"Shh," Jayne cooed to the wailing baby in his arms. "Don't you go yellin' at me just cause Mal screamed. It ain't a pleasant experience, gettin' a broken arm set right. Trust me. 'Course, I'm usually the one un-settin' 'em in the first place, but there's screamin' involved there, too." The child, in response, wailed louder. Jayne shifted the child to his shoulder and let the little one rage against his fate while Jayne patted his back comfortingly and swayed gently. This seemed to calm him down slightly, so Jayne resumed his previously interrupted lullaby. Kaylee came into the room, her face gray as she made her way to the table and collapsed into the nearest chair. She looked up at her son in Jayne's arms, now mid-burp, and smiled tiredly. "You help set his arm?" Jayne asked, looking for a burp rag to dab at the mess dribbling down his shirt. The smile faded from Kaylee's face. "I never wanna hear that sound again," she said flatly. Jayne shook his head. "The sound ain't nothin' compared to the feel," he grunted. A small gurgle came from his shoulder. He glanced to the child's mother as she found the item he sought and stood to clean her baby's face. She looked at Jayne's other shoulder - the one they had patched haphazardly - and offered to take the baby from him. He shook his head. She sat at the table again.

"Aside from gettin' ambushed and near killed," Kaylee wondered from her seat. "I hope they had a nice few days."

"Oh yeah," Jayne replied, the sarcasm evident in his voice. "Goin' off to have tea with some old man who used t'be a client of 'Nara's had to be a regular red-letter day for Mal."

"She said they would just talk, when he hired her," Kaylee protested. "I 'magine it'd be more like meeting 'Nara's daddy." Jayne shifted his hold on Hobie as he nodded.

"And that just makes it all the better," he scoffed. Kaylee watched him struggle with her son a second time before standing and held out her arms for the child. Jayne waved her off again. "You drop my son and you'll never use your shoulder again," Kaylee warned. Jayne sighed and handed over the child as Mal and Zoë entered the room. "Don't you think you should lie down for a while?" Kaylee asked her Captain pointedly. He shook his head. "Too many people down as it is," he said, adjusting the sling Zoë had made for him. "We need to find out why we're bein' targeted this time." "We didn't exactly leave any alive for questionin'," Jayne pointed out. "Only makes the job complicated," Zoë responded, taking a seat on the table's edge. "I hate complications," Mal sighed, fingering the bandage over his eyebrow. He shook his head. "Any ideas of what brought this on us?" *** Dear Dad, It's been a long time since we last spoke, but I'm trusting you'll read this nonetheless. I haven't been exactly the best at keeping in touch since I left, but I have thought of you and all you taught me often. I wish I could take back the words I used that night, the ones that put up such walls... I am sorry for hurting you. After the War, after everything was over and done with, after we were released, after you refused to acknowledge me, after things seemed to calm down, after I made my peace with your decisions, I found work with Sgt. Reynolds (remember him, you tried to break his jaw?) on a Firefly...just like the ones you used to point out to me and tell me were go se. I have to admit, I carried your thoughts with me when I first stepped onboard, but I've come to love my home. The Sarge is now Captain and I've stuck with him through thick, thin and everything in between. I'm proud of my life, Dad, and my decisions. We have a crew...smaller than it used to be, but we're a good crew. You'd be proud of the folks I stand with. Every last one of them. I married, Dad. I married the pilot...Wash. He had a good heart and he loved me. I did what you did, there...I married him because we loved each other. He died a little over a full year ago. I know now why you had such a hard time sleeping after Mom...sleeping and talking and looking at me. I know now why my words hurt more than I thought they would... I know, Dad, and I understand. I wish I didn't, but I do. I sit and I remember him...and I remember watching you try to continue on without her. I realized again how important you were in my life once. I know how words unspoken are the words regretted. I miss you, Dad. And I love you. As ever, Zoë *** "They's professional killers, Mal," Jayne argued. "Last time we went up against this kinda fun, there was this big secret planet sittin' pretty in a certain girl's head." "I ain't convinced they're not looking for River," Mal admitted. "But this has a different feel to it. The one attacked us didn't talk, just fired. Struck me as strange. Zoë?" "I agree, this doesn't have the same feel," the first mate shrugged. "But I don't think we can rule out bounty hunters just yet." "That's a comfort," Mal's voice was soft. "Bounty hunters who sneak attack once we're planetside, shoot first, and don't show mercy." "Remind you of anyone?" Zoë asked softly. Mal winced. Niska. "I was hopin' he'd died or had a change of heart by now," Mal replied. "No use planning on that if he ain't dead," she replied casually. "We ain't even in his quadrant," Mal pointed out. At Zoë's look, he sighed. "All right, Alliance and Niska. Who else is on the list?" "There needs to be more?" Jayne asked. "We're close enough to Persephone," Kaylee offered quietly, gently rocking her son. "It's possible some folk there don't feel all scores settled." "That only broadens the list by a few hundred," Jayne muttered, sitting at the table heavily. "We need more information, Sir," Zoë insisted. "We're just too far in the dark to find a light." "If you know anything, speak up," Mal half-laughed. "Anyone know of a pretty paint job on our back, callin' out to those who want us dead? Who's been waving his arms at folk who have an axe to grind?" At the embarrassed silence that answered him, Mal's smile slipped. He looked to Kaylee. "I may have asked Simon to write to his folks," she mumbled. Mal looked to Zoë in shock, expecting support, but finding something else entirely. "I sent a letter to my father," she said quietly. "The same father who swore he'd never forgive you for fighting for the Independents?" Mal asked softly. "The same one," came the reply. "The same father who promised to have me killed should I ever bring you further into crime the very day he bribed officials to get you out?" "I'm sure he doesn't remember saying that, Sir," Zoë lied. Mal blinked at her, too stunned to speak. He looked to Jayne. "I didn't write to the Feds, if that's what you're thinkin'," Jayne said defensively. "Only my Ma." "And 'Nara asked me to send a letter for her, long as I was goin' to post," Kaylee murmured. Mal looked from face to face to face, trying to discern where to start. He took a steadying breath. "Anyone think these letters could have a connection to our sudden epidemic of bullet wounds and the like?" he asked slowly. Three sets of shoulders shrugged hesitantly. He turned and left for the quiet of the infirmary, too amazed with his crew to do anything else. No one followed. He was grateful for that, at least.