A/N: So, so, so, so sorry for the hiatus and the shortened chapter! Thanks to everyone who has continued to read and review this story through an absence of updates! Translations at the end, as usual. Enjoy!

Zoe had the girl sat in a chair, pushed back from the dinner table, hands cuffed in her lap. She'd given little Kaylee a gun – supposing the prisoner tried something while she'd gone tracking down Mal – but the mechanic was having a heluva time trying to look like it belonged in her hands. Mal walked up behind and set his hands on Kaylee's shoulders, trying to ease her discomfort a bit. She let out a breath and lowered the gun to her side, and Mal harmoniously reached down to relieve her of it.

"We're coming up on the ship's morning cycle, so… morning."

The girl was silent.

"So. My name's Mal." He waited a tick before continuing. "Now it's your turn. You see I say somethin', then you say somethin'. That's usually how this business works." By now, Kaylee had retreated to the lounge area off the galley, and Mal had stepped forward to close the gap a bit. He could see the girl was doing her best to simply ignore him, focusing on the walls and their trompe l'oeil, then darting to each different chair nestled around the table, and so on. Finally he placed himself between her and the table. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the tabletop. "And, just so's you know that I know," he spoke softly but firmly, "It ain't 'Paz'. What is it?"

"Nom, le grade et le numéro de série? Je ne suis pas un soldat!"

"Now that's not very nice," Mal glanced up to the stairs leading from the bridge, where River was slowly stepping down. Her eyes were on her feet, the floor, and dancing around any other low-lying surface without seeming to focus on anything. "I don't know about you but I ain't got a lot of fancy learnin', speakin' other languages and such. Help an old man out. Once I get to know who you are a little better, things can get more conversation-like." Mal leaned a little closer and put on one of his quizzical smiles. "What's your name, Doll?"

He was rewarded by spittle hitting his chin and lower lip, which instantly turned down into a frown. Before he had a chance to warn that she not repeat that kind of behavior, she spoke again.

"Keiner von deinen verdammten geschäft."

"I'm getting tired of playing this game with you, and we haven't even started to play my game, so why don't you do me a little favor and tell me your gāisǐ de, mǔqīn tā mā de, nǐ de zǔxiān de chǐrǔ name!"

By now, River had made her way into the room proper and was nearing the girl's chair from behind. At his outburst Mal saw her visibly flinch, but he didn't have time to muse on that as the girl shot another confounding retort his way.

"Potselovatʹ menya v zadnitsu i idti yebatʹ sebya," she delivered quietly and forcefully. No sooner had her mouth closed than had River reached out and grabbed the girl's hair, twisting until she was forced to look River in the face.

"Play nicely with the captain, and don't speak Russian," she instructed before releasing the tresses from her fingers.

Mal's eyebrows raised involuntarily and he couldn't decide what shocked him more – River's actions, or the girls re-actions. She shut her eyes tightly and looked as though she was letting loose a silent scream. He watched as River leaned down to speak something else into the girl's ear. "Not ever," she said, before circling the dining table to take a seat in the lounge with a very on-edge mechanic.

Mal cleared his throat. "I'd very much like to hold a civilized like conversation with you in which we can address one t'the other by name. But if you don't see fit to cooperate with that request I'll just go on askin' my questions. You can go on not answering – that's up to you. You can go on sittin' in that quiet, dark passenger dorm. We got a long flight ahead of us. That's dandy with me. Just, get comfortable. Just know you ain't goin' anywhere."

The girl jutted her jaw out stubbornly. It half reminded Mal of River when she'd be bickering with the Doc, refusing to take his medicines. So much of this stubborn bu kuh nuhn girl reminded him of River. "Have it your way."

"She doesn't know."

Mal had almost missed the sound of her footsteps as she took the stairs down to the lounge outside of the infirmary. His hands rested on the jam above the hatch that led to the passenger dorms, to where they were keeping the girl.

"What don't she know, River?" he asked, an edge of fatigue in his voice.

"What you wish she would tell you. What she can't know... not yet."

He turned at that, remembering their unfinished conversation on the bridge. Was she speaking in riddles again? Was River the she in question?

"You're off your mark, Captain. She doesn't know how to help you find them... not yet." River sat down with a woosh on the lounge sofa and leaned her head back, squinting her eyes. "It's very fuzzy, her nut. Like a chestnut. Once you crack the outer shell you could almost stroke it's insides. Tiny little feelers on a seed pod." She cocked her head to the side. "Peas in a pod. They say that siblings are... Simon and I are seeds in a pod."

"You need to rest, Albatross."

"Not necessary."

Mal walked to the sofa to have a seat next to River. "Well, I give up for the time. I'm beat and my mind has been going ninety to nothin' since this mornin'…" He screwed up his face, thinking over it again. "Yesterday mornin'. Looks like we're flyin' and sleepin' in shifts. Zoe and Kaylee got the next few hours. Only good sleep deprivations gonna do us would be on her part."

"Can't tell you what she doesn't know," River insisted.

"Yeah. You said that before. About that not knowin'…? You… ready to talk more?"

"Not here." River stood and padded softly up the steps, through the bay, up the final set of flights to the catwalk, and into the remaining shuttle. She didn't hesitate once and Mal found himself taking the steps two at a time to even their pace. The door snicked open softly as he reached the entrance only moments after River. As he stepped inside, she engaged the lock behind him.

"Now, I said talk, Albatross," Mal warned, holding up his hands and stepping back.

"Not here for sex. Explanation." River shook her head in frustration. She knew that fatigue and stress affected her ability to properly structure her thoughts. Mal had been right. They both needed to rest. He could see her irritation with herself, and while he knew it was in no way her fault – wouldn't be the first time, not the last, that he'd cursed the hundan, son of a bitch, Alliance butchers for what they'd done to her – he could see the futility involved in convincing her of that.

"The problem is with the seed," she continued. Mal's face went blank as he glanced downward at his crotch. "Not that… Mine. Simon."

"Oh?" he asked, incredulously. Then it clicked in his brain. "Oh. Simon is the seed." River nodded, a look of accomplishment at having communicated her point flooding her face. "Simon is the problem… with you and me?"

"Not with us. Maybe about us…" she trailed off sadly.

"I'm tryin' hard, darlin'. And I know you are too." Mal softened his tone as he moved forward to wrap his arms around her. "But you gonna hafta give me a little more to go on."

"He's all I have. All I've had for so long, Mal. Peas in a pod. Now he has gone and I've found us. What happens next?"

"I won't ever stop looking for your brother, boa bai."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice faltering.

"Because you love him. And…" he leaned back enough to tilt her chin up and place a chaste kiss to her lips. "That's what you do for someone you love."

"He'll oppose this," River sniffled. "And I don't want to hate him."

"Shh. Hush, now." Mal bundled the woman closer to him. He led her to the bed and lay them both down in the dimly lit shuttle. He realized now why she had led him here. No one would look for them here. They were far from the crew and captive – far enough the underlying mental chatter was easier for her to block. And although fooling around here would be a smarter option than the bridge or either one's bunk – at least until the cat was officially out of the bag – it wasn't what they both needed right now.

Mal remained awake until he felt River's breaths become longer, and her fingers uncurl from the fabric over his chest. Soon after, they were both dead to the ship and the crew carrying on around them.

Allan stood outside a bar on the darker side of the little town, at a Cortex terminal that was typically used for calling a transport to pick up some drunken hundan or other. He had hacked the terminal in order to afford him a few free moments of wave time and proceeded to input Warwick Harrow's direct wave address. The screen threw up a grainy image of the Lord, obviously at his residence rather than his office at this late hour of the night.

"Mr. Allan. You've been causing quite the stir. I was grateful to you for your discretion about our relationship in light of your current circumstance. I suppose I should not have expected that to keep indefinitely."

"I have a problem, and I wouldn't ask if there were any other way." Allan's tone was clipped and urgent.

"Go on," Harrow answered, intrigue winning out over caution.

"It's one of the people I'm with, one of Reynold's crew. She's ill. She…"

"Miss Serra?" Harrow cut him off.

"Yes. She needs treatment. I need funds. I've exhausted what I could access before my accounts were flagged. Anything to get us through the next month. Then anything you need… I would be in your debt."

"How much?"

Nom, le grade et le numéro de série? Je ne suis pas un soldat! (name, rank and serial number? I am not a soldier!)

keiner von deinen verdammten geschäft. (none of your fucking business)

gāisǐ de, mǔqīn tā mā de, nǐ de zǔxiān de chǐrǔ (goddamned, mother fucking, disgrace to your ancestors)

potselovatʹ menya v zadnitsu i idti yebatʹ sebya (kiss my ass and go fuck yourself)

bu kuh nuhn (impossible)