied the waters, and he didn't want to end up in the airlock again.

"The stuff in the lockers, your dead buddies' stuff. We weren't supposed to touch it. I was going to take some anyway, see what I could get for it." He expected disgust, anger, disappointment. Instead she almost looked relieved.

"That's all?" she said, and Jayne's eyebrows rose.

"What exactly did you think?" Jean shrugged off his question.

"Not sure, just…I'm used to expecting the worst."

"You don't think me stealin' from the dead is worse?" he asked, genuinely surprised. She sighed.

"While I don't appreciate your plans to take it all for yourself, fact is Starbuck shouldn't have forbid it. We can't afford a lot of sentimentality. We're going to need all the supplies we can get, it's not like her to ignore facts like that." She frowned, looking down at the floor, talking more to herself than Jayne. "She feels guilt. Dead pilot's personal items are always auctioned off, Hotdog told me that. She wouldn't have had a problem if she wasn't blaming herself for their deaths."

Jayne looked around uncomfortably. He wasn't really into talking about people's feelings. Sure he could understand why Starbuck might feel crappy for having people she was in charge of die. It wasn't like he was completely immune to the emotions of guilt and regret and a sense of responsibility. But Jayne could barely deal with that crap when it was himself feeling it. He sure as hell didn't know what to do about some girl he'd just met beating herself up, or about that girl's friend worrying over it. Jean looked up, seeming to sense his discomfort.

"Guess that's a problem for another day." She gave a small, almost sincere smile. "You wanna show me how that thing works?" she asked, motioning to his pants. For a second Jayne thought he was about to get lucky after all. Then he realized she was pointing to his gun.

"From what I seen, you're already pretty handy." She did smile this time, pushing away from the wall and heading down towards the lounge area in front of the infirmary. Jayne followed.

"I know how to use mine. But from what Sam tells me we're supposed to be trading in our weapons for ones from your world so we'll blend in better. They look similar, doesn't mean they are." She sat gingerly, only wincing a little, and looked up at him expectantly.

"Well, all right then. Better safe than sorry." He sat next to her, pulling out the pistol he had strapped to his leg. He could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than teaching a beautiful woman how to disassemble and reassemble a gun.

**********

The rest of the day and night passed without much fanfare. Almost everyone had a job to do and those that didn't found ways to entertain themselves. No matter how busy everyone was, though, there was always one more thing to tend to.

Mal paused briefly outside Inara's shuttle. He recalled her dislike of his 'barging in' before knocking very slowly and deliberately, exaggerating the movement as much as possible. Her voice called from inside.

"Come in, Mal." He pushed past the gauzy curtains and found her sitting on her settee, pouring tea into her china cups. "Please, sit," she said, motioning to a chair. He flopped down, taking the cup she offered, more because he wanted something to do with his hands than because he wanted to be polite. She sipped hers before continuing.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to come."

"I'm hopin' it has somethin' to do with why you haven't mentioned your imminent departure to anyone. Coming on twenty four hours you'll be gone."

"I know. It's just…" she set her cup down and turned more fully to him. "I'm not getting off on Persephone." Mal closed his eyes, feeling the headache coming on already.

"We ain't goin' any closer to the core anytime soon. You want off—"

"I'm not getting off at all. Yet, I mean." She had the grace to look slightly guilty and apologetic as he very deliberately set his cup down next to hers.

"Tee wuh duh pee-goo," Mal swore under his breath. "You've been houndin' me every chance you get for the last—"

"Please, let me explain. I know you must be frustrated with me. I had every intention of leaving. But these people, Mal, they need help."

"And you think I won't give it to them?"

"No, that's not what I meant." She stood, taking the remaining tea and setting the dishes on another table to be emptied and washed. She fiddled with the tray for a while, a nervous type of gesture he wasn't sure he'd ever seen from her before. She was calm and cool and in control, always. That was Inara. Mal stayed sitting, giving her the leading edge in the conversation, curious despite his annoyance. At length she turned back to him, seemingly calmer, her hands smoothing down her skirt absently.

"I'm sorry, this just isn't easy for me. I was ready to move on, and now…I've been thinking. These people, they're going to need to be taught things. Language, culture, history. You're not just showing someone around a new city, you're showing them an entire new world. A world they're going to have to live in, blend into." She put a hand up to stop him when Mal moved to interrupt. "I'm sure you, and your crew, could have them swearing in Chinese and getting into bar fights in no time. But this isn't just about them." She sat now, smoother and with a little of her usual edge back.

"They're going to try to find their fleet and bring them back. Those people, or their leaders, will have to decide if they want to try to sneak in, or if they want to associate directly with the Alliance. They'll have to decide where exactly they're going, which of a dozen planets or a hundred moons they want to settle on. They're going to need as much information as we can give them, and those six people will be the ones who lay out all the options."

"I'm not trying to belittle you. You have a ship to run, a job to complete. You don't have time to give them the instruction they need. Not to mention I have experience teaching, at the Companion House." Mal choked out a laugh before he could stop himself, the only sound he'd made since she began.

"I don't reckon that's the kind of instruction they need." She said nothing, just frowned at him, and Mal knew she wasn't in the mood for jokes. He tapped a finger on the chair arm.

"I don't disagree with you. I ain't lookin' to become a schoolmarm, and I don't imagine there's anyone more qualified on this boat. Maybe Book, though I think there might be some friction there, given the way they keep talking about gods in the plural sense." He stood, brushing some imaginary lint off his pants, looking deliberately uninterested. Inara looked up, a little surprised.

"That's it? No argument, no negotiations. You're just…agreeing with me?" Mal nodded, not sure how he really felt and not wanting her to know just how confused she made him. If she could sit there and act like there wasn't this…thing between them, then so could he.

"You made your case. Can't argue with that." Inara stood too, the gap between them seemingly larger than it could be.

"Oh. Well, thank you, then. I'm glad we're still able to deal with each other politely in matters of business. I'll, of course, continue to pay for my shuttle as long as I stay in residence."

"Of course." Mal turned to leave, had every intention of walking right out the door without saying another word. And then just couldn't do it. She'd spoken her peace, he damn well would too.

"One more thing," he said, turning back to her. "You keep saying you're leaving. Then you keep finding excuses to stay. A good excuse is still an excuse," he qualified, seeing the argument in her eyes. "You might want to think on why you can't seem to walk away. Maybe you're not as ready to as you'd like to think. Thanks for the tea."

He left before she could utter anther word.

**********

"Neh how?" Kara guessed, butchering the pronunciation.

"Pretty sure it's 'nee hao', but at least you got the basics right this time." Sam sat on the floor of their bunk, leaning against the bed where Kara reclined, turning over the list of phrases Inara had given them. For the last day they'd spent more time than he cared to think about starting to learn the language they called Chinese, trying to learn a few simple phrases like 'hello' before they landed on Persephone. With less than an hour before touchdown they were cramming while they waited. Impatiently, in Kara's case.

"This is crap, I'm never going to remember this, at least not fast enough to be useful." She sat up, crossing her legs and leaning her elbows on her knees. "You think Athena's got some kind of Cylon edge?" she asked. Athena had taken to the new language quickly, at least in comparison to the rest of them. They hadn't had time to learn much, but she could greet people and exchange pleasantries nearly perfectly. It was rather frustrating.

"I don't know," Sam said, remembering to answer Kara's question. "Maybe?" In truth he kind of doubted it. After all, she wasn't the only Cylon on board. Though considering he had obvious memory issues maybe it was a Cylon thing and he was just defective. Not like he could really ask anyone. "It was nice of Inara to do this," he said, motioning with the cheat sheet, hoping to change the subject. Kara snorted.

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole 'hookers are respected members of society' thing."

"Companions," Sam corrected, scratching a spot on his knee absently while he frowned at nothing in particular.

"Yeah, whatever." Kara hopped off the bed and grabbed her boots, shoving them on roughly. He looked up at her quizzically.

"What, you don't want to stick around for study time?" He meant it to be joking, but he just couldn't muster the energy and it came out flat. Kara sighed and shook her head.

"Sorry, Sam. Your moping is starting to depress even me." Confusion turned to anger in a flash, and Sam glared.

"Excuse me?"

"You've barely left this room, you don't talk to anyone, you've turned into a godsdamn hermit."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean. Athena's been shut up in that frakking shuttle since yesterday at breakfast, I don't see you giving her crap."

"She's there trying to hook up the FTL, trying to get us back to the fleet," Kara said, with just a hint of disgust. "I don't know what your problem is, and I don't care. I'm not in the mood to deal with this." She started to walk away but turned back when Sam scoffed.

"Not in the mood? That's rich, coming from you. You think anyone on the Demetrius was in the mood to deal with your crap?" He regretted it as soon as he said it, as soon as he saw the hurt flash on her face. Her actions on the Demetrius, and whether or not this whole situation was preventable was something that weighed heavily on her. He knew that better than anyone. "Kara, I—"

"Don't. We established a long time ago that I'm a bitch, right? Nothing new there. Enjoy your time alone." She marched out before Sam could say anything else, and he leaned his head back to bang it against the bed a few times. It didn't help ease the frustration.

She was right, he'd barely left the small room. He came out for meals, and had sat and talked with Jean on the cushions outside the infirmary for awhile, but the rest of the time he holed up inside the small, quiet space that had been given to them. He hadn't meant to. It wasn't normal for him to hide from an issue. He always dealt with whatever problem came up. But he didn't know how to deal with River.

And really, that's what it was. He was hiding from River. It wasn't easy to admit to himself, but it was true. The last thing he wanted was for her to take one look at him and shout 'You're a Cylon!' to everyone else in the room.

He couldn't blame Kara for being irritated with him. He hadn't just been hiding, he'd been grouchy, mostly to her. Thing was, it had felt good to hold her yesterday morning, really good. It had just felt so right. But things weren't OK with them. There was this huge secret just sitting there between them, and she knew nothing about it. Seeing River watching them had been a stark reminder of how precarious his situation was. Once Kara knew the truth she would hate him, and if he went around playing house in the meantime, acting like everything was OK, it would be worse. He'd be another Cylon who frakked with her head, just like Leoben. He wouldn't do that to her.

Sam was so caught up in his own head that he didn't immediately turn when he heard the door open. Figuring Kara had come back, either because she forgot something or to yell at him, he heaved a sigh and turned wearily to face her. He jumped up when he saw River standing with her back against the door.

"What are you…?" he trailed off, not sure what to say or do.

"Why are you afraid of me?" she asked, eyebrows creased like his attitude hurt her feelings. Maybe it did, Sam realized.

"I'm…not," he lied, unconvincingly, even to his own ears. River just gave him a look. There was something about that look that reminded him she was just a teenager. A hurt, partially crazy teenager, but still a teenager. He sat on the bed, looking up at her.

"I guess I'm worried that you'll tell people things about me. Like you told them about Kara." River tilted her head, considering him.

"You don't want them to know what you are?" Sam suppressed a shudder at the confirmation that his secret wasn't so secret anymore. But River smiled at him reassuringly.

"I won't tell. It's not relevant. Form doesn't equal function; cats and dogs don't always fight." Sam had avoided her for the most part, but had heard from Kara and Jean that she tended to speak nonsense a lot, so he wasn't too surprised. Oddly he found her words reassuring, strange though they were. She smiled at him, probably sensing the tension easing from him.

"Taphephobia is the fear of being buried alive." With that fun fact she turned and opened the door, leaving it open after she left. Sam remained sitting on the bed, eyebrows bunched, trying to decide if that last bit should threaten or amuse him. He was tired of being afraid, though, and the small cabin was starting to smell a little. River already knew, if she wanted to tell anyone his hiding wouldn't do any good. He stood and headed for the door, hoping he could find Kara and apologize.

**********