Camille felt it the moment Serenity entered Dyton Colony's atmosphere. After being with only nine people the past few days, the sudden crush of minds was oppressive. Setting down the dish she'd been washing, Camille closed her eyes and bent over the sink.

From somewhere in the ship, River shrieked. Obviously, she was feeling it too. Camille wondered what River did to protect herself from the melee or, if she wasn't able to block it out, how she coped.

She got her answer a moment later when River sent out a strong psychic blast that knocked Camille off her feet. The ship spun dizzily around her, and she didn't know what was going on, so strong was River's assault.

After a moment, Camille was able to attack back. She plunged deep into River's mind, striking at the untamed, violent waves that were spewing forth. River's pain was evident, but Camille was pretty damned pained herself so, at the moment, she really didn't care if she hurt River. She just wanted her to stop.

River screamed again and then, abruptly, it was over.

Gasping, Camille went limp. She was sweating and trembling from the assault, but it was over. And she was still in one piece.

That hadn't happened to her in a very long time. As much as Garrison had tried to keep them from hurting one another with their minds, he hadn't always been successful. He'd discovered at one point that the Alliance had lined all the bedrooms at the Academy with mud from Higgins Moon, which, for some reason, blocked psychic powers, at least partially. It worked on some of the less powerful psychics, but for kids like Prophet and Trinity, it was only minimally effective. Camille had missed Trinity's first few weeks, since she'd been liberated after the older girl, but she'd been there for every minute after Prophet had been brought in.

"Um, you all right?"

Camille opened her eyes. Mal was standing over her, eyebrow cocked. He was looking at her like she was crazy.

She smiled lazily. "I got bored washing the dishes. Decided to take a break."

"And this here is the most comfortable place in the ship, so I hear tell."

"I don't know. I can think of one place that's probably more comfortable." Her smile turned lascivious and she ran her foot up his calve.

Mal snorted. "Your signals ain't by no means straight, girl. Didn't we just talk 'bout this last night?" He stepped so he was standing right over her and couched, hovering just above her knees.

"Yes. And maybe I was rethinkin' out conclusion."

"Were you now?"

She reached up and took his hands. Threading her fingers through his, she gently tugged at him until he was sitting on her pelvis, supporting his weight on his knees. "I kinda got caught up by the idea that it could be great between us."

"I believe the word we was discussing was actually sacred. And right now, we're in a kitchen." But he was smiling and his thumb rubbed against her index finger.

"I didn't say it had to be now."

"What's goin' on, Camille?"

I just got attacked by another psychic, and now I'm horny, she thought, but she kept it to herself. "Nothin'. I just... got to thinking about you after I went to bed last night, and decided that a little harmless flirting couldn't be a bad thing. Right?"

"I don't know if that's wise. You'll be leavin' us in a few days, and..."

"I wanna stay."

Mal sighed. "I want you to stay. But that would complicate matters even more."

"Maybe you're the ones makin' things unnecessarily complicated. Wash and Zoe are married, and they ain't destroyed the ship yet. Kaylee and River are together, and the 'verse is still supportin' life. Sometimes it ain't a bad thing for people in close quarters to explore mutual feelin's. After all, if you ever do get married, what are you gonna do with her?"

The image of a ranch flashed through Mal's mind, and Camille blinked, surprised.

"I never much thought you one for settlin' down planet side," she said before she thought. She knew that he'd been dreaming about owning a ranch, but your subconscious did things on its own sometimes.

Mal didn't seem to think there was anything unusual about what she said, though. He simply replied, "I wouldn't want to ever be stuck down permanently, but ownin' a bit of land is something I fought for. Bled for. All I need to be happy is to have my own space, both land and sky. Somethin' to live for."

"What about someone to share it with?"

His eyes grew soft and he detangled his hand from Camille's. "You're so young," he said as he ran his knuckles over her cheek. "You shouldn't even be thinkin' about tyin' yourself to somethin' like that, not even pretendin."

"I might not have been in the 'verse a long time, but I ain't... I ain't what I seem."

"That's no lie. Don't make you any less young, though."

Heart pounding, she stopped his hand against her cheek. "The last man I was in love with was in his fifties. He made me alive, and... well. Seeing how I felt around him makes me believe that age don't really matter when it comes to..."

"Don't."

"Believe me, I wish I could just shut up. I'm embarrassing myself."

Mal shook his head, smiling. "So. What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know."

He sighed, again shaking his head. He was about to say something, when Jayne stuck his head in the room, saying, "We gonna deliver the cargo or not?"

"I just need a minute."

Jayne smirked, eyes on Camille. "That's how long it takes you? Because, Camille, I..."

"Out!" Mal ordered, turning.

The other man made a face and left.

"After we drop off the cargo, we're going to a bar," Mal said. He climbed off Camille and helped her to her feet. "It ain't nothin special, just pool, some real alcohol, something that passes for food. I figure we ain't in a rush, so we can stay 'till tomorrow monin'."

"Uh-huh?" Camille said politely, pretty sure she knew what he was getting at, but playing coy anyway.

His eyes narrowed at her, like he knew what she was doing. "Join us. I mean, me. I mean, come and ..."

Camille placed her hand over his mouth. "I know what you mean. And it sounds like fun; thanks." She kissed him softly on the cheek, then slowly pulled away, sliding her hand down his chin, neck, and then to his chest.

Mal shivered, eyes dark as he watched her. "Um," he said, voice low. "See you later." Then, moving like he was being torn away, he turned and left the room.

What the hell was she doing? No matter how many times she tried to convince herself that playing with Mal was worse than fire, she couldn't stop.

If she was smart, she'd leave. Or tell him who she was. Both would stop him in his tracks, halt the madness from going any further.

But she'd do neither. Because, ultimately, she was weak. She liked sex, she liked Mal, and she knew she'd like sex with Mal. There wasn't much more than that.

Camille went to her room and changed her clothes. This was just an easy pick-up job, which meant she didn't have to do the chameleon thing and change alias's, especially since she was coming right back to Serenity. Actually, it wasn't so much the clothes she was changing as the weapons she was adding. She very rarely went out without at least one strapped to her body somewhere; the only reason she hadn't had any when she'd boarded Serenity was because she'd just come out of a job. And she couldn't take any weapons on that job since the damn admiral had weapon detectors over all his windows.

The gun holster strapped around her waist and down her thigh and was easily concealed by both a skirt and cargo pants with a hole in one pocket. She chose the cargo pants today. A knife slid into the top of her boot. On her left forearm was another small holster with another gun. Another dagger went into a holster at the small of her back. Over it, she pulled on a loose tank top and the shirt she'd borrowed from Mal the first night she'd gotten there. She had others, of course, that would have suited, but she liked the way Mal's felt against her skin.

She put her hair back in a headband, grabbed her computer and some money, and left her room.

"Hitting the town?" Simon asked as she passed the infirmary.

River was inside, obviously sedated. Kaylee sat next to her, fiddling with some kind of mechanical thing.

Camille swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest. "Um, yeah," she said, unable to take her eyes of River. She was so pale and silent. So...

It was like back there.

"Camille?"

"Um, yeah, I'm going out for a bit. I've some shopping to do." She backed slowly away from the infirmary, eyes locked on River.

Simon looked over his shoulder. "Oh. River sometimes has problems adjusting when we land on a new planet. She's fine, but she was so agitated, I had to sedate her. She was hurting herself."

Not just herself. "Right. Well. I'm going to..."

"Camille." Simon grabbed her by the arm as she turned to flee. Immediately, he released his grip. "What is that?"

"Simon, it's... where I keep my money. I'm fine, really. Just distracted. Mal told me to meet him later, and now I..."

"Ah." Simon cocked his head, studying her. "I see."

"No, it's not like that."

"Jayne did grumble something about Mal having a quickie in the kitchen. I thought maybe he was going for quiche, but actually, quickie does make sense."

She smacked him on the arm. "You really are a brat."

"Be careful," Simon told her, laughing. "From what I hear, this colony was made up of convicts."

Camille smirked. "I'll be careful not to hurt anyone real bad." She glanced at River once more, then flounced out of the ship.

Dyton Colony was typical of a Rim planet. It was dusty and dry. Their imports far exceeded their exports, the law was basically ineffective, and most of the buildings were ramshackle and falling apart.

Of course, most of the inhabitants were ex-cons, so it was to be expected. They were criminals who'd bought a shorter prison sentence by agreeing to be exiled to hell for a few years. Generally, they were given a certain number of years they had to stay on the planet. Most left the moment their parole was finished, if not earlier, which meant the population was hugely transient, hence the lack of development. It definitely wasn't a place for anyone who couldn't take care of themselves, either. Camille was almost mugged three times in the fifteen minutes it took her to get from Serenity to the building she was doing her pick up. Each mugger was left with nothing but a broken hand for their troubles.

"Mr. Thomas?" Camille called, entering the seemingly empty spirits shop. Her voice had taken on the native accent by matter of course; it was the chameleon part of her coming out again. "You in here?"

"Yeah. One moment."

Camille leaned against the counter and read the labels of the bottles behind the counter. There was some excellent booze in the store. Camille didn't drink much--she figured she had enough chemical running rampant through her bloodstream--but she did, on occasion enjoy a small glass. And she knew that both Mal and Garrison would like something. Especially since Mal probably couldn't usually afford most of the stuff in here.

The man finally came out from the back. He was short, portly, and balding and looked relatively harmless. For some reason, he set Camille's teeth on edge.

"Garrison Pike sent me to pick up a package."

"Ah, right. But how do I know you're the one what I'm supposed to give it to?" He leered at her, eyes slowly traveling over her body.

"The sun's hot in space, ain't it?"

"Not as hot as in an Alliance cell." Thomas pulled a box from under the counter and slid it across to her. When she reached out to take it, though, he refused to let go. "My money?"

"Will be transferred to your account as soon as I know this is what I'm expecting." She yanked the box away from him. "And give me a bottle of your most expensive whiskey." After placing the box in her pocket, she pulled out a wallet and paid for the whiskey.

"Sure you don't want to have a drink with me, luv? Maybe play a bit of... cards with me?"

Camille just snorted and left the store. The package proved to be what it was supposed to be, and she sent a message back to base requesting the funds be transferred. Then, holding tight to the bag with the whiskey, she set about to find a fabric store.

Being a chameleon took work. Everyone at base was trained to take on new alias's, change their looks, and blend into a crowd both at a moment's notice and with a lot of preparation. Camille, for whatever reason, happened to be the best at this particular skill. Once, Garrison had suggested that it was due to the plays and such she'd done as a child, but since Camille didn't like to think about her childhood, she'd refused to comment.

But, privately, she wondered if he was on to something. When she was a kid, she'd constantly played dress up and pretended to be other people. She would come up with elaborate backgrounds for each character and even, on occasion, go out in public in character. Starting at about when she was seven, her parents put her in plays so she had a less embarrassing way to play act.

She didn't usually make her own clothes, though. It was much easier to buy them. But Serenity was lading on Beaumonde the day of the party, so she wouldn't have time to buy a dress. Plus, at a party like this, if you didn't show up in an original, you tended to stick out, and that's just what she wanted to avoid. It wouldn't be easy to make dress without a sewing machine but, if she was very lucky, Inara would not only have one, but she also wouldn't ask too many questions.

Of course, Inara knew more than Camille wanted her to, but that couldn't be helped.

Camille finally found the clothing district. It was bustling and relatively clean, full of people hocking their wares as well as buying. It took Camille three stores until she found a shop with fabric quality that suited her. First plopping down in front of a pattern screen, she surfed around until she found a simple-to-make dress that was elegant and fashionable. She bought the pattern and downloaded it into her computer. Then she dug through the fabrics, losing herself in the feel of silks and satins sliding beneath her hands.

"I hear you and Mal had a quickie in the kitchen this morning."

Startled, Camille turned, hand sliding into her pocket for her pistol. Inara was standing next to her, an amused smile on her face.

"Oh." She pulled her hand out. "Yeah, that really happened. My back's still got the marks from the metal grating."

Inara laughed and turned to the bolt of fabric. "Oh, I heard it was against the sink, with you sitting on the ledge while Mal sucked your toes."

"There were five people on board when I left, and one of them was unconscious. Another's a Shepard. How the hell did the rumor mutate?"

"Simon's quite the storyteller."

She shot Inara a narrow-eyed look. "The two of you collaborated, didn't you?"

One shoulder raised and lowered elegantly. "We were bored."

"Or commiserating?"

Inara's nose wrinkled and she looked away. "Well," she replied softly. "Maybe a little bit."

Camille immediately felt like a si san ba. "Inara, I'm so sorry. I.."

"No, sweetheart, don't be," Inara sad, turning back. She took Camille's hand. "Mal and I settled our... whatever long ago. Before you. So did Mal and Simon. And while he and I may have a bit of that wistful, bittersweet longing in us, we're both happy that he seems to have found someone who..."

"We're not..." Camille protested, but her voice died away.

"You're dancing right now, that's all. Mal is slow. Methodical and very careful. His whole life, his whole sense of being was utterly destroyed at the battle of Serenity Valley. Since then, it's been very hard for him to let people in."

Camille pulled a very pretty green fabric out and stroked it. "Yeah, well. It's not picnic for me, either."

Inara put her arms around Camille and hugged her. "What was done to you was a horrible violation. I'm not surprised that you have problems letting people get close to you, but you can't live your life stuck in one moment of time. You have find the strength somehow to move on."

She didn't answer. This was nothing something she wanted to talk about, even with someone like Inara. A person whom Camille, for the most part, trusted. "How's this?" she asked, holding up the green. "With a white underskirt?"

"How about this?" Inara pulled out a deeply rich purple satin. "It would look lovely with your complexion."

"It's beautiful, but it'll make me stand out too much."

"I see. Well, how about this green instead." She pulled a darker green from the shelf. "It's just you're so pale, you'll be washed out if you go with that fabric."

"Okay." Camille took the bolt from Inara and took it to the counter to be measured. "Well, I'm done," she said after her purchase had been wrapped. "Are you heading back to the ship?"

"Not yet. I still have more shopping to do. Do you want me to hold onto your things so you can go meet Mal?"

Camille's cheeks burned. "Does everyone know about that, too?"

"It's a small ship."

"So I've heard." She handed Inara the fabric, but kept the whiskey. "Thanks."

Inara's smile was luminous. "Of course. Have fun, sweetheart."

"Yeah, well" Camille replied, suddenly nervous. "I hope I will."