Chapter Text
Chapter 2
It was a perfect fall day—the kind poets write odes to that mention crisp air, endless blue sky, and leaves in every shade and hue imaginable. This sort of weather put everyone at the shop in a good mood: Zoe was smiling at every customer, Wash had done his Elvis impression when he came in at 9, and even Mal radiated less surliness than usual.
The only person not feeling the season’s charms was Simon, who had been staked out at a corner table since the shop had opened. He chewed on a ragged pencil, watching the counter like a hawk. Every time a customer purchased a baked good, he put a tally mark on the paper in front of him—which was carefully separated into columns for each item he had made.
He had baked 3 items for his first day, figuring a few quality recipes would impress Mal more than a bunch of half-assed ones. After much deliberation, he had settled on a chocolate-chip biscotti, flavored with plenty of vanilla and a warming kiss of chai spice, and fresh, bright, orange-zucchini muffins. The third recipe was savory, a tender-crumbly scone studded with bacon, cheddar cheese, and fresh chives. He had mixed a hint of garlic into the batter before baking, and had sprinkled parmesan cheese on top.
So far, the scones had been selling the best, with the biscotti a close second. The muffins weren’t doing as well. Simon rubbed his forehead, cursing his choice of zucchini—it was definitely a niche ingredient in the baked-good world.
A middle-aged woman, hauling two whining children behind her, shattered the mid-morning quiet of the shop. “Cappuccino,” she snapped in Zoe’s direction. Zoe didn’t move. She returned the woman’s angry stare with a blank expression. Zoe was tall, and well-muscled. She wore a black shirt that read “Don’t tell me to smile” in pink block letters. Her long curly hair was piled into a messy bun at the top of her head. Rumor was she taught classes at a local shooting range in her spare time.
Zoe was more than a match for any customer, rude or otherwise, that set foot in the shop. But this one was either braver than she looked, or completely unaware of the danger she was in.
“Well?” she snapped. “Are you deaf? I need a cappuccino!”
Zoe smiled. “Certainly,” she said. She began to gather the ingredients slowly, one by one. The woman was visibly fuming. If this had been a cartoon, smoke would have been pouring out of her ears.
“Hurry up, I haven’t got all day!”
Zoe gave her a serene smile. “Of course. While you’re waiting, may I suggest you look at our new offerings?” She gestured towards Simon’s display as she dribbled milk into the steamer.
The woman glanced at the case, and her features became even more sour. “There’s nothing for the kids in here. You think my kids want to eat zucchini?” She broadly waved her hand at the display case. “This is crap.”
Two agonizing and abuse-filled minutes later, Zoe handed the woman her coffee. She threw her money down on the counter and stormed to the door. As she opened it, she haughtily proclaimed, “I will be taking my business elsewhere from now on!”
Zoe waited until the door closed behind her before calling, “Good riddance, bitch!” The few customers in the shop laughed.
Simon did not share their laughter. The lady was right—his stuff was crap! It was too fancy—that’s why it wasn’t selling well!
Zoe, noticing his distress, came over to his table and patted him on the shoulder. Simon smiled at her gratefully, thankful for some sympathy and comfort.
“You know, you should probably also be tracking the times that everything is selling.”
Simon’s smile instantly became a look closely resembling the one an animal gets right before a car turns it into roadkill. Zoe smirked and clapped him on the shoulder one more time before heading back to the counter.
~ ~ ~
Mal stepped out of his office at around 11, to stretch his legs and grab a mug of tea. He made a mental note of the customers in the shop, as well as Simon, taking up a whole table and looking somewhere between panicked and constipated. He rolled his eyes and stepped behind the counter.
“How’s business today, Zoe?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.” She smiled.
Mal glanced at her sideways, but decided not to push the matter further. “You want to take your break now, or when Kaylee gets in?”
“I can wait, sir. I’ll take it when she gets here.”
Mal nodded absentmindedly and began steeping a mug of orange spice rooibos, this week’s featured tea. After exactly 6 and a half minutes, he took a sip and gave a contented sigh.
On his way back to his office, he glanced again at Simon. After a brief internal debate, he walked over to the table and sat down.
Simon jumped. “Ma-, uh, Mr. Reynolds! Hi! How are you?”
“Doin’ all right. How are the numbers looking?”
Simon hastily shuffled papers. “Good, they look good. Everything is…good…” He trailed off under Mal’s piercing gaze.
“Let me see them.” Reluctantly, Simon handed over his tally. Mal looked over them for a moment, then glanced over the top of the paper at Simon. “These are nothing to be ashamed of. They’re not great, but we’ll see how the rest of the week goes.” He handed the papers back to Simon and took another sip of tea.
It was only a few moments before he spoke again, but to Simon it seemed like an eternity. “You know why this shop is so important to me?”
Simon shook his head.
“Round the corner, there’s a shop called Alliance Coffee. Big chain. You heard of’em?”
Simon nodded. “River and her friends used to go there all the time. They had this one drink called a matcha frappe—she could drink that stuff by the gallon! I never understood why she liked it so much. Their coffee tastes harsh, and they fill the cups with so much ice your drink is half water.” Simon checked himself suddenly, startled that he had rambled to his boss, worried there would be some sort of backlash—but to his relief, Mal had a small smile on his face.
“I’ve never gotten into coffee myself—my grammy taught me everything I know about tea, and it’s always kept me satisfied. But Alliance’s teas are mediocre. You could buy them at Walmart, and make ’em just the same way they do. They don’t care about quality, they just care about money.”
Mal sighed, then leaned back in his chair. He gazed at the ceiling. “Seems to me that’s what’s wrong with the world these days. People don’t care about making something right. Don’t think it’s worth their time, I guess, when something half-assed’ll make them rich.”
Simon nodded, but he wasn’t sure Mal had seen. The man seemed lost in thought, his gaze on the ceiling. He looked so calm, nearly meditative…
Mal banged the front legs of his chair down as he sat forward, making Simon jump. “And don’t even get me started on their stupid logo. What the good gorram does a unicorn have to do with coffee? And what sort of deformed unicorn has 2 horns?”
Simon, frozen in his seat, just shrugged.
Mal sat back, calmer. “Anyhow. Tea is what I love. I’m doing something good for the world sharing what I love. Those Alliance bastards don’t care about that. And they’re gonna drive me out of business with that screwed-up way of thinkin’.” He looked at Simon sharply. “And if you’re the reason that happens, I’m gonna take it as a personal insult. You only in it for the money, you walk out that door and don’t come back.”
Gulping, Simon shook his head. “I, uh, I.” He swallowed. “Look, I may not care about tea the same way you do, but I care about my food. I take pride in what I make and sharing it with others.” He braced himself for what he was about to say next, knowing it may cost him his job. “But I’m also in it for the money. I have to take care of River. My parents would if she’d let them, but she won’t go back to them. So it’s all on me. I used to get part-time hours at Barnes and Noble, but they kept decreasing and it wasn’t worth it anymore. And then we lived off my savings for a couple weeks, but those got eaten through fast, and if it wasn’t for you offering me a job, we’d probably…” Simon glanced up at Mal, who was regarding him with a strange look on his face.
“I understand doin’ something for survival,” Mal said slowly. “Sometimes, that can motivate you more than love. But I see you love what you do, and you love your sister. And if those are your reasons, and your numbers pick up a little, I’ll keep you on long as I can.”
“Th-thank you. Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. I won’t let you down.” Simon blinked away tears of relief.
Mal offered him a rare smile. “Call me Mal.”
~ ~ ~
¬ Kaylee sailed in the door at noon, humming something upbeat—clearly, she too was not impervious to the weather’s charms. She waved at Simon, then disappeared down the hallway to put on an apron.
Simon barely noticed. He was huddled over his papers, as he had been all morning. He was still tallying obsessively, but now he was also brainstorming menus for the rest of the week. He could keep the scones for another day, but the muffins needed to be switched out. The biscotti could be replaced with a cookie or some pound cake, something that would keep all day and have snack appeal. And he’d always wanted to try making croissants—maybe for the weekend?
By this point, Kaylee had taken over the counter and Zoe had disappeared for her break. She watched the baker as he slouched over his papers, running a hand through his hair every so often. He really was cute, with light brown eyes that could sparkle if he took a break from frowning once in a while. She let her gaze drift over his shirt, a rumpled white button-down, and to his hands, nervously fiddling with his pen. And he wasn’t just good looking. The man could bake. And the way he cared about his sister…Kaylee smiled to herself as she pulled a shot of espresso, daydreaming about how good Simon must be with kids. Her imagination drifted to Simon as a kid, trying to picture him with chubby cheeks.
The bell over the door jingled, and Kaylee glanced up. “River! Hi!”
Simon’s head jerked up so quickly he felt slightly dizzy. “River? What are you doing here? Is school out already?”
River nodded, drifting slowly towards Simon’s table.
“Can I get ya something, River? We’ve got a lemon-berry-something-or-other tea that’s real nice.”
River shook her head, holding Kaylee’s gaze just a second past polite—it went firmly into “unsettling” territory.
Kaylee either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She simply gave River a sweet smile and continued wiping down the counter.
Simon cleared a space on the table as River sat down. “How was school today, River?” he asked absentmindedly. Two men had come in, and Simon couldn’t see if they had ordered scones or muffins.
River shrugged, then pulled his data sheet away from him and glanced at it. “If you took all the blood vessels out of an average child and laid them end to end, they would circle the Earth 2.41 times. At the equator.”
They’d ordered muffins! Simon triumphantly reached for his tally sheet, a bewildered look clouding his face when he realized it wasn’t in front of him. River handed it back to him. “Thank you, River.” He made the tally marks in the appropriate columns. “2.5 times, huh. How about an adult?”
River shook her head. “2.41. And an average adult male’s blood vessels would stretch 100,000 miles. 4.02 times around the Earth. There’s so much of us. But we’re so small…” She trailed off, getting that distant look in her eye. Simon watched her carefully—quite often, when she drifted off like this, she would come back to Earth screaming.
But this time was not one of those times. She blinked once, then wandered over to the window to watch the street.
Simon breathed a sigh of relief, and was so focused on River that he nearly gave a scream when Kaylee slid into the recently vacated seat. “Is she okay? She looked a little spacey just then.”
Simon gave a tight smile masquerading as a grimace. “Yes, she’s okay right now.”
“Right now?” Kaylee said, concern lacing her soft voice.
Hesitating for just a moment, Simon continued, “She gets like that sometimes. I…something happened, a couple months ago. Out of the blue she just showed up on my doorstep, shaking, not saying a word. It took me hours to get her calmed down, and she wouldn’t say anything. It was 2, maybe 3 weeks before she talked again.” Simon sighed in frustration, not at River, but at his own helplessness to mitigate her problems. “She started having nightmares, screaming at the top of her lungs, and it was like she started having nightmares while she was awake too—she’ll just drift off like that, and snap out of it screaming. She barely says a word, and I don’t know what’s wrong…”he trailed off, unsure what else he could say.
Resting a hand on his shoulder, Kaylee asked, “Do you think it would help if I took her on a walk? Maybe the fresh air would do her good.”
“I can hear everything you’re saying.” River had turned away from the window to face Simon and Kaylee.
Kaylee immediately turned her focus to River. “You wanna take a walk? Zoe can watch the counter while I’m on break. Come on, it’s beautiful outside.”
River stared for a long few moments. Then, so quickly she could have imagined it, River nodded.
“We’ll be back in 15,” Kaylee called to Zoe, who had just come out of the bathroom. Zoe looked appraisingly at River before nodding.
“Don’t leave me here too long. I already had to deal with the Elvis impression this morning; I don’t know how much more of him I can take today.”
“Come on Zoe. Wash isn’t bad! He’s quirky, sure, but it’s endearing.”
Zoe shook her head. “I don’t know. He just…bothers me. I’ll tell Mal you’re on break,” she finished, waving River and Kaylee out the door.
~ ~ ~
The two girls wandered down the street: Kaylee, taking in the fall sights ravenously, and River, gazing at the sidewalk a meter in front of her feet as she walked. The streets were busy but not crowded, and they made kept up a good pace as they strolled through the small downtown.
“Hey River, come look at this,” Kaylee said, pointing at the window of a thrift shop where an alarmingly fluffy pink cardigan was displayed on a hanger.
River stared for a moment. “That poor muppet.”
A surprised guffaw of laughter escaped Kaylee, and she turned towards the door. “Come on, we have to try it on.” River giggled and pretended to protest, but let herself be ushered inside the patchouli-smelling shop.
Kaylee slid the sweater off the hanger and offered it to River. “You first or me?”
River shook her head, so Kaylee slid the hideous garment on. “What do you think,” she asked, grabbing an enormous straw hat from a nearby hat stand and striking a pose. “Do I look like a model?”
River doubled over laughing; as she did, her brain froze. Time seemed to slow down for her, like she was moving through and breathing syrup. Outside the window. A tall man, with a buzz cut. As she watches, he turns and smiles at her. “Hey there,” he leers as his image swims closer. “What’s your name?”
River’s scream shatters the musty quiet of the shop. She falls to the floor, scrambling backwards on her hands and heels, trying to get away, trying to hide...
Her shoulder is grabbed. She thrashes, scrambling the other way, crawling, crying, as she tries to escape…
“River? River, it’s okay. I’m right here, you’re safe. River, talk to me!”
Kaylee. Fear on her face. Pink sweater?
River’s breathing became easier. She became aware of the racks of old clothes around her, the dusty-hippie smell of the air, an old woman offering to call 9-1-1.
“No, she’ll be okay. I promise. We’re gonna get some fresh air.” Kaylee helped River stand up, keeping her arm around her as they slowly made their way to the street. As they exited the shop, Kaylee whispered, “That sweater was pretty awful, huh.” River didn’t—couldn’t—smile.
When they arrived back at Firefly, Kaylee told Simon what had happened in the thrift shop. He thanked her for taking care of his sister, then he packed up his things and escorted her home (but not before exacting a promise from Wash that he would keep meticulous baked-good tallies in Simon’s stead).
~ ~ ~
Inara and Jayne arrived almost simultaneously, and an onlooker would be hard pressed to find a more mismatched pair in the whole of the ‘verse. Inara was not tall in physical height, but she carried herself like a queen. Her delicate features were perfectly complemented by her wide, enigmatic smile, set on a backdrop of smooth olive skin. Black hair, softly in waves, cascaded down her back and moved like the ocean as she made her way behind the counter to give Kaylee a tight hug.
If Inara moved like a queen, Jayne moved like a mountain troll. He took up space—physically, he was about six feet tall, and built, as previously mentioned, like a mountain troll, but his bad attitude seemed to have another presence all its own. His mouth was set in a permanent scowl and his eyes in a permanent glare. He tromped through the shop to the maintenance closet, from which he proceeded to extract a mop.
“You’re cuttin’ it close tonight, Jayne. Open mic night’s gonna start in 45.”
Jayne threw a scowl at Kaylee. “I don’t tell you how to make fiddly little coffee drinks, do I? So you don’t get in the way of me and Vera,” he finished, waving the mop for emphasis.
Inara sighed as Kaylee turned back to her. “This colder weather is playing hell with my ukulele. It sounds flat. Not tunable flat, just like it has no life.”
Kaylee handed her something. “I know what’ll give you life. Taste this.”
Inara critically inspected the pale white triangle Kaylee handed her. “Is this a scone?”
“It’s not just a scone.”
Inara looked skeptical as she took a bite. Her eyes widened and she let out a soft moan of pleasure. “Oh my god. That’s a really good scone.” She took another, much larger, bite. “Is this bacon?”
Kaylee nodded. “If that doesn’t perk up your playing, I don’t know what will. The doctor made it.”
“The doctor-turned-baker? Do tell. He sounds yummy,” Inara said, gesturing with the remaining scone. As she finished her snack and tuned her ukulele, Kaylee dished about Simon, leaving out River’s episodes. Talking about a cute guy was one thing, but talking about his sister’s issues was a definite violation of privacy.
At 7:15, Mal emerged from his office. He ran the counter during open-mic night. Wash had left hours ago, as had Zoe. And as, he noticed, had Simon. Inara was behind the counter, fiddling with that ridiculous shrunken guitar of hers, and Jayne was getting the stage set up. Everything was running smoothly—not that he was surprised. He trusted his crew instinctively and completely, and they proved him right in that decision every day.
Simon, though…he and his sister could cause some rough patches. Mal shook the thought out of his head and joined the girls behind the counter. “When are you gonna get the full-size version of that thing?”
Inara glanced at him sideways. “For the hundredth time, Mal, it’s a ukulele.”
“It is far too small to be a real instrument.” Inara rolled her eyes affectionately and went to do her sound check as Kaylee snagged a seat in the audience.
The turnout for open-mic night was decent this week. After Inara welcomed everyone and played a few songs, the regulars stepped up to the mic. A middle-aged woman wearing a muumuu, Agnes, read another chapter from her soon-to-be-self-published time-traveling Viking romance novel (title: A Love Like Honey Mead). Ian, a tall lanky guy with an impressive slouch, performed a slam poem about life, sex, and death, brushing his hair out of his eyes every few lines. Courtney and Crystal, a pair of twenty-something teachers, performed the next installment in their color series.
After another song from Inara, a couple of new faces stepped up. One was apparently an aspiring member of Mumford and Sons: wearing plaid, a bow tie, and hipster glasses, he shredded a few folk melodies on his banjo at 130 BPM. A petite, freckled redhead performed a dramatic monologue from some play about being an eagle. The, after one final song on Inara’s ukulele, the evening is at an end.
As the crowd shuffled out of the shop, Mal joined Inara by the stage. “Tonight went well.”
A smile spread across her face. “It did. I was pleased to see some new faces.”
Mal shrugged. “These things bring out all the weirdos.”
“Yes, but they’re tea-loving, money-spending weirdos.”
He sighed. “I suppose.”
~ ~ ~
She was in an alley, seeing everything through a blur. She felt dizzy, nauseous. Nothing made sense.
Blue aprons.
The smell of garbage.
Rough hands on her wrists.
Laughter, echoing over and over in her head…
River woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat, the image of a unicorn with two horns all that remained of her nightmare.