WARNING:  I probably should have put this at the beginning, but, such is life.  This story spoils every episode of Fierfly, at least, I'm pretty sure I get every ep in there somehow.  It also spoils the French Novel, "Paul and Virginia" by Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint Pierre.  I didn't mean for that to happen but the damn book works its way so well into so many things.  Also, I love the status quo.  I fight for it, I honor it, I fix crappy endings of shows that were canceled to get it back.  I tell you this so you don't get any too attached to people who might change the status quo.  Thanks.  Harri

Chapter 1: In which Zoë gets a shock, Inara gets a client and Kaylee gets a nap

"I just feel weird, ya know?" Zoë tried to explain. "Like somethin's not quite right.  Wouldn't of come in 'cept . . ."

"Mal ordered you," Simon said knowingly as he put his stethoscope around his ears.

"Said we had a doc, might as well use him,"

"It's good to be useful," Simon muttered as he took he pressed the head of the instrument against her back.  "Take a deep breath."

She did.

"That sounds fine," he said, taking off his stethoscope and taking her wrist to check her pulse. "Do you think you're sick?"

"I donno," the woman said, shifting nervously in the examination chair. "Could they make this thing any more uncomfortable?"

"Yes," Simon answered her dryly, putting down her wrist. "Your pulse is fine.  What exactly are your symptoms?"

"Don't know that I got symptoms, exactly, I just feel, ya know, like somethin's off."

"Something's off," Simon said. "And could you identify that something at all?"

"Well," Zoë said. "I guess I been getting' a little light-headed sometimes."

"Light-headed?" Simon asked, "As in dizzy?"

"Just for a moment," Zoë amended. "Then it passes."

"How often has this happened?"

"Every now and then."

"Does that mean a few times in the last month, or in the last week or day?"

"Probably three or so times in as many days."

"So this has been going on for three days?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Ok," Simon said. "Have you hit your head at all recently?"

"Don't think so," Zoe said. "My head don't really hurt so much."

"Do other things hurt?"

"Well, I've been feelin' a little nauseous, ya know. Not so bad, but my stomach don't seem to want food in meals. I'd rather munch all day. And when I do eat a meal, get heartburn something awful."

"How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know, week or more."

"Anything else?"

"I've been really tired," Zoë said. "I can't wait ta get ta bed and I don't wanna get out in the mornin'. Drives Wash nuts."

"Uh-huh," Simon said. "So, nausea, heartburn, exhaustion, and dizziness. Anything else?"

"Don't think so." Zoë said nervously, she didn't like the way Simon was looking at her. She was sure he knew, or at least had a good guess, what was wrong with her. But he didn't seem like he wanted to tell her until he was absolutely sure. "Am I gonna make it, Doc?"

Simon smiled at her little joke, "I'm fairly sure you'll pull through," he said. "But I am going to have to take a sample of your blood to run some tests."

"Sure," Zoë said, as the doctor walked away from her to collect his medical equipment. "What you figure I got?"

"I really don't want to say, not yet. Your symptoms could be congruent with several different conditions." Simon said, as he put on a pair of sanitary gloves. "Also, a combination of multiple unrelated conditions could produce these symptoms, stress, a mild stomach virus, a sinus infection, lots of things."

"'Kay," Zoë said, taking a deep breath. She did not like how non-committal he was being.

Simon walked back to her carrying a particularly small needle and what looked like a small, white square slip of paper. "I want to do a quick blood scan."

"That'll tell what's wrong with me?"

"It will defiantly narrow it down," he said, setting the needle and the slip down on the table next to the examination chair and picking up a disinfectant wipe. "I'll have to prick one of your fingers"

"I got ten," Zoë said, offering the doctor both her hands, fingers spread. "Prick any you like."

"All right," Simon said, taking her left hand and sanitizing the tip of the ring finger. "This should hurt for just a second," he said, still holding her left hand firmly with one hand as he brought the needle up. He poked her disinfected finger, and a drop of blood eked out. He put down the needle and started rubbing her finger, turning the small drop into a larger drop. After a second he picked up the wisp of paper and soaked up the drop of blood. He let go of her hand and offered her a small clip of bandage. "It'll stop bleeding any moment, but here, put that on the prick."

"Right," Zoë said, putting the small square of cloth over her not-really-bleeding fingertip. "What you testing me for anyways?"

"Ah, just wondering what I'll find," Simon said distractedly as he inserted the slip of paper in a small, flat rectangular, unassuming diagnostic computer. He pushed a selection on its screen before setting it back down on the counter.

"What'd it say?" Zoë asked nervously.

"This is going to take a few minutes," Simon said. "Ah, I don't mean to be impertinent but when did you have you're last menstrual cycle?"

"My period?" Zoë asked. "'Bout a week ago, why?"

"Was it unusually light?"

"Ah, yeah," Zoë said, a little unnerved, she was a very private person, she didn't like to talk to Wash about this kind of stuff, let alone the young doctor. "Crazy light. You know what's wrong, don't you?"

Simon opened his mouth to answer her but before he could a word out his diagnostic pad chirped. "Hold that thought," he told her as he hurried over to the counter and took an almost intolerably long time reading over whatever information about her blood the little computer had spit out. When he finally put the thing down he had a very odd expression on his face, like he was trying hard not to smile.

"Congratulations, Zoë. You're going to be a mother."

* * *

"Hey Cap'n," Kaylee said, poking her head into the cockpit. "How's it goin'?"

"If you want ta know if I know what Simon found wrong with Zoë, I ain't been told," Mal said, looking at the young mechanic over his shoulder. "Don' you got work ta do?"

Kaylee's bright eyes drifted to the floor as she nodded. She almost looked like she was going to cry.

"Well," Mal said, clearing his throat as he glanced away from her. "Best to it then."

"Yes sir," the girl said softly. Mal thought his heart would break, hearing his young mechanic's usually bubbly voice dragged down as it was. He almost, almost, lost his resolve and spilled his secret. But in his past, Malcolm Reynolds had been a Sargent on the losing side of the bloodiest battle in recent memory and he'd kept his sanity through sheer force of will. In his present, he keep his small crew together, and safe, and in work, with little more than sheer force of will. He had a lot of will and he was convinced that the pleasure of Kaylee's joy-to-come was well worth any small sorrows she felt now.

He heard and saw in the dim reflection off the windows, Kaylee turn and start heading back to the engine room. But before she even left the cockpit she turned again. "Cap, you mad at me?" She asked, her voice trembled a little. She was going to cry. Mal wouldn't be able to keep his secret if Kaylee started crying. That would bee too much.

"No," he said casually. "I ain't mad. Jus' as I understand it, there's a goodly amount a stuff ta do."

"Not so much," Kaylee said meekly.

"You lookin' for a job, little Kaylee?" Mal asked, swiveling the chair so he could look at her. His intent had been to put her at her ease. She'd be suspicious of something if he didn't look at her, but now he had to see how weepy she really was. It made him feel a little weepy, but, thankfully, weepyness was an feeling he could ignore.

"Ya got me workin' all the time," Kaylee said. Big fat tears were starting to roll down her dirty face, creating streaks that looked almost clean. "Can't help but think I'm bein' punished for somethin'."

"Ya ain't," Mal started. In his mind he was chanting 'don't tell, don't tell, don't tell.'

His mechanic's feelings of alienation were quickly turning to feelings of anger, which was good for Mal, he could handle that better. She took a step towards him. "Ain't fair!" she said forcefully. "Ta suddenly treat someone all ke bo[i] with out tellin' them why."

"Kaylee," Mal said, standing up. "I didn't mean ta treat ya meanly."

"Well ya sure ain't doin' it on accident. Been four whole days, since the job on Paxton and ya ain't said a thing ta me except for 'get ta work, Kaylee'," she said, impersonating him comically. "Or 'Kaylee, there's work needs doin''."

"Didn't mean ta work ya so hard," Mal said, holding his hands in front of him as a symbol of surrender. "If ya like take the rest of the day off. Fact, ya don't have ta come anywhere near anything mechanical fer the rest of the trip. Well, barring life threatenin' brokeness a the ship."

"Rest of the trip?" Kaylee asked. "Where we goin' Cap'n?"

"No reason to worry your pretty little head over that," Mal said.  "You look sleepy."

"I could use a nap," she mused. "Was up all night tryin' ta re-aline the converters, but still . . ."

"Then it's settled," Mal said, grabbing her kindly by the shoulders and swinging her around.  "Time fer all good little mechanics to go ta bed."

"Can't help but think this is jus' you givin' me another unfair order," Kaylee said, not resisting his guidance for a second. 

"You can think that all ya want," Mal said.  "So long as you go to bed."

"Don't order anyone else ta bed," Kaylee grumbled.  "Ya never ordered Zoë ta bed."

"I have, matter a fact, on her weddin' night, but that was a slightly different situation."

                "There's somethin' you want me too busy to think 'bout," Kaylee said, displaying more keenness than her exhausted state should have produced. 

"And here we are," Mal said, a little louder and more eagerly than was necessary, as they reached Kaylee's room. He pushed the door open for her. "Time for bed."

"Ya know, ya can't just send me off ta bed like I'm a kid or somethin'," Kaylee said.

"Kaylee, ta bed or back to the engine room," Mal said, clearly not joking. "That's a directive from your captain."

The girl sighed and looked at him spitefully. "Night Cap'n," She said, grabbing the top rail of her hatch and swinging onto the ladder with the most defiant a pose she could maintain considering she was following orders.

"Night, Little Kaylee," Mal said, leaning over her hatch, which snapped firmly shut in his face. It wasn't quite like she slammed the door, but it wasn't far off. Mal sighed and started heading back to the cockpit, "Hope you wake up in a better mood."

* * *

"No," Wash said, almost frantically. "You're wrong. Do the test again."

"I've done it three times," Simon said defensively. "I don't think her blood chemistry is going to change."

"But she . . ." Wash stuttered, "she takes the pills--the little pills in the circle thing that make it so she doesn't have a baby."

"A baby," Zoë muttered to herself. She was still sitting in the examination chair, and it didn't look like she was going to be moving out of it for quite some time. The news had been unexpected, and, after he convinced her that his diagnosis was accurate, she'd slipped into a mild state of shock. She was staring into nothing, trying to come to grips with the fact that, in less than nine months, she'd be a mother. She'd done little more than grunt when Simon asked if she wanted Wash, and she'd not protested when the doctor told her he was going to share the joyous news with her husband because she didn't look up to it.

"Where did you get the pills?" Simon asked.

"I don't know," Wash said, his voice squeaking a little. "At a place where they have pills."

"I take it they weren't prescribed to you by a doctor."

"I don't know," Wash said again. "That was Zoë's job. They were Zoë's pills."

"Most medications on the border worlds are, for lack of a better expression, watered down somehow," Simon sighed. "I suppose birth control is no exception. It just never occurred to me that you could . . . I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Wash asked. "Why are you sorry?"

"Well," Simon said, taking a deep breath. "You don't want to have a baby and now you do. I suppose I could perform an abortion, but, considering how ineffective the birth control pills you were given were, I'd hesitate to trust any shot we could procure on a border planet, and I don't know when --"

"No!" Zoë said sharply, sitting up. "No."

"Hon," Wash said, walking quickly over to her and slipping his hand in hers. "Are you all right?"

"You're not going to abort my baby," Zoë said firmly. Then, as what she just said sunk in, she smiled. "My baby."

"I thought we didn't want a baby," Wash said. "I thought we agreed that a ship like this was no place for kids."

Zoë nodded and looked at her husband, her expression glowing. "Don't matter what we said before. You're gonna be a daddy." She laughed, "You'll be such a good daddy."

"Well, then," Simon said as he backed out of the infirmary.  "If you're all right Zoë, I think I'll leave you two alone."

"We'll be just fine, Doc," Zoë assured him.

"Zo, are you sure you don't need . . ." Wash started.

"The three of us are gonna be just fine," Zoë asserted.

"Well, then," Wash said, pushing a smile through his worry. "I guess then we'll be just fine."

* * *

"The Companion's Guild of Newhope welcomes you," a very polite recording told Inara. The companion sighed and waited. "If you could please enter your Guild identification number."

Inara punched the number in quickly.

"Welcome Ms. Inara Serra," the recording said disjointedly. "Please enter the working nights you will be on Newhope."

Inara entered that number in quickly as well.

"Processing."  The recording said.

"Processing," River's soft voice said from the doorway. She sounded amused. "They process food, they process people. It's a process, it goes and goes and goes."

"River, dear," Inara said as sweetly as she could. "Do you need something?"

"You're being processed," River laughed softly, and then, the joke had suddenly ceased to be funny. "Everybody gets processed," she said very seriously. "They line us up, and they stamp us, and they throw away the bad, the very bad ones, and they lie about the ones that are only a little bad so no one will notice, and they keep the good ones for themselves, they don't sell those. No, they keep the good ones."

"River," Inara said tentatively. "Do you want me to find Simon for you?"

The girl looked up at the companion and laughed, the joke was funny again. "You're in the middle of the process. You have to finish. He's done with his process, but now Zoë and Wash have to process some things," she looked at Inara candidly. "If you don't process things correctly it's unhealthy," the girl asserted, before turning around and slipping out of the door.

"I suppose so," Inara said softly, turning back to her screen, which was flashing 'processing complete.' There were several faces on her screen. Inara stared at the pictures for a moment and tried to see the emotions behind these men's eyes. There was a fairly handsome man, no more than thirty years old, who looked like a thrill-seeker. There was a boy, hardly over eighteen, who looked very eager. There was a comfortably plump man in his early fifties who looked like he wanted a solution to some mid-life crises. There was a creepy man, in his late twenties, who looked like he wanted to do something he felt he had to pay for, and a distinguished man in his mid-forties who gave the impression of a sort of connoisseur. But the photo that most captured Inara's interest was that of an older man, in his late sixties, who looked very kindly and, at the same time, very sad. For reasons that she couldn't vocalize, she selected to hear his application first.

"I realize that most engage a companion to enjoy sexual pleasures," the man said very frankly. "But that is not my purpose. I have a seventeen-year-old granddaughter who is planing to go to the core upon her eighteenth birthday to be introduced into polite society. Her mother and father died when she was still a babe, and her grandmother, my sweet wife, when she was very young, so I have raised her by myself. I feel that, before she goes into such a demanding social world I would like her to have some sort of guidance from a lady. She is young, nieve, and quite desperately needs to see a bit of true femininity. Unusual as this request is, Madam Inara, I beg you to see it as a challenge to your true skills, not as a request of a nanny or babysitter. I eagerly await you're reply, Reginald Comworth."

"Reginald Comworth," Inara said softly. "What an intriguing offer."

Ten minutes later, when she walked out of her shuttle, having been engaged for five of the seven days they would be on Newhope to coach Mr. Comworth's grand daughter in social graces, River was standing outside of her door, smiling in a disturbingly knowing way. "Processing spoils the freshness."

"River," Inara said kindly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, then," the girl said. "You're gonna have a long process."

To be Continued . . .