"Ah, I see you're assimilating into the crew very well," Book's amused voice said from above the cargo bay floor.

Camille gave a shout as she finished the final move of her kata, holding it for a moment before she glanced upwards. Sweat had plastered her bangs to her forehead, and her lungs burned as she drew in air. "What?" she snapped in annoyance, eyes flicking at the arrangement of boxes and pylons so she could plan the quickest way to get up to him and beat that smug expression from his face.

He seemed unfazed by her aggression; right now, he was the only one who wasn't. Simon had tried to interfere, but Inara, of all people, had told her to let him be. Zoe had tried to talk to her, but Camille had simply ignored her; Mal and she weren't talkin' at all, Jayne was bein' kept busy workin' on something, Wash was flyin' the ship, and Kaylee'd watched for a little bit before going back to her vigil over River.

But Book, the quiet shepherd who looked like he wouldn't harm a fly, was bearding the lion's den. "I just mean," he said as he walked down the stairs, "Dr. Tam forbid you to do strenuous exercise until your stitches came out. Yet, here you are."

"I have a job I need to do." Camille wiped her face with the hem of her shirt. "I'm out of shape."

"From not working out for less than two weeks? I hardly think..."

Book struck without warning. His fist flew through the air, just off center from her nose, faster than normal people would be able to track.

But Camille wasn't normal people. Not hesitating a moment, she stepped aside and her left arm snapped into an upblock, driving his punch aside. Grabbing it as she pushed it as far down as she could, Camille threw a punch of her own.

Book knocked it aside easily, but telegraphed his next move. Camille jumped as his foot tried to swipe her legs from under her. Quickly, she turned, back to him, and brought her right hand down, aiming for his crotch.

He flipped her onto the ground, knocking the air from her lungs. Kipping up, Camille thrust kick his knee, finally connecting, then gave a roundhouse to the side of his face. Before he could return the attack, she back-flipped away, retreating across the floor to recoup.

"Running away?" Book said, lightly teasing but not taunting.

"When the target is so easy?" Camille climbed on a nearby pile of supplies, and crouched on top. "You're kind of slow, old man."

"I caught you off guard."

She just laughed and leapt to the next, smaller, pile. "That wasn't off guard. That was mildly surprised. Especially since your aim was off."

His brow cocked. "I didn't want to hurt you. I hear you're going to a party in a few days. You wouldn't want to go with a bruise on your face."

Camille flipped off the boxes and landed on the ground. "I would have blocked it. Besides. I've got a ton of make-up to cover it up."

"It'd be a shame to cover the pretty face."

"I'm sick of hearing that," she snapped without thinking. Then she winced, looking away; she couldn't believe she'd said that.

"Camille..."

"Have you always believed in God?" she asked suddenly, turning back.

Book frowned, obviously unnerved by the sudden change in topic. "Yes. I have."

"Then how could you have ever done what you did? You know, before you were a shepherd?" Never mind how she would have known what he'd done. Good soldiers attacked where the enemy was weakest, and this was definitely Book's weakness.

Indeed, he paled at her words, looking more shocked than upset. Then, as he was mustering up his rebuttal, Camille attacked again.

This time, he didn't throw his punches. Every blow was aimed truly, and a few hit their mark. Camille made no sound as she attacked and blocked, not giving ground. For all his size and strength--and he was very strong and very well trained--Book quickly lost the advantage, bowing to Camille's even more superior training and impressive speed. She didn't hurt him, merely forced him back, away from what she'd mentally assigned as her territory.

And then, because, ultimately, Book's point had to be proven, Camille felt the stitches in the huge cut across her abdomen give.

It was a fight, then, against herself. Even as she felt blood seep from the portion of the wound that had opened, she could feel her training kick in that demanded she continue on the fight. Good soldiers didn't give up. They didn't stop. Just kept fighting, don't make a sound, keep going on until the objective has been completed. Don't cry, don't sigh, don't die. Keep fighting and...

"No!" she screamed suddenly, dropping to the deck. Her head hit the grating below and the shock of the metal cutting into her forehead broke the litany that had been ground into her for years.

She trembled as she tried to come back to herself. It was such an automatic impulse, to keep on fighting. Garrison and the rest of the teachers back at the base had realized early on that there was no good way to break the conditioning. It was beyond brainwashing or drug therapy. The Alliance had literally rewired her brain to continue fighting to the very end. All Garrison could do was find the right drugs to help her gain a measure of control over her own body.

But even then, it was still a fight.

"Camille."

"I'm all right." She lifted her head, tears streaming from her eyes. If she ignored them, she could pretend they were just a reaction from the pain, and not...

"What's goin' on?" Mal demanded angrily.

More tears flooded from her eyes. She quickly wiped her face with her shirt as Book tried to explain, but despite her efforts, the tears kept coming.

"Did you have to beat her up?"

"I didn't," Book protested. "We were sparring. We both might have a few bruises on our arms or legs, but we were both careful."

"Then why is she cryin'?"

"Captain." Book sounded chiding. "Was she crying when we first met her? Because, if I remember correctly, she was hurt worse than she is now."

"I'm fine." Camille pushed herself to her feet. She winced as her head wound stabbed sharply through her brain. Like all head wounds, it was bleeding far more than it needed to, and when she wiped her forehead, her hand came away red with blood. "He didn't do nothing."

"When I sent him in to talk to you, I thought he'd talk, not beat on you. Gorram, girl, is there anyone in this verse ain't wantin' to lay fists on your person?" Mal asked.

She raised an eyebrow, pressing her hand into the cut again. "Do you?"

"At this moment?" He caught her by the waist as she swayed slightly, causing her to cry out in pain as his arm pressed against the hidden wound under her shirt. "What now?"

"My stitches pulled. It's hurting. You touched the hurt." She glared at him. "You hurt me."

Mal rolled his eyes and scooped Camille into his arms. "Ah, ain't you cute."

"I can walk," she said.

"Might not walk in the direction I want you to, seein' how stupid you're actin' at the moment."

She squirmed. "You'd never do this to Zoe."

"Zoe ain't pocket-sized," was Mal's level response. "Couldn't if I tried."

"Wasn't what I meant."

Mal's mouth ghosted over her forehead, and he looked down at her. "I know. Doctor. Got you one idiot patient for you to patch up."

"Did Jayne cut himself?" Simon asked. He turned and saw Camille as Mal unceremoniously dumped her onto the med table. "Oh, you mean this idiot patient," he said flatly. "What did you manage to do to yourself?"

"You're not a very caring doctor, are you?" Camille asked, pulling off her shirt.

"When patients go out of their way to hurt themselves, not so much." Simon went to the sink to wash his hands. "Of course, this is just even more evidence that you fit in with this crew perfectly. None of them seem to be able to go a day without some new injury that could easily have been avoided by a little common sense."

"Hey now," Mal protested. "We all get hurt in the line of business. You know, the business that keeps y'all fed and safe and the like."

Simon looked at Mal with an ironic eye as he pulled on his gloves. "Yes. Stab wounds got by dueling, poison kisses, barroom brawls..."

"Poison kisses?" Camille gasped. Simon was cleaning the blood from her cut, and damn if it didn't hurt. She really needed distraction. "Ah!" Her hand shot out and clenched in Mal's shirt, tugging him down.

Predictably, his head knocked into hers, but at least the pain was distracting. Gently, Mal pushed her onto her back, arm pressed against her chest as Simon continued to work, fixing the stitches on the cut that weren't nearly healed near enough to her satisfaction.

"'member how I told you I only ever got the urge to spill my soul to one other person?" Mal asked, fingers curled around her shoulders.

"Uh-huh." Simon was being as gentle as he could, she could tell, but apparently she'd not just pulled the stitches, put snapped them. The smaller wound had all but sealed itself, but the big one was still just a touch raw; it hadn't needed the strain of the workout, even though her body did. Now she was paying for it.

A frown creased Mal's face as a blood rolled down the bridge of Camille's nose and over her lips. Easing up on her just a bit, he snagged a small towel. "She was a mighty fine criminal," he said as he wiped the blood away.

Simon sank a needle into her abdomen; Camille cried out as pain streaked over her skin like sharp claws.

"Camille!" Mal said sharply. "Look at me."

Panting, she obeyed, locking her eyes with Mal's.

He had the towel pressed into her forehead and was staring down at her like she was the only thing in the world to him. "The girl, Saffron, she called herself," he continued like they were alone, relaxing, "pretended we were married."

"Didn't you know?" Camille asked.

"I was drunk. We'd helped rid a town of some bandits that was robbing 'em, and they was so grateful, they threw us a party. Drink was plentiful, and the girl was pretty. Led me through the marriage ritual when all I thought I was doin' was drinkin' some wine and wearin' a silly hat."

"Triumph?" Camille guessed. Then, as Simon did something else that hurt, she contorted her face, yanking Mal closer to her unconsciously.

His face was next to hers now, and his breath was in her ear. "Been there?"

"Not me. A friend." She turned her head so she could look at him, needing the steady grounding of his eyes. "He told me all about the local customs and the like."

"Yeah, well. This girl hoodwinked me right proper. Thought she was my wife for a bit then, even though I weren't never plannin' on... you know. Goin' through with it."

"A proper gentleman, that's Mal," Simon chimed in, and there was more than a little bit of disgust in his tone.

Camille grinned, threading her fingers in Mal's hair. "Yeah, I've noticed. What does it take to make him stop acting like one?"

"I'm sure you'll be able to tell me before long."

Her grin widened as Mal almost blushed.

"All right, Camille, I'm done patching that one up. I'm going to cut the rest out. It might hurt a little."

She rolled her eyes, fingers tightening in Mal's hair. "Oh, no. You've got the lightest touch I ever did feel. Nothing in here to fear."

"If you'd let me give you something..."

"You'd have a corpse on your hands. So. You weren't plannin' on doing anything with your blushin' bride. So what happened?"

"She tried to seduce me," Mal said.

"The word 'try' indicates failure, Mal," Simon pointed out.

A look of annoyance flashed over Mal's face and then, pointedly annoying the remark, he said, "I come down to my bunk and find it full of naked woman flesh. And that naked woman started quoting the Bible all dirty-like while flashing her, uh..."

"Soft mounds of womanly-flesh?" Camille supplied when Mal slowed. She laughed and said, "Since when do you try to talk all nice-like?"

"Since I find myself pressed against your, uh, soft mounds of womanly flesh tellin' this story," Mal answered. "Anyway, she managed to get me all hot 'n bothered, through no fault of my own, mind you..."

"Uh-huh," both Camille and Simon said at the same time.

"And she kissed me. Only she weren't some innocent little religious girl from Triumph, she were some Companion-trained thief come to steal my ship. She had poison coatin' her lipstick and it knocked me right out."

Whatever Simon was doing didn't hurt at all. Camille let out a slow sigh and unclenched her fingers from Mal's hair. "Doesn't sound like that was all your fault," she said, combing through the short strands until she was holding Mal by the nape of his neck. "In fact, that almost sounds like it happened because of duty."

"Don't try to excuse him," Simon said. He ran something cool and soothing over Camille's abdomen. "He had no business kissing Saffron. She may have been a criminal mastermind, but her cover was that of an innocent child."

"Yeah, an innocent child quoting dirty Bible and laying nekkid in my bed!" Mal protested. He glanced back at Simon, and then straightened, taking his weight off Camille. "Besides, she had Companion training; I didn't have a chance."

Simon just shot Mal a look that spoke volumes.

Camille pushed herself into a sitting position, grabbing Mal's arm when the ship seemed to swirl around her. "A minute ago you were complaining that Mal was a proper gentleman. Now, suddenly, he's led by a less thoughtful portion of his anatomy?" She kicked Simon gently as he approached her, pushing her bangs from her forehead. "Jealous?"

If looks could kill...

"By the way, I'm not going to ask how you got this," he said as he placed a butterfly bandage over the cut in her forehead. "Just... however you did, don't do it again."

"I won't."

"Now." Simon stepped back and pulled off his gloves. "No more strenuous exercise until at least two days from now. That includes weight lifting, jumping around, beating up shepherds, full contact checkers, gymnastics, and anything where your upper body moves away from your lower body. I'm serious. If you plan to make it to this party you and Mal are going to without staining your clothes with blood, you need to let the wound heal."

"Ain't you got anything to help it along?"

Simon shook his head. "A dermal regenerator would do the trick, but we don't have access to one. You have to do it the old fashion way."

Camille nodded. "Sorry," she said, kicking her legs lightly. "I just... wasn't thinking."

"So I noticed." Simon's eyes flicked from Camille to Mal and back again. "You know..."

"Bye, Doc!" Camille said brightly, not wanting to hear the lecture she knew she and Mal were about to receive. "I'm going to change."

"Camille." Simon had that 'I'm your doctor, don't you dare leave, sit right down and listen to my sage wisdom' tone, but Camille didn't have any time for it. She'd heard it all before.

"Camille!" Mal called.

Oh, fantastic.

"What?" She turned, but didn't stop, instead walking through the ship backwards as carefully as she could.

"We need to talk."

"Can't it wait?" Camille reached her room and went inside, leaving the door open for Mal to follow her inside.

The door closed behind Mal. "No." He stepped further inside, his mouth set in a hard line. "Look, I'm havin' a hard time understandin' you."

"Join the club." She pulled a shirt she'd stolen from Garrison years ago out and pulled it on. "Look, I'm sorry for the way I acted today," she said, turning to face Mal. "Tyber just made me uncomfortable and... pissy."

"No kiddin. Do you know him or something? Run into him before?"

Camille shook her head, her fingers fumbling on the buttons as she tried to do them. "No, but I've run into his type. And it weren't so much him that got to me as the fact..."

"He ignored the code. What code?" Mal stepped into her and brushed her hands aside so he could fasten her shirt.

Annoyed, she exhaled hard. "Garrison set a code up for anyone wantin' to do business with any of us. Now, normally they don't go to someone like me."

"Like you?"

Damn; watch about getting too close to the truth, Camille, she reminded herself sharply. "I don't really do the business side of things. I just do the work. We've got people basically on every world. They find jobs, record them with Garrison, and give us all the information and anything else we need."

"Like invites to big shindigs?"

"And maps of the layout. Codes to security, that sort of thing. I can do my own fieldwork, too, of course, but in most cases, it's just easiest for all the ducks to be in a row before shootin' them"

"Right. So, what rubbed you wrong about Tyber? Besides him being a ben tian sheng de yi dui rou?"

"Do I need a better reason?" she asked with a small smile and half shrug.

"You do if you start actin' like your brain got left in space, yes." He was done with the buttons, but still holding onto her shirt. It almost felt like he was ready to take it off again, and Camille almost wished he would; anything had to be better than trying to sort through what she was thinking and feeling. She got enough of that back at the base.

But, Mal didn't want to be seduced, and while she had no doubt that if she put her mind to it, she'd be able to finally get him into bed, it'd be a sure way to get herself invitation to stay onboard revoked. And she didn't want that.

"I guess that, maybe, I'm a little, ah, uncomfortable with my assignment on Beaumonde." She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she reached up and fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. "I've got a job to do, and now my attention will be divided."

"I ain't exactly new to all this. I can take care of myself."

"That ain't... I mean, I know. But, if somethin' were to happen..."

"You'd leave me, I know." His hands slid up her shoulders and he squeezed. "You killin' someone?"

Camille shook her head. "Robbery. I'm stealing some files off his computer." She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his eyes. "It's a real important job, Mal. There's so much at stake, and..." Without warning, her throat closed up.

"What's wrong?"

Unable to speak, she shook her head, tears pounding behind her eyes. There was so much at stake on this job. So many lives: hers, River, Prophet, Trinity, Ebony... all of them. Every life the Alliance had twisted might be fixed with the information on that computer. If she succeeded and, of course, failure was not an option.

Neither was losing anyone on the crew.

Mal sighed. "The money from that necklace could help us out a lot. I'd hate to turn it down."

"I don't want you to." She cleared her throat, trying to force her words out. "It's doable. Both our jobs. But we gotta do it my way."

"You're way?"

"Yeah." She looked up with him. "I mean, I'll let you help me plan it, of course, and once we're inside, if somethin' comes up, you're free to improvise. But you're there on my ticket and you gotta play it by my rules. Dong ma?"

He understood. He obviously didn't like it, though, and his displeasure was written across his face. "You won't make me do nothin' stupid, right?"

"Like wear a pretty flowered bonnet and play at being Jayne's wife?"

"Now how did you hear about that?" Mal asked, looking befuddled.

Camille smiled sweetly and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Why, Captain, haven't you heard? It's a small ship."

He laughed and picked her up by the waist so he could plant a kiss on the bridge of her nose. "Well, now that you mention it, I may have heard that rumor." Mal's face turned serious, eyes flicking to her lips. "No flowered bonnets, no playin' like I'm your indentured man, no wearing make-up."

"Wow. I think I better ask for a few more stories from the crew. Sounds like you've had an interestin' life." She licked her lips, her own eyes falling to Mal's for a moment. "Nothin' stupid," she promised, heart pounding. "Just a little show to make us blend in with the rest. Easy stuff."

"Good." Mal's voice was low, throaty. He leaned in just a bit, and Camille's breath caught as her eyes slid shut and...

"Camille!" Kaylee's voice called. The door flew opened, breaking Camille and Mal apart as she said, "River's up and wants to know if... Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!" Her hands were at her cheeks, and there was a huge grin on her face as she looked the two of them.

Clearing his throat, Mal released Camille and moved away. "No problem, little Kaylee. I've gotta get up to the... bridge and..." He gave Kaylee a withering look that by all rights should have dimmed her beam, then left.

Kaylee turned her smile on Camille. "So, did you kiss?" she asked.

"No." Her face was hot and, for the first time in quite a bit, Camille actually felt flustered. "Someone interrupted us."

"I'm so sorry. I swear, I wouldn't have, especially since you was in such a mood earlier, but River's starving and I didn't know what you last ate, so..."

Camille just shrugged and linked her arm through Kaylee's. "It's fine. I'm starved too. Let's go."