Chapter 14: In which everyone eats dinner and feels miserable

                Dinner at the Frye household was a somewhat morose undertaking.  Wash had downloaded Inara's wave and Serenity's crew had listened to it once, and then again, and then, at Books prompting, a third time.  Kaylee asked her mother if they could have dinner alone.  Nora put up a fuss, but Al convinced his wife it was for the best.  He was wise enough to understand that, while Kaylee was happy and safe on Serenity, that didn't mean they had a right to, or should even want to, know all of the things that went on on that ship. 

                "It just seems," Wash said, shattering the silence as they all, with the exception of Jayne, stared at their plates.  "I mean, should we maybe see if the kids even want to be rescued before we go all out and break into a Governors palace?"

                "If they think Simon's the one who's done that to River, I'm thinking he at least might want some rescuing," Zoë observed.  "Kidnapping, child abuse, that's some pretty serious jail time."

                "But Simon didn't do that to River," Kaylee pointed out.  "Everyone's gotta see that."

                "No," Mal said.  "Simon and River's parents ain't keen on what's real, only what's neat."

                "How do you mean?" Book asked, implying, 'how could you know?'

                "When the doc figured out that thing with River's letters, they didn't believe him."

                "We don't know that," Book pointed out.

                "We know the boy's got no help from any side.  He's got no money and no protection, side from ours.  He started out runnin' blind, no where to go, no one to go to.  That don't sound like a situation where Ma and Pa were behind him all the way."

                "We don't know that he ever told his parents."

                "He spent all his money, left his cushy job, and jumped headlong into a fugitive's life without tryin' ta solicit his parents, her parents help first?" Mal asked.  "I appreciate that you don't wanna think ill a folks ya don't know, preacher, but no one's helped those kids.  No one but us."

                "But that was then, wasn't it?" Kaylee asked.  "I mean, Simon said no one'd seen River for years.  After they see her, maybe . . . "

                "Inara made it pretty clear what Mr. and Mrs. Tam thought after seein' River," Mal said.  "Anyways, all this is a moot point."

                "Sir?" Zoë asked. 

                "We've been assumin' he'd get due process of the law, or what have you," Mal said.  "Which, considerin' how 'special' River seems to be, I don't find too likely."

                The table fell into an uncomfortable silence.  No one, with the possible exception of Jayne (who was too busy eating to comment one way or the other), liked the thought of Simon in prison.  But the dark, unknown prospect Mal had just presented, none of them had dared think.  It was made all the more horrible, because everyone knew it was true.

"We're still on ta talk with Inara in a couple a hours," Wash said, trying to make his voice sound hopeful. "Might be best to wait.  Hear if she's got any new insights."

"I'm sick a waitin'," Jayne said, his mouth full of home made mashed potatoes.  The rest of the table looked at him, bewildered. 

"You eager ta get the doctor back?" Mal asked, arching his eyebrows.

                "Well," the large mercenary said, clearly uncomfortable under so many inquisitive stares.  "Not . . . I'm just sick a all this talk and all this waitin'.  I wanna do something."

                "Yeah, well," Mal said, turning back to his own dinner, small portions, all untouched.  "You ain't the only one."

*   *   *

                "Simon," Regan said sharply. "Get you're elbows off the table."

                The young doctor, who's elbows were indeed on the table as his chin rested in his palms and his fingers tried to massage the splitting headache out of his temples, did not do as he was told.  Instead, he sent his mother a silent, spiteful glare.

                "Don't look at your mother that way," Gabriel snapped.  "How dare you?"

                "I'm a criminal, Dad," Simon said, lifting his head and letting his arms rest on top of the table, elbows and all. "I've done all sorts of improper and impolite things."

                Inara, who knew better, glanced at him, but didn't say a word.  She couldn't blame him for being surly.  As they feasted on roast beef, honey-glazed carrots, whipped potatoes, and lime sherbet, he picked at a skinny roast beef sandwich.  A discrepancy which, Inara thought, he could probably tolerate, if the reasoning behind his poorer fair had been logical, not because he was too unstable to be trusted with silverware.

                Governor Comworth sat at the head of the long, formally set, table.  Genie was to his right, and Inara was across from her.  River, pail, trembling, and muttering to herself as she ignored the food and everything else around her, sat between Genie and Regan with a full place setting of shiny forks and knives in front of her.    Gabriel was sitting at the end of the table, his eyes were continually, accusingly, fixed on Simon, who was sitting to Inara's left.  This was, easily, the most uncomfortable dinner party the companion had ever attended.

                "You're not helping your case, young man," Comworth practically growled.

                "I have a case?" Simon said, mock surprise coloring his voice.  "I didn't realize I hadn't already been tried, judged and sentence."  He laughed coldly, "I mean, you've already condemned River to madness so . . ."

                "Condemned River," Inara said, turning first to Simon, who doggedly refused to look at her.  Remembering herself, and their current position, she turned to Comworth.  "What does he mean?"

                "This isn't really your business Miss Serra," Gabriel grumbled.

                "They won't give her any medicine," Simon said, staring at his sandwich.  "They think it's causing her psychoses."

                "Oh," Inara said, forcing herself not to react beyond that.  She pulled the napkin on her lap up to her mouth and hid a quick sob.

                Genie looked about as pained by River's predicament as Inara was.  She leaned forward and addressed Gabriel with a frankness edging on uncivilized.  "She obviously ain't well, sir," the girl said, then, turning to her friend, said.  "Sorry River." 

                If River understood or even heard the comment she didn't react. 

                "And, could givin' her that medicine for a little while really hurt?  I mean, she ain't . . ."

                "Isn't," Inara corrected, her voice was trembling a little. "And, Genie, dear, don't drop your G's in the present participle phrase."

                "She isn't," Genie continued, passionately, "Isn't gonna, going to, get any better if y'all ignore that she's not right."

                "And what sort of medical expertise qualifies you to make that assertion?" Gabriel asked.

                "Well, Simon said," Genie started.
                "Oh," Gabriel harrumphed, "Simon."

                "Let her finish," Comworth snapped.

                "Simon said that she was taking medicines.  If she's acting like this on account of stopping the medicines. . . . before, I mean, she was still off, ya know, but she was a little like the River I remember."

                "Before she talked," Inara observed. 

                "Before she had the ability to tell the difference between her nightmares and reality," Simon observed, glancing up at his sister.  "Or, at least, the self possession to understand that the nightmare wasn't a reality. Didn't you River?"

                Her brother's direct address must have penetrated River's world on some level, because, without looking up, she laughed and nodded.  "The ghosts caught us," she said.  "They caught us both and now we'll live haunted lives.  We'll be see-through, invisible, and every day will be a horror story."

                "River," Regan said, putting her hand gently on the young girls shoulder.  "River, are you listening to us?  Can you understand?"

                The girl turned her head so quickly that her mother jerked her hand back.  "I hear everything," River told her mother.  "I hear the secrets people don't tell me, and I hear the lies people tell themselves," the girl said with an eerie seriousness, then, laughing, she added. "Just, sometimes, I can't tell the difference."

"River," Simon said a little desperately.  "You don't have to answer any questions."

                "Children who disobey don't get their dessert," River said, looking intently at her brother, smiling.  "But I remember.  Mary Antoinette could tell you that some things are more important than cake."

                Simon stared at her for a second, then, smiled softly and leaned back in his chair, apparently relieved. 

                "What does she mean?" Gabriel demanded of his son.  "Is this another one of your codes?"

                "This is River," Simon said.  His tone was serious, but Inara knew him well enough to hear the hint of a smirk in his words.  The boy had the distinct advantage of having reality on his side; she hoped he was wise enough to, when the time came, keep his gloating subtle. "Who she is now."

                "River," Regan said, drawing back her daughter's attention. "You know we love you, don't you?"

                The girl turned to her mother, reached out, and touched the woman's cheeks, "'Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked , thinks no evil.'"

                "What the di yu is she rambling on about?" Gabriel asked.

                "It's from the bible," Comworth said. 

                "What does it have to do with anything?"

                "River's developed her own type of logic," Simon said.  His voice was soft and distant as he stared at the interaction between his mother and his sister. 

                "'Does not rejoice in iniquity," River continued. "But rejoices in the truth; Bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.'"

                "Oh, River," Regan, said, tears welling in her eyes.

                "It says 'Love never fails,'" River said, her hand drooping away from her mother's face and turning to Simon.  "It doesn't say 'love comes', though, does it Simon?"

                "I got stuck on the part where 'love believes all things' and 'rejoices in the truth'," the doctor said, a little pointedly.

                "But it should say love comes," River insisted, clearly getting upset with St. Paul for his grievous omission.  "He was writing about Jesus and Jesus came.  That's why he was important. The preacher explained it all.  I can draw a picture."  Her eyes started darting around the table for something to write with and write on so she could recreate one of Book's evangelical sketches.   

                "River," the governor said, crisply after a moment, catching the girl's, and the rest of the table's, attention.  "Before you can bear, believe, hope or endure, you have to be there.  You have to have come."

                For a second, the girl just stared at him, with an open mouth and a quizzical expression.  Then she broke into a smile.  "I knew love came," she said triumphantly, before turning to her brother and sticking her tongue out, as if to indicate her victory over his assertions.

                "We came, River," Regan said, excitedly.  "We came here for you, and for Simon."

                "No you didn't," the girl said, shaking her head.  "You came here for yourselves."

                All the color drained from Regan's face.  She turned quickly to look at Gabriel, who was just as shocked at his daughter's pronouncement as his wife.  "That's not kind, River," Gabriel said.

                The girl shrugged, "I wasn't going to get dessert anyways."

*   *   *

                Inara looked tired, almost haggard. "God, you look like hell," Mal noted.

                "Thank you," the companion said, smiling at the captain sarcastically from the vid screen.  "You always know just what to say."

                "I take it the governor's mansion isn't quite a paradise."

                "I've been so worried about Simon and River," she said, her voice shaking.  Mal realized that Inara had been struggling to hold her cool, unconcerned composure for over 18 hours.  He'd been able to swear, and scheme and kick things to express how incredibly frustrated he was.  She'd been trapped, forced to lie and watch and pretend she didn't care.  "I feel ill.  I haven't' eaten all day."

                "You should sit down," Mal said, regretting his inconsiderate greeting.

                "I am sitting down, Mal," Inara snapped.  "But I wish I were pacing."

                "Well, just, take a deep breath, make yourself some tea and try ta relax.  I can wait."

                "No," Inara sighed, "No, we should talk now."

                "Kay," Mal nodded.  "You wanna start, or should I?"

                "Do you have any good news?" she asked, the smallest hint of desperation in her voice.

                "Ah, no."

                The companion sighed and rolled her eyes.  "What do you want to know?"

                "Are the kids in any immediate danger?" Mal said.  "We got a plan, but for it to go smooth we'll need least a day.  Or, we could be a little less subtle.  In Serenity it'd only take 'bout twenty minutes to—"

                "No," Inara finally interrupted.  "No, they . . . I think they're safe, for now.  I mean, as long as they are here, in the Governor Comworth's villa, I know they will be safe."

                "You know I trust you," Mal said.  "But I'd feel a hell'of'a'lot better if you could give me some assurances."

                "The day's been so hectic," Inara said, taking a deep breath and looking up at her shuttle's plain gray ceiling.  "I'd hate to repeat myself."

                "I'd rather that than have anything left out," Mal said.  "Best start at the beginning."

*  *  *    

"Here, Simon," Governor Comworth said, handing the boy a fine china cup filled with coffee.

The young doctor took it sullenly. "Thank you," he said, very quietly.

"Sugar?" The governor said, an almost coaxing tone in his voice. "Cream?"

"No," Simon shook his head.

"What?" Gabriel harrumphed. "I've never know you to drink your coffee black. Is this part of your knew criminal image?"

"Some decorum, Gabriel," Comworth said in a low, commanding voice.

"What's the point?" Gabriel said. "Pretending we're all civilized when my son here has made it clear that he has no desire to act as such."

"Because I don't want cream and sugar?" Simon said, lifting his head. As he'd been lead into Comworth's study for what had been described to him as a serious discussion, he'd promised himself that he wasn't going to react to his father's prodding. It seemed clear to Simon that his godfather was eager to figure out what was really going on, and his father was eager to have the whole mess cleaned up.

It was possible, Simon knew, that he'd be able to convince them he was not insane, but that River was, and that the best course of action would be to let the two of them go and slip off into the darkness of space. True, it was a very, very slim possibility; he was probably more likely to be struck dead by lightening as he sat there. Still, while that possibility existed, he felt he should do everything in his power to make it happen. And not smirking at his father was one of those things. Unfortunately, at times, Simon couldn't help himself.  "I never realized polite society was so strict about after dinner refreshments."

"I'm just trying to understand what happened to you," Gabriel said, with enough fatherly concern in his voice to make Simon feel guilty. "I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but the changes in your behavior, both drastic and subtle, are disconcerting. I hope you can appreciate that."

Simon nodded and when he spoke his throat was oddly dry. "I can and I'm sorry."

The apology seemed to catch the two older men off guard, "Sorry, Simon?" Comworth asked as he lowered himself onto a couch, facing Simon in his stiff-backed chair head on. Gabriel Tam was had sunk into a plush chair perpendicular to his son, which suited them both, as neither were quite yet ready to look in the other's eyes.

"I am," Simon said, nodding, staring into the black depths of his coffee. "This whole . . . I never wanted . . . I did what I thought I had to do. Nothing I did was ever malicious. It's hard to see that, I'm sure, because I know what I did . . . it hurt you." The boy glanced up to his father and for the briefest second their eyes meet. Simon quickly glanced back to his coffee, "And it hurt Mom and, probably, other people."

"You have quite the ability to underestimate the effects of your own actions," his father observed icily.

"The boy is apologizing," Comworth snapped. "If you're so determined to prove you're civility you might think about accepting it."

There was a cold silence as both Tam men sulked, trying to find a way to accept what the other had said. When the governor finally shattered the silence, his voice was crisp and filled with a forced brightness. "Simon, I think it would profit us to know what you've been doing, what you and River have been doing, for these last months."

"What we've been doing?" The young doctor said, looking up to his godfather, intentionally avoiding his father's glare. "I don't think . . ."

"Yes, Simon," Gabriel prompted. "Where were you two off playing as your mother and I desperately longed for any word, wondered if you were dead or alive, fenced the most atrocious questions any parent--"

"I think that's quite enough, Gabriel," Comworth snapped. "Your son apologized, what more do you want him to do?"

"I think I deserve an explanation," Gabriel said.

"I can't tell you where we've been," Simon asserted, before it was asked of him again. "I wish that I could."

"Why can't you?" Comworth asked.

The boy sat, with his mouth open, searching for the right thing to say for a moment. Finally, his eyes returning to the dark coffee, he said, "People helped us, people I'm not going to betray."

"By telling us about your lives you'd hardly be betraying . . ." Gabriel started.

"You have money and influence," Simon said, his eyes darting up, meeting his father's and holding the stare. "They don't. You should be grateful to them . . . what they did . . . but, I don't--don't think you see it like that."

"There was a substantial reward for you and your sister," Comworth said. "They knew that, and still hid you?"

"You sound skeptical," Simon observed.  "You can take River's and my presence here as proof."

                There was another chilled silence in the room.  Simon's point was well made, and truthfully, indisputable.  But of all the things he'd said, this somehow seemed hardest to accept.  Simon was not a genuinely amiable fellow; everyone who knew him knew that. It wasn't that he wasn't kind, or wasn't generous, or wasn't in possession of a host of likeable qualities.  But an unusual combination of natural shyness and well-deserved self-assurance tended to keep his more pleasant character traits hidden to new acquaintances.  It seemed inconceivable that he could have found people who would take him in at all, and even if such people were to be found, they would surely sell the boy and his sister for the substantial reward. 

                It was as if Simon's father and godfather didn't believe that anyone other than his family could find a way to accept him.  A notion with which Simon would have resigningly agreed with up to the point Mal had come back for them on Jiangyin.  River had stumbled onto a surprising truth that night at dinner, Simon realized.  His parents may have conceived him, housed him, fed him, taught him, and indulged him his entire life.  But when he and River had been in their most desperate strengths, Mal had been the one to come.  And Simon would not betray the pirate to his parents, not if his life depended on it.

                "Well," Comworth said finally.  "I suppose the fact that whomever you've been with has valued your freedoms over a cash reward speaks highly of them.  Still, we do have a right to know."

                "Speaks highly?" Gabriel scoffed.  "Simon is a criminal; he's undoubtedly fallen in with criminals who protect him to protect themselves."

                "Is that true, Simon?" Comworth asked, clearly upset by what Gabriel had suggested.

                "In . . . in part," the young doctor admitted, quickly adding, "But River and I have been  . . . it's been a while, now and . . ."

                "River," Gabriel said, his voice was sharp with condemnation.  "In the state she's in, the state you put her in . . ."

                "That school put her in that state!" Simon interjected.  He was ignored.

                "Is being cared for by criminals," Gabriel looked at his son with a newfound disgust.  "Instead of being taught . . ."

                "She wasn't being taught she was being tortured."
                " . . . by the finest faculty in the Core, she's being schooled by some group of boarder world dunces on the finer arts of pocket-picking and grift."

                "They've taken care of us," Simon asserted.  "It doesn't matter what insults you fling, the fact of the matter is that River and I would be dead if not for their aid."

                Before the words were fully out of Simon's mouth, Regan Tam burst into the study, a nightgown-clad River being dragged behind her.

                "Simon," Regan said with all the motherly authority her voice had ever possessed as she presented the girl to her brother.  "Explain this to me at once."

                Simon was about to tell his mother that he couldn't explain River, when he realized that she was not upset about her daughter as a whole, but rather the fresh red scars up and down the girls forearms. "Fan shi bei" he muttered.

To Be Continued . . .