TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

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Mal set down his copy of The Collected Works Of Robert Frost, staring out into the emptiness of his bunk. He had read this passage many times before, enough times to know it almost completely from memory. Each time his eyes read the words, each time his mind compounded the meaning, it soothed him in a way he could not fully explain. A simple poem to some, it was more of a literary hiding place for him. Mal was no longer a child. He could no longer run to his mother's hayloft to find a refuge from the world. So the musty wood and warm hay and lofty privacy of his youth had to be replaced with words, the comforting words of a long-deceased poet, written hundreds of years ago on another world.

He had once joked, albeit in the face of danger, about his secret knowledge of classic Earth-That-Was poetry. The truth was, he had always had an interest in it, since he had picked up his mother's beaten copy of Post Impressions by e.e. cummings as a boy. The words confused him as first, but he grew to enjoy the sensation. Being lost in pretty words that could mean so many things. Finding meaning in allegory and simile. Making sense of senseless words.

It had prepared him so well for making sense of the real world, and more so, the senseless people in it.

Mal ran a hand through his hair, easing to his feet from his desk chair. His bad knee (well, his worse knee) gave a little pop at the motion before settling into place as though it had done nothing wrong. Mal scowled, but ignored the pain in his joints. He focused instead on the sound of laughing, ringing through the steel of Serenity, echoing to him from somewhere above.

He reached down to slide his suspenders up and over his shoulders, taking the opportunity to stretch his shoulders and neck in the process. An hour of reading with his head bent forward had taken its toll, and now the nape of his neck felt like a rubber band that had been snapped too tight. He shrugged away the stiffness, recognizing it as an inevitability. After all, there was so little to do these days, and he could only spend so many hours eating and sleeping. He had to fill the time somehow, and his books, his old friends, seemed as good a way as any.

Three months had passed since their last decent job, the lumber shipment for the Huang boys. It had been a generous payday, which was good, considering the scarcity of work in the season that had followed it. Oh, they had picked up a few short stints here and there, shipping this and that to here and there, usually finding themselves with a payment that barely covered the cost of fuel for the trip. And then afterwards, there were weeks of waiting for someone to call. Weeks that left the crew of Serenity with nothing more to do but drift along the open galaxy with no purpose, meandering through the endless star-filled sky until another wave came in.

Times were lean, but this was no fault of Mal's or of his crew. No, like most of the other things that impeded Serenity's progress, this all led back to the Alliance. Shortly after they had completed the Huang job, the Alliance had passed a new mandate on taxable cargo. Now, ships with smaller payloads were required to register all shipments on the central cortex using the guidelines stipulated in the blah, blah, blah. After Mal and Zoe had sifted through the bureaucratic mumbo jumbo of the broadwave, they had come upon the heart of the matter: Smaller ships, like Serenity, were being given much closer security screenings when they came to berth. Therefore, most clients looking to ship goods, legal or otherwise, had begun to favor using larger ships, for which the red tape was still somewhat slack.

At the end of the day, that made the quicker, lighter ships like their Firefly a liability. And so, crews like Mal and his band of merry thieves were being left to drift.

It wasn't too bad, financially. Between the Huang job, the small potatoes they had been pulling in the last few months, and the small fortune still left over from Simon's bounty during their escapade on Persephone, they had a neat little nest egg to keep them flying. It was the boredom that was doing them all in. The pointless trudging through space. It took everything that everyone aboard had to keep themselves occupied.

Mal reflected on each their little projects. Simon and Kaylee were still planning their wedding, the only thing in the near future that seemed to be approaching at breakneck speed. Jayne and Cara were prepping Shuttle One for the arrival of their child; Jayne by building a bassinet and Cara, who had entered some extreme version of the nesting phase of pregnancy, by cleaning everything in the little shuttle until her fingers bled with the effort.

Zoe, much to the surprise of the others, had begun the painful process of going through and packing away Wash's things. Mal had been half-expecting it since the Reaver attack they had suffered, since Zoe had finally come to terms with her loss through the catharsis of bloody revenge. But even he had to admit he was a little taken aback when he had first seen the first mate with a stack of crates, stowing Wash's old training manuals and personal momentos in one of the Firefly's many storage spaces. Of course, he was glad to see that his old friend had finally found the strength and resolve to move on from the sudden loss of her husband. Still, after so many years of watching Zoe grieve, the sudden urge she felt to begin anew was... unusual.

He could understand it, to a certain degree. A new marriage, a new baby. This was a time of change, of rebirth. And Zoe was using her own to fill the time.

Of course, for that, Mal had his books. Because the previous thing he once had to keep himself amused, to occupy the space left by his lonely hours, was River.

Three months. Over three months now since Mal had killed her father, and it had opened a can of worms that neither had been expecting. Since Mal had come to face the day he had never believed he would have to face, the day he lost his faith in River. He had gained some of it back since then, most of it on Aegina, when he had said to her that he wasn't going to give up on their relationship, and she had agreed to give him the space to build up his trust in her over again.

Mal wasn't quite sure what River was doing with her free time these days. He saw her throughout the ship sometimes during her waking hours. She would help Cara with her psychotic scrubbing and cleansing, or help Zoe sort through the clutter of her bunk, or offer unwanted advice to Jayne as he attempted to construct his future child's bassinet. But when her help was no longer needed, she was left to her own devices. In these times she would draw, or read quietly, or practice old dance choreography that she didn't know she had remembered, or reorganize data in the navsat. Anything and everything she could do to make her day pass, bide her time until night came again.

Because nighttime was the only time she got to spend alone with Mal. Nighttime was when the others would drift off to the privacy of their bunks to rest, leaving Mal and River, insomniacs by nature, to themselves. Nighttime was when they could go back to their work, back to their constructions. The tedious yet ultimately necessary conversations they hoped to save their relationship with.

Many a night had been spent, on the bridge or in one of their cabins, speaking long into the night about their feelings, trying to strengthen the lines of belief that held them together. And after those talks, he would retreat back to his cabin, and she to hers. Sometimes Mal would kiss her goodnight, sometimes they would simply hold the other's hand before parting. Beyond that, well... it was too soon. They were working on this, rebuilding it from the ground up, trying to cement their emotions before acting on them. And so they kept to delicate and affectionate yet dispassionate contact, then parted ways for the night.

Afterwards, unbeknownst to the other, they would lie awake on their beds and stare at their ceilings. They would brood and consider all of which they had spoke. Trying to make sense of the pretty words.

Mal climbed up the ladder from his bunk, lifting himself into the space of the corridor. The sound of laughter grew louder here, and he could pinpoint the origin, the galley. Leaning over to close his door, he peered through the threshold at the end of the hall to see who was inside. He straightened and started towards them, catching snippets of the lively conversation as he neared.

"Jayne, you're ruttin' mad," Cara scoffed, pointing her chopsticks at him with mocking displeasure. Taking a moment to put the utensils to their intended purpose, she plucked up a chicken dumpling and stuffed it into her mouth voraciously. Chewing the morsel on the side of her mouth, she spoke again, pushing the food to one side as she savored it. "Honest, ya can't be serious, can ya?"

Simon and Zoe both laughed as Jayne looked around the room with incredulity. "Serious as a heart attack. I think it's a fine name." He turned to Kaylee, who was busy working magic with their limited variety of food stores in the kitchen. "It's a fine name, ain't it?"

Kaylee stirred a pot of dehydrated vegetable stock and did her best to hide her laughter as she replied. "No Jayne, it's a fine name for a baby."

Jayne looked to Zoe for backup. Zoe raised her eyebrows and tried her darndest to respond with sincerity. "Good, strong name."

"Dignified," Simon added from her side, though he chuckled a little as he said it. Zoe coughed out a guffaw and gripped his shoulder, leaning over and hiding her face in the back of her hand.

The mercenary shot him a warning glance. "Careful, doc."

"No, really," the younger man assured, smirking all the while. "It carries a certain... dignified quality."

Jayne furrowed his brow and lowered his tone. "Really?"

"Oh, sure. I hear that name and I think, 'Now, that is a dignified name.'" Simon smiled over at the first mate still leaning on his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter.

"There, you see?" Jayne said, believing his point to be proven. He looked back at Cara expectantly.

The women shook her head with a small grin. "No!" she insisted again. Jayne dipped his head towards her, silently urging her to reconsider, but that only made her laugh again. "No, Jayne! Nothin' doin'. Pick another name."

"Come'n," he coaxed, slowly edging toward her, mirroring her smile as he eased into the seat next to hers. "Come'n, come'n, come'n."

Cara shook her head at her beau, resting her hand comfortably over her swollen pregnant belly. She was well into her second trimester, and the child growing inside her had long ago begun to show in the curve of her figure, giving her a potbellied appearance that always brought a smile to Kaylee's face. It tickled Cara to see Jayne behaving this way. A few months ago, the man was flabbergasted to a noticeable degree whenever his impending paternity was mentioned. Flop sweat would form on his brow, his breath came in quick gasps, and he could barely croak out a few words before quickly changing the subject. Yet Jayne had begun to settle into the idea of fatherhood, and like a child waiting in anticipation of Christmas, he even let himself seem excited about the arrival of his child.

All the same, Cara stood firm, dropping her voice comfortably and leaning towards him. "No. Pick another name," she repeated.

"What name?" Mal said, stepping through the entrance to the galley. The others acknowledged him with subtle nods and smiles as he started towards the kitchen, patting Kaylee on the back and attempting to dip his finger into the pot of stew to sneak a taste. Kaylee swatted his hand away with a sharp ladle strike, and he let out a little, "Ow!" and a grin in reply. "Whatcha all talkin' 'bout?"

"Baby names, sir," Zoe replied, sipping her coffee to hide her smile. "Jayne's got some interesting ideas, but Cara ain't takin' a great interest so far."

Mal turned around and crossed his arms, leaning up against the counter. "Oh? Why not?"

"'Cause I'm purdy certain that some of his suggestions border on child abuse," Cara replied, rolling her eyes to Jayne just in time to catch his offended expression. Simon snorted into his hand, turning away to cough out the rest of his laughter under the table.

Jayne glared at Simon a moment, then turned his eyes up to face the captain. "Don't listen to her, Mal," he said above the snickers of the others. "She just don't wanna name the baby after me."

Mal could not help but raise his eyebrows. "Beg your pardon?"

"I wanna call the baby Jayne, Jr.," the man replied with the utmost sincerity, sticking out his chest with pride as the sound of the moniker rang into his own ears.

There was silence in the galley then, and the crew turned their eyes to Mal, waiting to see his reaction. The captain closed his eyes a moment, struggling to reign in the bark of laughter that he would have immediately responded with. "Jayne, Jr., huh?" Jayne nodded once emphatically as Cara raised her eyes to the heavens. "Well," Mal continued, noting the mother-to-be's expression. "I don't suppose that's a terrible name. No, I reckon Jayne, Jr. is a right shiny name for a young boy." With very few playmates, Mal added mentally, but he kept it to himself.

"Oh, were it that simple," Cara said with a sigh. At Mal's puzzled frown, she nodded to Jayne. "Go on, tell him."

"Uh..." Jayne shifted his footing, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. Still, his voice was filled with righteousness as he spoke. "Naw, Mal. Ya see, me an' Cara already got a boy's name picked, that's done." He gathered his conviction once more and held his chin high, ready to defend his idea. "I wanna name the baby Jayne, Jr. if'n it's a girl."

Unfortunately, this brought a brand new wave of laughter over the other inhabitants of the galley. Kaylee, now safely facing away from Jayne, set the ladle down in the pot and gripped the counter on either side of the stove, her giggles contracting in her stomach. Zoe's shoulders shook with silent guffaws, and she had to set her coffee mug down to keep from spilling it. Simon hugged his belly and gripped at his sides, leaning over as the laughter spilled out of his mouth, curving it into a wide smile. Cara covered her eyes and rubbed her temples, shaking her head slowly in patient exasperation. Finally, it was as much Jayne's declaration as it was the response of the others that brought hearty chuckles to Mal's throat, and he turned from Jayne, leaning on Kaylee as the two shared the humor.

"What?" Jayne queried as the others filled the small galley with echoes of roaring laughter. "What?!"

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Alone in her room, River caught the waves of joy as they rolled down from the upper decks. She lay down her colored pencil and closed her drawing tablet, hiding away her sketch from the world. She set the tablet beside her on the floor, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging her arms around them. Resting her chin against her folded forearms, she closed her eyes, sifting through the emotions as they rolled over her.

There was Jayne, frustrated and indignant. And here was Simon, enjoying any opportunity to laugh at Jayne's expense. And Kaylee, so full of joy and cheer, and so used to the others exhibiting the opposite, she was doubly pleased to see them so happy. Cara, teetering between her good-natured irritation with Jayne and predominant excitement and exhilaration of her ensuing motherhood. And Zoe, so accustomed to her solitary grieving, reveling in this change of pace: communal happiness.

River pushed past all these, enjoying and cataloguing these emotions for future use. At last, she came upon the mind she was looking for. Yes, there he was. Genuine happiness emanating from his toes of his boots to the tips of his messy brown hair. River could see his eyes as he wiped away a tear of laughter from the corner of one. The blue in them sparkled and shone, and he seemed so much like the young man that she had met only in his memories.

The young woman smiled softly, mentally smoothing across the crinkles around the corners of his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks as he smiled. She drowned herself in the sweet chuckles that bubbled in his throat, basking in the light they produced in her heart.

Mal had been so distant lately. Oh, they still talked every night, they still shared their hopes and fears. They still tried to sort through the conflicting emotions that made them both act in the strange ways they were so oft to do. Mal told her war stories, tales of woe from the front lines where he had seen so much blood spilt. She told him of the horrors she had faced on her own battlefields, the endless killing fields of her own psyche.

They lay themselves open, trying to rebuild their trust in each other by exposing their jugulars. By ripping open their old wounds and bleeding out in the open, demonstrating their belief that the other could and would heal them. It was what was best for them, what had to be done, and River knew it.

But all the same, it was terrible. It wasn't her memories, it wasn't rehashing her terrors and tortures and bringing them into the open. She was accustomed to this, after Miranda. After she learned that the only way that she could heal was by releasing her ghosts. River was no stranger to pain, and so she was more than willing to experience it if it would bring she and Mal to peace.

No, it wasn't her pain. It was his. Watching Mal relieve his worst experiences, his greatest and most persistent nightmares. All the things he had been too afraid to share when they had been in the blissful days of early romance. All the things that haunted him in the dark and quiet hours. River had known these things, she had seen glimpses of them in his mind before. But glimpses and the whole were two very different things. The scent of blood burning in his nostrils as it spilled from his brothers in arms. The debilitating thump of his heart beating hard within his chest. Explosions that left him blind and deaf to the world, and the unending fear that he would never regain his senses.

River had seen Mal hurt before. She had seen him shot, stabbed, suffocating, broken. She had seen him hit rock bottom. But his stories, they had opened up the floor and kept him falling. And to see his haunted eyes, the tears threatening to well up before he choked them back down into his throat, it broke her heart. She longed to reach out for him, to hold him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. She wanted, more than anything, to press her lips against his and show him the cure to what ailed him.

But Mal kept her at arm's length, sadly pushing her away whenever she tried. They weren't ready yet, he would say. Still finding each other. He wanted to wait, wait until they had found the trust they were searching for. He would kiss her forehead and smile sadly, and she would force a nod as if she understood. As if she agreed. And then she would back away, allowing him to wallow in the misery that tore his mind asunder, and wanting so much to show him that there was another way.

Now, as he stood laughing uproariously in the galley, River took the vision of happy Mal and held it close to her heart. She knew that she would need it later tonight, when his demons came calling once again.

-----------------------------------------------------

"Okay, okay," Kaylee said, giggles still eking out of her mouth as she spoke. "Dinner's ready." She lifted the steaming pot of stew from the stove and turned towards the table, indicating with her head that Mal should pick up the plate of warm, hard rolls that sat on the counter. She made her way over to the table, and Zoe pushed a folded towel into the path of the pot so that it would not scorch the wood. Mal leaned over and set the plate of rolls beside it before taking his seat at the head of the table.

Jayne rubbed his hands together as he took his seat next to Cara, grabbing one of the rolls and tearing into it immediately. Cara leaned over and took a deep whiff of the pot's contents, smiling in ecstasy. "Oh, Kaylee. That smells like ruttin' heaven. Where're the bowls?" she added, darting her eyes over the table.

"I have them," Simon said, bringing a stack of bowls and a handful of spoons over from the counter. He placed a spoon into the top bowl and passed it over to Kaylee, who ladled a steaming spoonful of stew into it and set it before Mal.

The captain nodded his thanks to Kaylee as she took the next bowl from Simon and continued to dole out their meal. The captain reached forward to take a roll, and as he did, the top edges of his vision caught a silent movement in the door at the far end of the galley. A whisper of a girl slid through the entrance like a cat and took a seat at the foot of the table, returning Kaylee's smile as she accepted a bowl of stew from the mechanic.

Mal watched her a moment, felt her ignoring his stare. Simon glanced between the two, sensing the tension that ran like lightning between them. Clearing his throat, he spoke up, giving his sister something to look at besides the floor. "So, what have you been up to today, mei mei?"

"Drawing," River replied, smiling thankfully up at him as she swirled her spoon through her warm liquid dinner. "Making pictures."

"Oh, I love your drawings," Kaylee said, finally sitting down with her own bowl of stew. River grinned sheepishly, hiding behind the curtains of her hair as she looked down. "What's your subject?"

River shook her head a little, they way she would when she couldn't quite make out her visions. "Faces. Strangers." The others exchanged curious glances, save Mal, whose eyes had not left River since she had entered the room. She sensed the others' confusion and raised her head, flashing them a reassuring smile. "It's a work in process. I'll meet them when I'm finished."

"Ooookay," Jayne replied, taking a large bite of his stew-soaked roll and gnawing on it. He turned to Cara with a sneer. "An' what the hell's she talkin' 'bout?"

Cara only smiled at River, shaking her head at Jayne, and River smirked back. "Dunno, Jayne. Art appreciation ain't never been my strong suit."

Just then, a ping could be heard over the intership comm, and the crew turned their eyes skyward as one. "Cortex wave," Zoe said, swallowing her mouthful. She stood, lifting her napkin off her lap and placing it on the table next to her bowl. "I'll check it, sir." Mal nodded her on, and she headed towards the bridge with a cautioning glance towards Jayne as he reached across the table to steal her roll. The mercenary grumbled amicably, then went back to scarfing down his own dinner.

The room at in silence for a moment after she left, enjoying their warm meal despite its monotony. Suddenly, River let out a giggle, and the others turned her eyes to her. "Jayne Jr. is a stupid name for a girl."

At this, the crew let forth another round of laughter while Jayne growled. Even Mal had to smile at his young pilot, and he was pleasantly surprised to see her smile back. "Well, I think it's official, Jayne," Cara grinned at her man. "Crew's reached a consensus. We're pickin' another name."

"Fine," Jayne snorted, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, his cheeks growing red. "I don't care."

Mal tore a small piece of his roll and popped it in his mouth. "So, what's the boy's name?"

Cara spooned some stew into her mouth. "Hmm?"

"Before," Kaylee said, reaching over to wipe a piece of lemon grass off Simon's chin affectionately. He smiled and brought his napkin to his face bashfully. "Ya'll said ya already had a boy's name all picked out. What is it?"

"Oh," Jayne said, and he and Cara exchanged a quick glance. Mal cocked his head at them, and the others put down their spoons, ears pricked with curiosity. "Well, uh..." He looked away from the captain and lowered his voice. "You tell 'em."

Cara cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head. "Okay," she said quietly, straightening in her chair and looking around the table. "Well, Jayne had an notion, and I thought it would make a right fine name for a boy..." She trailed off as her eyes met Mal and he furrowed his brow.

"What's the name?" he asked calmly.

The woman tried to hold his stare, but at the last second, her eyes flitted to the ground. "Book."

A hush fell over the crew, and all their eyes darted to Mal at once. River tried as best she could to swim against the tide created by the wave of emotions rolling from him at the sound of the name. She gripped at the hem of her skirt beneath the table, trying to control the shaking that snuck across her shoulders and spine.

Unlike River, the others simply had to guess at Mal's feelings as he sat, staring blankly at Cara, who still could not find it in her to look up and meet his gaze. Jayne's eyes darted back and forth between the two, then he slid his hand over Cara's and squeezed it in his palm. "It was my idea, Mal," he stately firmly, and that seemed to break the captain from his trance.

He stood slowly, laying his napkin on the table and squaring his jaw. The others averted their glances as he cast his eyes over the other occupants of the table, almost as though he had forgotten they were there. When his gaze met River's, he held it for a moment, watching her rub her hand over her upper arm uncomfortably. She shook her head only a little, and Mal nodded once in reply.

Clearing his throat, he turned from the others and headed towards the bridge. "Think I'll go check on Zoe," he stated flatly, belaying none of the emotions that fired their way through his veins. The rest of the crew watched as he silently left the room, never once turning his eyes back. He simply stuffed his hands into his front pockets and lifted his head, trying to shake the moment from his mind as he ascended the stairs to the bridge.

River sighed. She knew what they would be discussing tonight.

Kaylee and Simon looked quickly at each other before the mechanic noticed Cara. The woman squeezed Jayne's hand back, then let it go to pick up her spoon and stir it aimlessly through her stew. Kaylee tried to smile warmly as Cara looked up guiltily. "I think it's a real nice name."

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Mal stood in the airlock of the bridge, between the inner doors and the outer ones, lost in thought. Only he wasn't quite sure what to think. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a migraine sneak its way across his brow.

Book. Of all the damn names in the 'verse, why the hell did Jayne and Cara have to pick that one? He felt the flush of emotion burrow its way up into his chest, but he pushed against it, forcing back down from whence it came. River's right, he thought. Now ain't the time.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door before him and strode onto the bridge, more than willing to find a distraction. He could see his first mate leaning over the instrument panel and staring at the cortex screen there. "What's the news, Zoe?"

"A job," she replied, and there was great deal of a surprise in her tone.

Mal furrowed his brow and circled around her. He was as surprised as she that someone was taking the risk of hiring such a small ship with the new tax mandate still so fresh over the cortex. "You're kiddin'."

Zoe turned over her shoulder to watch his approach, cocking one eyebrow in his direction. "Sir..."

The captain smiled knowingly back at her. What had he been thinking? Zoe never kid. "So, what's the terms?"

"Passenger transport," Zoe answered, sitting in the co-pilot's seat and typing rapidly. "Pickup on Boros."

"Really?" Mal asked quickly, his eyebrows raised. "How many folk they lookin' to ship?"

Zoe drew her finger across the cortex screen, quickly scrolling to the information he had requested. "Four." She whistled softly, looking at the price listed near the bottom of the wave. "At twenty platinum a head."

"Shèng pì huà," Mal muttered. Zoe turned and met his eyes, and the same thought passed silently between them: something was not right. Who in the damn 'verse would pay them eighty platinum just to shuttle four folks out of Boros? If they had that kind of money, why not buy a proper ticket on a liner ship? Had to be fugitives. But if that were the case, why not get passage aboard one of the larger ships, one less likely to be searched under the new mandate? The questions kept coming, and Mal didn't have any answers. If he hadn't already been ill at ease, he was now.

"Who sent-" he began, reaching over to scroll all the way down to read the electronic signature. As it appeared onscreen, his jaw dropped slightly, and he shook his head slowly in disbelief. Suddenly, he found brand new questions burning through his brain. Seeing his confounded expression, Zoe drew her eyes away from him to read what he had read.

The wave was from Willowsrun Temple. And it was signed Rahjiong Suhndi.