The crew quarters were dark, but not sleeping-dark. More like waiting. Engine hum threaded through the metal ribs of the ship, steady and low, and the recycled air had that dry tang of something slightly overworked. Mal stood outside the galley, arms crossed, boot tapping the deck with restless little thumps. The lights overhead cast a thin yellow wash across his face, deepening the lines. He looked tired, but wired through. The kind of energy that comes from too much thinking and not enough doing.

"I'm tellin' ya, Zoe," he said, low, like the ship might hear him. "That old man's downright creepifyin'. Walks around like he ain't got a worry in the 'verse. Makes folk smile. That ain't right."

Zoe leaned against the bulkhead, calm in a way that made her seem carved from it. "What's he done?"

Mal rubbed his face with one hand. "That's just it. Not done anything. Just… around. Chattin'. Askin' questions that sound like jokes but ain't. Dressed like a Core noble tryin' to slum it, but cleaner than anything on this boat's ever been. Why's someone like that buying passage on a cargo runner with duct tape on the nav console?"

"He paid well," she said. "Didn't shoot anyone. And he's been polite. Far as passengers go, we've had worse. We have worse."

"His crate," Mal started, then stopped. Frowned. "It's too quiet. Like it's hidin' something."

"Sir," Zoe said, softer now. "You haven't slept proper in four days, and you've gone through enough of Simon's coffee to embalm yourself. This job's wearin' on you."

"It's the first payday in a month," Mal snapped, more out of reflex than heat. He winced after. "Alright. Maybe. Can't afford to screw it up."

Before Zoe could answer, Wash's voice cut in over the intercom, rough around the edges but alert. "Captain? You really oughta come up here."

They made their way up the corridor, boots echoing softly against metal grating. Serenity's bridge was cool, the blue glow of the console panels casting long shadows up Wash's face. He didn't look alarmed, exactly—but he was sitting forward. That was always a tell.

"Hey, honey," he said as Zoe stepped through. She returned the smile, brief and dry.

Mal stayed in the doorway. "Alright, what's got your tailfeathers up?"

Wash swung a hand toward the console like he was presenting a puzzle box. "Nothing outside. Sky's quiet. It's in here. In the readouts."

Mal crossed the deck, leaned over the console. One of the old monitors buzzed faintly, the screen showing fuel usage that didn't match anything he was used to. He tapped the gauge, frowned. "You wanna get a little more specific?"

"You're not a bad pilot," Wash said.

"Don't butter me up."

Wash grinned. "Then you should see it already. Something that shouldn't be there… but is."

Mal stared again. Star path, power draw, pressure stats... and then it clicked. "Fuel gauge."

"Yep."

"We should be low."

"We should be halfway through the tank," Wash said. "But we're sittin' pretty like we just topped off. Diagnostics all green. And we didn't reroute anything. Far as I can tell, the ship's running more efficient than she's ever been."

Zoe rested a hand on the back of his chair. "You think it's the old man."

"Wouldn't bet against it."

Mal jabbed the intercom. "Kaylee."

Her voice came back bright, but with an edge. "Yeah, Cap?"

"It's quieter in the engine room."

"Yeah, Doctor Smith helped me do a tune-up. Would've done more if you hadn't scared him off."

Zoe raised a brow. Wash grinned outright.

"Oh, Mal," Wash said, drawing it out. "You chased off the kindly grandpa fixin' the sink, didn't you?"

Mal scowled. "He creeps me out."

"He also apparently doubled our fuel efficiency," Kaylee cut in. "Showed me a work-around I ain't never even thought of. And I checked it—it ain't a patch job. Real solid work."

Wash tapped the screen again. "If we keep running like this, he's saved us eighty platinum minimum. Might be more."

Kaylee chimed in again, her voice brightening with every word. "And if we had half the parts we're supposed to? I could really make her sing."

Mal let out a breath, low and tight. "So. He's quiet, polite, dresses weird, and makes the ship run better than she ever has."

"Yep," Zoe said.

"Still gives me the willies."

Wash swung around in his chair, arm draped over the back lazily. "Let's put it this way. Either he's a genius with a weird fashion sense and good manners, or he's an evil space wizard who wants to fix our ship before killin' us all. Either way, I vote we keep the good mileage and don't piss him off."

Mal stared at the readouts a second longer, then hit the intercom. "Thanks, Kaylee. Good work."

"Thanks, Cap'n!"

The channel clicked off. Zoe didn't say anything, just watched him. Wash was back to lounging.

Mal folded his arms. "Still don't trust him."

"No one's askin' you to," Zoe said. "But maybe don't shoot him just yet."

Mal gave her a sideways look. "You got a name for that expression you're makin'?"

"It's called being right," she said.

Wash turned back to the controls, already half-smirking. "Ain't you got some piloting to do?" Mal growled.

"Already doin' it." Wash leaned back and kissed his wife's hand. "I'll keep an eye on the instruments. You two keep an eye on the wizard."