Over all, Mal hated having the Kubat's on board.
Mrs. Kubat was a commandeering wu po who had no shame in ordering him about as if she owned Serenity and he was just renting it. The kids were constantly under foot. The oldest boy, Robby, was Jayne's new shadow, which created all sorts of difficult situations because everything of any consequence Mal need to say to Jayne was something that Mal didn't want a prefect's son to hear. Wash was spending a lot of time with the Albert and Thomas, which really didn't concern Mal that much, only that Zoë was getting annoyed with the marked decrease in her husband's maturity level. And when Zoë got annoyed with Wash, Mal got to sit listen as his firstmate vented her frustrations. But since the youngest Kubat, Felix, was always in either the Kitchen or the common room, she'd corner him in one of Serenity's narrow hallways and he'd stand there, being a supportive friend, wishing he could sit down.
Kaylee, his little ball of sunshine, was in a real snit herself. Something, he didn't know what, had happened the night River woke them all up with her screaming. She was making a point of avoiding Simon. A very obvious point. The doctor got the point, that was clear. He stayed in the infirmary all most all day, only coming out for meals and sleep and to pester the captain.
"Sir, I need your advice," the young man said softly and nervously. Mal glanced around. The kitchen was empty except for the two of them. He couldn't help but wonder if the fugitive life was building a habit of paranoia in the young doctor. And if that was the case, Mal thought it was probably for the best.
"Go on," Mal said in a normal tone of voice. Simon could be paranoid about many, many things, but he shouldn't be paranoid about his captain; that would lead to nothing good.
"I'm worried," Simon said as he made up two plates of what Kaylee had prepared for the crew's dinner. Kaylee, however, was long gone. Simon wouldn't have shown his face if she were around. "About Evangeline."
"Thought you said she's getting better."
"That's the problem, Captain; she was never sick."
"What you talkin' bout?" Mal said, worried by the doctor's serious and concerned expression. "She's all small and skinny."
"She was being starved," Simon said, again speaking very quietly. This wasn't paranoia, Mal realized, it was precaution for when one of the Kubats suddenly but inevitably appeared in the kitchen.
"You're saying her mother was . . ."
"Yes," Simon said. "That's why I won't let the woman in the infirmary."
"And quite a thorn in my side that is too," Mal said.
"I'm sorry captain," Simon said, clearly sorry about how Mrs. Kubat had behaved, not about his choice.
"Yeah, well, ain't yer fault, son," Mal sighed, patting the boy on the shoulder. "You got ta do what's right by the girl. I understand that. Ain't no problem."
"But what about when we dock?" Simon asked.
"When we . . .?"
"We're scheduled to dock in New Dallas in two days. Evangeline will go back to her mother's care and . . ." Simon was obviously troubled by how that sentence should have ended. He moved on. "As it is she's suffered permanent developmental damage, her bones and muscles will never . . ."
"Doc," Mal said, drawing the boy out of his medical spiral. "What would you have done in yer ER?"
"We had social workers who took over in child abuse cases."
"We could jump on the Cortex, find us a . . ."
"They'd need to see my credentials, Mal," Simon said. "No reliable service would take me seriously unless they checked out my history. Especially if I accuse a Prefect's wife."
"Then that ain't an option."
Simon was silent, the way he often was when he was forced to deal with the consequences of his fugitive state.
"What about Alliance Docs? Could you talk to one of them?"
"I doubt they'd trust me without viewing my credentials. They'd probably want to see them regardless."
"Hold up," Mal said softly. "What about her brothers? Why is it that only the one girl is sick?"
"I think, and this is my unqualified opinion, that Evangeline is the only child who's taken ill because she is the only girl."
"Why should that matter?" Mal asked.
"There's a certain type of psychosis, I vaguely remember it from my 'Introduction to Psychology' class at Medacade. A mother feels threatened by her daughter and wants to keep her under control. As long as Evangeline was weak and helpless, she wasn't perceived a threat."
"Gan xiee mu qin da han she!" Mal spat. "The girls thirteen; she was never a threat."
"I know," Simon said softly.
"Kay, doc," Mal sighed. "I see you're situation an' I don't pity you. I'll figure somethin'."
"Captain I didn't mean for you to . . ."
"Simon," Mal said, looking the frightened doctor in the eyes. "I kin take care a this. We ain't gonna sit by an let a little girl die, and we ain't gonna hand you over ta the Alliance."
"Thank you, Mal," Simon said. He looked a little less afraid.
"Now, go take care a that little tian shi," Mal said kindly. "I'll hunt ya out soon as I think a somethin'."
"Yes, sir," Simon nodded gratefully before turning down the hallway towards the infirmary to bring the half-starved little girl her supper.
Mal grabbed the plates he'd prepared and headed in the opposite direction of the young doctor. As he wandered over the catwalks towards his room, his mind played with various ways to keep little Evangeline safe without compromising the compassionate doctor. The most obvious solution was to alert Prefect Kubat to the abuse. But, Mal wondered, what kind of husband and father would be ignorant of that kind of goings-on? A better husband and father, Mal mused, than one who knew of it and permitted it. Sadly, Mal couldn't venture a guess as to which category of neglect Mr. Kubat fell into. The man was so reclusive he made hermit crabs look like social butterflies. But the few time's the Prefect and the Captain had met, the encounter had made Mal's skin crawl. There was something unwholesome about the man. Of course, this Kubat cloud was not without its silver lining, having the damn Kubats around guaranteed him some quiet time with Inara every day.
"Hey," Mal called down through his open hatch. "I got food."
"Finally," Inara said as she appeared below him. She was wearing her pink dress with a low v-neck and Mal had to struggle to keep his eyes on her face as he starred down at her. "I was about to send out a search party."
"Ran inta Simon," Mal explained. "Boy had ta chew my ear a bit."
"About Kaylee?"
"No."
Inara sighed, "His loss. What's for dinner?"
"Pork chops, potato dumplings and stewed apples."
"Really?" Inara asked with a chuckle.
"Well," Mal said, lowering down a tray with two meals on it. "That's what would be for dinner if we were a great deal richer than we are. But I think with a little imagination and some pepper the protein ration could have a definite pork chop . . . essence."
"I see," Inara laughed, putting the tray down on Mal's bed. "And I suppose you think with a little salt the starch balls could be confused for dumplings."
"I would like to say, in my defense," Mal said as he climbed down the ladder, "That the apples, at least, I wasn't lyin' about. I opened the can myself."
"I'm sure they'll be delicious," Inara said graciously.
"If ya like I can pull out some of Kaylee's wine. Then we'd have ourselves a right gourmet meal."
"Captain," Inara gasped with feigned shock, "If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to seduce me."
"Now, that ain't my line a work," Mal answered. "I'm just a simple man tryin' ta be nice ta a pretty lady."
"If that's the case, I'd love some wine."
Mal bowed dramatically for Inara, "Your wish is my command," he said. She laughed and rolled her eyes.
"Now, to be technical, I ain't exactly sure if this is really wine," Mal said as he knelt down and pulled a clear glass jug full of deep red liquid out from under the bed. "Does wine have ta be made from grapes."
"Not as a rule," Inara said cautiously. "Why, what's that made out of?"
"See, that's the thing, I ain't sure," Mal admitted. "Kaylee gets a peck a whatever fruits cheapest at every port."
"I see," Inara said, watching Mal pour the crimson liquid into two tin mugs. "Well, I dread the day that the cheapest fruit is bananas."
* * *
"Hey baby," Zoë said, going up to Wash, who was climbing down the ladder, and giving him a kiss as soon as his boots hit the deck.
"Hey," he said, a little stunned, as she pulled away. "What was that for?"
"Fer bein' you," Zoë said, smiling at him in her mysterious way.
"Gee," Wash said stepping further into the room and unstrapping the black vest he had on over his flight-suit. "I should be me more often."
She laughed and shook her head. Her thick mahogany hair danced around her shoulders and her deep dark eyes twinkled. "You're always you, makes it easier fer me ta love you."
"Not that I'm complaining," Wash said, trying to keep the excited giggles out of his voice as she started unbuttoning his flight-suit. "But what's with the sudden boost of Wash-appreciation? I mean, I thought you were a little bu kuai. Thought you thought I was regressing."
"You are regressing."
Wash sighed, "True, I am regressing."
"Well, I was upset," Zoë admitted with a sigh, "But then something made me realize that if you weren't the kind man could keep a pair of nan sheng out of trouble and out of my hair for the better part a four days, I just wouldn't love ya as much."
"Well," Was said, struggling to shed his flight-suit in the middle of a series of passionate kisses. "I'm glad I could be of service." More kissing. "Is there, ah, anything else you need me to do?"
She laughed, "Oh, yes."
* * *
"Gorramn it," Kaylee muttered. She shook her hand in pain and then stuck her thumb in her mouth. This was not the most medically advisable way to treat the small burn she's just given herself. She knew that. And a very petty and self-destructive part of her reveled in that idea. If Simon knew that she was just sticking her hand in her mouth instead of going to him and getting a cooling antibiotic cream and band aid put on it he'd . . . well, he wouldn't be furious, really, he'd probably be more bewildered. Still, he wouldn't be happy. And, even though she had no intention of ever telling him about her little burn, she enjoyed the fact that he'd be unhappy with her. This was a bold act of defiance, almost like spitting in his face, only with more pain in her thumb and him never knowing it'd happened.
Tears were welling in her eyes. She told herself it was because her thumb hurt. "Gorramn it," she muttered again.
* * *
It was late, later than it felt. And Inara was a little tipsy, tipsier than she should have been. This last batch of Kaylee's mystery wine had been fairly strong. Thankfully, she really didn't need to have her wits about her to find her way to River's room.
When Mal put his mind to it he could be a truly charming gentleman, Inara thought with a smile. He'd kept her amused for hours telling her stories about various adventures he'd had while trying to commit the simplest crimes. She'd laughed so hard she'd cried.
It was nice, she thought, to be able to enjoy a night with a man and not have to be a 'companion,' not to be obligated to force whatever chemistry existed to spark. Not to have to turn good-natured conversation into passionate embarrasses. It was nice to have some quiet after talking to a charming man, to just feel contentment. She loved her job, she loved the excitement, she loved the mystery, she loved the constant challenges. But sometimes, it was nice to see the man do all the work. In her mildly intoxicated state Inara made a promise to herself that she would make a point of spending more time with Mal. Talking to him, not bickering but talking, was better than meditating, she mused as she walked through the kitchen.
It occurred to Inara that a cup of tea would be nice. She hummed softly and tunelessly to herself as she set up the kettle and flipped through the assortment of powdered teas. She often wondered why tea bags were so much more expensive than powdered teas and powdered coffee. It seemed to here that the same amount of tea leaves would be needed to produce a batch of powdered tea as were needed to make an equivalent amount of tea bags, and the tea bags would require less manpower. It didn't seem to make sense.
She'd have to ask Mal, Inara thought with a smile. That seemed like the kind of thing he would know, and even if he didn't know it he'd have something witty to say about it.
"Is that you, Ms. Inara?" asked a thick voice the companion didn't recognize.
She glanced up and saw a large figure she didn't recognize in the doorway, heading up from the passenger area. For a second her heart jumped into her throat as she thought there was an intruder, some horrible violent stowaway on Serenity. But then her brain caught up with reality and she recognized Prefect Kubat. Because she was a little drunk, it didn't accrue to her to worry too much about how those eyes were looking at her.
"Good evening, Sir," She said, smiling at him in her companion way. "I was making some tea, would you like some?"
"Perhaps later," the man said. "Where were you?"
Inara laughed, "That's a very forward question."
"I don't want to appear rude," he said. He was walking around the counter slowly and purposefully. "I was just curious."
"I was with Captain Reynolds, if you must know," Inara said. "We had dinner."
"You dined with him?" The prefect asked. He was leaning in the entrance to the kitchen area. Inara was glad he hadn't come in; there really wasn't room between the lockers and the counter for more than one person.
"He brought me my dinner, yes," She said.
"You told me you ate alone."
Inara was starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
"And you told my wife that you would not service crew or passengers."
"I was not servicing Captain Reynolds," Inara said louder than she meant to.
"Why not?"
"Mal?" she asked, exasperated. "Are you kidding? First of all, he couldn't afford me, second . . ."
"I mean, what reasons do you have for not servicing passengers?"
The tone of his voice was very unnerving. Inara tried to convince herself that the fear she was feeling was due more to Kaylee's wine than any actual danger she was in.
"Serenity is my home," she said. "I don't work at home."
"I would very much like your company, Miss. Inara," he said, stepping into the kitchen. Inara realized that the fear she was feeling had nothing to do with Kaylee's wine. The companion took a deep breath and thanked the Academy for its very complete training.
"I'm afraid that is quite impossible," Inara said sweetly. "The water is done, would you like some tea."
"I'm willing to pay three times your regular fee."
"Sir," Inara said forcefully. "Not only are you married with children, but we are presently sharing a very small ship with them. Even if I did not have reestablished directives prohibiting servicing passengers, I would refuse you out of respect for your family."
"My family," he laughed. "You've seen my wife and . . ."
"And she is your wife," Inara said solidly. "Any troubles you have with her can only be made worse by any interaction with me."
"I am not accustomed to being refused."
"And I am not accustomed to being harassed," Inara said. "Now sir, if you could please step aside, I want to go to bed."
"You know you play at being a lady," He said, taking a step closer.
Every muscle in Inara's body tensed, "I am a lady. The question now is, are you a gentleman?"
If she hadn't been a little drunk she probably would have been able to duck in time. But her reflexes were not all they could be and so the best she could do was roll with the slap. Still, he had enough force behind it to send her crashing into the counter to her right, which caught her sharply in the ribs. She gasped, and fell on her knees.
The prefect grabbed Inara's arms and dragged her to her feet before she could even catch her breath. He slammed her against the opposite counter, breathing heavily on her and squeezing her arms so tightly that her fingers started to tingle.
"Biao Zi," he spat. "There are things I need."
"Dao di yu!" She said between clenched teeth as she reached slightly to her right, where the kettle full of boiling water was sitting. She managed to get a grip on the handle and ignored the pain of the hot metal on her soft, unprotected flesh. With all the strength she had she forced her right hand free and flung the kettle on his face.
He screamed, surely loud enough to wake everyone in the passenger dorms. His hands flew to his face and he staggered backwards. But Inara couldn't think about that. All she could think about was that this was her chance to get away. She turned and ran.
She'd been told that some men believed they could sexually assault a companion. Some men thought that just because she sold herself, they could buy her. She'd even heard the impassioned speech of such a victim. But she'd never, never believed that it could happen to her.
She was trembling all over when she opened the door to her shuttle. She could barely hold her hands still enough to activate the lock. And when River spoke she let out a little scream before she caught herself.
"You're hurt," the girl observed.
Inara allowed herself a few shaky gasps and endeavored to collect herself. "I'm fine."
"Brave Penelope," River said as she handed Inara the soft velvety blanket. The girl was shaking her head as if she understood the situation perfectly.
"Thank you, River," Inara said uncertainty, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
"Odysseus will come home," River continued compassionately, obviously trying to calm Inara down. "You'll be together. It's fate. And all this won't matter."
"That's kind, River, really," Inara said, she was starting to cry. "But I don't think . . ." the Companion's thoughts trailed off as a scowl appeared on the young girl's face. "What?"
"No one believes me," River said simply before turning around and curling up on the bed.
Tired, though she had been, Inara couldn't possibly have slept. She lowered the lights in the shuttle and walked over to the couch where she could sit in the darkness. She wasn't hurt, she was just scared. But it was a cold, gripping fear that seemed to freeze everything inside of her. Even now that she was safe, the fear was still there; she didn't know how to get rid of it. And in the darkness, where no one could see her tremble, she secretly wished that River's ramblings had been a prophecy, that someday someone would come and make all that fear not matter.
To Be Continued . . .