Dinner aboard Serenity usually carried a kind of chaotic peace—rough warmth, clatter of tin mugs and mismatched plates, and too many elbows around too small a table. The overhead lights hummed softly, casting long golden shadows across steel walls and grease-slicked surfaces. Everyone was gathered in the galley except Wash, who hollered from the tiny kitchenette like he was hosting a party for one.
"Ta-da!" he sang out, pushing through the swinging door with a steaming platter balanced between hands. The thing on it looked vaguely pig-shaped—vaguely, like maybe a pig had lost a fight.
Jayne scowled. "What in the nine rings is that go se?"
He leaned forward to sniff and immediately recoiled. Kaylee jabbed him in the ribs with a well-practiced elbow.
"It's roast pig," Wash said, setting the platter down with exaggerated care. "Or, y'know, it's flavored with that barbecue powder we picked up off Persephone. That counts, right?"
"Probably tastes like your shirt," Jayne grumbled, reaching for the spoon anyway.
Mal raised a hand. "Hold up. We're waitin' on one more."
Jayne paused mid-scoop. "One more?"
"Doctor Smith's joinin' us," Kaylee piped up brightly. "Cap'n said it was right, on account of him helpin' me with the engine. He's real polite!"
"Yes," Mal muttered, side-eyeing her. "Was gettin' to that."
Jayne gave Zoe a look, like she might back him up. She didn't.
Then River, quiet till now, lifted her head and said, clear as a bell, "He looks good in red."
Jayne's chair scraped back with a screech as he flinched half out of it, cursing in panicked Mandarin. Mal's mug thunked down loud on the table.
"Doc," he snapped at Simon, who was already reaching for his sister, "you said she was stable. Said she was safe."
"She is," Simon said quietly. "River?"
River turned to him, calm as ever. "Don't you think so, Simon?"
"Think what?"
"He's all velvet and lace and shadows," she said, eyes far-off, "like the heroes from Earth-That-Was. Everyone wants their turn with the Doctor."
"She's… fond of him," Book offered gently, sipping his tea. "That's not a crime."
A new voice joined them, clear and precise.
"Is this seat taken?"
The man in the doorway—Doctor Smith, as they knew him—stood straight-backed, velvet coat immaculate, hair swept and silver in the soft light. His smile was crisp, his posture sharper than anyone else at the table.
"Doctor," Mal said, standing. "Glad you could make it."
"The pleasure is mine, Captain," the Doctor replied, giving a courteous bow of the head before moving to the empty chair. He brushed at his lace cuffs, adjusted his coat with practiced dignity, then looked down the table at Shepherd Book.
"I presumed," he said lightly, "that with a man of the cloth aboard, we would say Grace."
That was when the table went quiet.
Real quiet.
Even Jayne stopped chewing, which was something.
Book glanced toward Mal. Mal gave a short nod.
Book folded his hands. "Lord, we thank you for this bounty, and for the hands that brought it here. Amen."
"Amen," came a few murmurs.
Jayne mumbled something and stabbed his food. Tension lingered like smoke in the air.
For a while, it was good again. Easy. Crew talkin', Wash crackin' jokes, Kaylee telling a story about a busted compression coil with too much excitement and hand-waving. Until—
"Doctor Smith!" Kaylee beamed, pointing her mug at him.
"Yes, Miss Frye?"
"Just Kaylee," she said, ducking her head. "River thinks you look good in red."
He chuckled softly, glancing at his coat. "Well. I shall have to reconsider my palette, then."
He turned to River, his smile polite—until it flickered. His brow furrowed.
"Young lady? Are you feeling well?"
River had gone pale, too pale. Her fingers twitched. Her eyes weren't seeing the table anymore.
"Pepper…" she whispered.
Simon leaned in. "What about pepper, River?"
She stared at the salt-and-pepper shakers. Her voice trembled. "The pepper pots…"
"River?" Simon said again, now standing. Book stood with him. Inara moved closer.
"The pepper pots hate. So much hate. They scream."
Doctor Smith went rigid, his fork clinking to the table.
Simon tried again. "Mei mei, they're just shakers, see? For seasoning—"
"NO!" River shrieked. Her chair skidded back. "They scream! EXTERMINATE!"
With a wild sweep of her arm, she sent the condiment tray flying. Wash ducked just in time.
The Doctor surged forward. "River!"
He caught her by the shoulders, his hands gentle but firm. His voice rang like a bell, cutting clean through the panic.
"Listen to me. You will listen. They may hate, but they will not win. Do you understand me, child? The pepper pots will scream, yes—but they will be stopped. They will always be stopped. I promise you."
River blinked hard. Her shoulders sagged.
"Yes," she whispered. "The Doctor will stop them…"
Simon gathered her into his arms. Doctor Smith stepped back, straightened his coat with slow, deliberate movements.
Mal rose. "Doctor. If I could have a word."
Smith nodded. "Of course, Captain."
They left the room in silence. Zoe made to follow, but Mal waved her down. "Make sure River's alright," he said quietly.
Mal didn't say a word until the door to the guest quarters hissed shut behind them. Doctor Smith turned to face him—and found himself face-to-face with fury.
"Oh, you'd better start talkin', Doctor," Mal growled. "'Cause I've had about enough of strange folk blowin' up my dinner table. What the hell's in your head that scared her that bad?"
The Doctor's face twisted—not in confusion, but anger. Real, sharp-edged fury. "What's in my head?" he snapped, stepping forward, voice low and deadly. "You failed to mention there was a psychic aboard."
Mal blinked. "Now wait a damn minute—"
"Untrained. Traumatized. Broken," the Doctor went on, every syllable cold as steel. "She reached into something she could never hope to understand. And you let it happen."
There was no sound but the slow creak of the ship. Mal's hand twitched. Reflex. Drew without thought. He blinked.
The gun was gone. Back in his holster. Had it even moved?
Doctor Smith stood across from him, utterly still.
Zoe's voice floated through the door. "Sir? Everything alright?"
Mal stared. Swallowed. "Yeah," he called back. "Shiny."
She hesitated, then her footsteps receded.
Smith stepped forward. "I apologize. The young lady must've brushed against… a particularly dark corner of my past. I shall take greater care to guard myself, going forward."
Mal nodded slowly, his hands shaking just enough to notice. "You… you some kind of Reader?"
The Doctor tilted his head. "Of a sort."
Mal turned to go. Reached the door.
"Captain," the Doctor said.
Mal paused.
"I understand your instinct—to protect your crew. But if you ever draw a weapon on me again…" He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Mal looked at him a long moment. Then nodded. "Duly noted."