Work Text:
They were in a bar on Athens and Captain Mallory Reynolds was drunk.
There were worse places to be drunk; once upon a time, she and her ever loyal first mate Zane had been convinced their position in Devil's Jaw on Silverhold would be shelled into oblivion that night and they'd split nearly five miraculously intact bottles of the worst white wine that had ever crossed Mallory's tongue. Not only had they not gone out in a blaze of glory that night, but they'd had to march out on the sort of hangover only syrupy sweet white wine and an empty stomach could deliver. To this day, neither of them could tolerate a sweet white wine, even though it was Wash's favorite.
However, there were probably also better places to be drunk than a bar on Athens. It was dark, it smelled like the windows had been stuck shut for years and years of hardworking and hard sweating patrons, and frankly Mallory wasn't entirely sure why they were there anymore.
They'd just finished up a job, right?
Right, right. One on Newhope, with the shipment of ration bars and the brief stay to chase down a few bandits.
"Where are we heading next?" Zane asked, turning his glass upside down on the bar in a move that told Mallory he was finished for the evening.
"Salvage and cattle run jobs are opening up on the moons here," Mallory suggested.
"Not Whitefall," Zane said firmly. "You don't need to give that old fart a third opportunity to shoot you."
"Justice didn't even shoot me the last time," Mallory grumbled.
"Well, one of his fool cronies did."
"Yeah, and I just about shot the girl's foot clean off," Mallory countered. Zane rolled his eyes.
"Maybe I don't want another dent in my armor," Zane said. "Or for them to get wise to that and put a round between my eyes."
"Fine. We won't stay for the cattle run. I'll think of something else. Later. Tomorrow, maybe."
"What about the Blue Sun System?" Zane offered. "We have friends over there, and we could start half of the New Canaan Run just in time for the quarterly brandy shipments."
“Sure, sure. You can let your wife know where to take us when we get back to the ship,” Mallory told him as she cast her gaze around the bar. Very quickly she found that there was a freshly-arrived trio of men wearing uniforms in an upsettingly familiar shade of gray.
"Stop mad-dogging soldiers," Zane muttered under his breath the instant he cottoned on to Mallory's eyeline. "I think everyone in this bar is itching for a fight."
"We could give 'em one," Mallory suggested. She glanced to her other side at Jake, who was maybe a drink and a half away from not being able to get back to the ship on her own two feet. "Or we could leave now," she added. Zane nodded.
"Now you're talking, Captain."
And so Mallory shook Jake until the big gal was aware enough to get moving as Zane radioed his wife to pick them up.
They stumbled back onto Serenity and instantly Mallory felt more at ease and the tension left her limbs. Unfortunately, that combined with the fact she'd had quite a lot to drink just meant that she was falling asleep as she made her way to her bunk. Thankfully, she managed not to crack her head open on her way down to her bunk and also managed to get her coat and boots off before she fell asleep.
The next morning wasn't so terrible, and Mallory wondered if maybe she'd been more exhausted than drunk at the bar as she waited for her mid-morning coffee to brew and watched Jake struggle through her own hangover.
"Where're we headin'?" Jake asked.
"Floatin' towards the Blue Sun System," Mallory told her. "Maybe there's a contact on New Canaan that can get us in with the quarterly brandy shipments, maybe we can find something else. In any case, we have friends over there for a break and maybe contacts over there for a job."
"Not only do we have friends and contacts in that system, but I've also received a second request to head in that direction," Wash's voice was all too chipper as she made the announcement, and her gait was a little uneven but still bouncy as she hopped down the steps into the galley, blowing her wayward bangs out of her face. "Our illustrious, ever elegant—"
"What does Inan want this time?" Mallory interrupted.
"He says he needs to be on Deadwood next month for a gala."
"There are galas on Deadwood?" Jake wondered.
"Apparently," Wash said with a shrug.
"The kind that Inan goes to?" Zane added, entering the galley and heading straight for the protein stir-fry leftovers.
"Look, he said something about a gala," Wash told them. "And he was very insistent on attending." She looked at Mallory. "So…maybe you should ask him what that's about."
Mallory didn't like something about Wash's tone. Not that her pilot was acting out of turn, but the cadence of Wash's suggestion said Inan is in a mood, and I didn't want to be the one to ask him for details.
But Mallory had never been scared of confrontation, so she poured her mug full of coffee and set off for the shuttle. She hit the door disengage button with her free fist and pushed her way past all the red drapery. Inan glowered as she entered, but he also looked like he'd been waiting for her, so he didn't really have an argument against her being efficient.
"What's this I hear about Deadwood?"
"Yes. I'm glad Wash told you about it. There's a gala on Deadwood next month and I need to attend."
"That all? Deadwood ain't exactly a hub known for having jobs for the picking."
"Yes, that's all," Inan snapped. "And do I need to remind you that my rent is most of what keeps this boat flying, and if I need to get somewhere for work then there should be an effort made to accommodate me? It's even a Rim planet. Your usual stomping ground."
"What's really going on?" Mallory asked. Something was off. Inan could be sharp with her, but he seemed genuinely furious about something and to her knowledge, she hadn't grievously offended him as of late.
"There's a gala on Deadwood," Inan repeated.
"Okay, sure. You got a client goin' I guess, but is there some other…"
"Okay, I don't have a client," he admitted in a tone that would have seemed more appropriate if Mallory had had a gun trained on him. "Not yet. I'll find one, though. But there is a gala and lucky for me, the wealthy on Deadwood are Persephone expats, which means that they also duel there."
"I hope you're not signing me up for another one of those. I didn't come out of it too well last time, if you remember."
"I'm not asking you to do anything but fly me there so I can attend a gala. Because I've just received an encrypted wave from that liú kŏu shuǐ de biăo zi hé hóu zi de bèn ér zi we keep running into and he's going to be there and if I don't get a chance to duel him before I die, I'm going to lose my mind."
"Wait, who's going to be there?" She really wished Inan would speak plainly sometimes.
"Basil! Or Nolan or Brennan or whatever you want to call him. Your husband."
"Don't call him that. I'm gonna throw up."
"Fine. But Deadwood is one of the few planets where I can duel him and not lose my Companion license, especially since I've already caused such a fuss on Persephone."
"You weren't the one causing the fuss," Mallory reminded him, trying not to think about that stab wound and the terrible ivory ballgown that Badger had insisted was de rigueur on Persephone.
"Amandine was my client. I was present. And the Companion Guild has very strict guidelines and standards. Anyway. Not my point. On Deadwood, I have a clean social slate and based on what I've read on local law enforcement, I doubt reports would be made."
"Are you fixin' to kill him?"
"Who knows where the evening will take us!" Inan said, throwing his hands in the air. "But I know he'll be there, and even if he's planned some sort of trap, I need to take the opportunity."
Maybe Mallory should have been more worried about that nightmare redhead, but the fact he was so tiny and did most of what he did for the fun of it and also seemed to be incapable of actually ever pulling the trigger of a gun took a lot of the threat out of him. Maybe next time they ran a job and had to deal with him she'd see if she couldn't scruff him like a kitten and yank him around when he started acting up.
She'd done that to Kaleb, but only once, when he'd refused to leave a junkyard despite an incoming Alliance patrol. He'd wailed the whole time during, and then given Mallory the saddest, wettest eyes for near a week afterwards and she'd never tried it again.
"Look, Mallory, this is going to eat me alive unless I manage to settle the feud, and I'm sure there's a job you can sniff out while we're there."
"Sure—"
"Maybe even at the gala, provided you can find it within yourself to develop manners."
Mallory stormed out of the shuttle, making sure to kick a stray throw pillow on her way.
Sure, she'd never had to learn how to place her silverware on an empty plate to communicate she didn't like the meal or memorize an order of precedence at a ball, but her upbringing had included table manners and Mallory had called every adult she'd ever interacted with sir or ma'am until she reached the age where not using a title could finally be interpreted as her own bad attitude rather than a moral failing of her father's. There had been church decorum and good posture in school and reminders of the right thing to say at a funeral. Her father had been attentive and earnest and instilled a good sense of propriety in Mallory, and while maybe she didn't often use it, she was sure she could tap back into it when needed. However, she would rather die than tell Inan that she was offended on behalf of long dead Alonzo Reynolds.
"We're going to Deadwood," Mallory announced as she walked up the steps to the bridge.
"'Course we are," Wash mumbled. Zane put a hand on her shoulder.
"Sounds good, ma'am," he told Mallory. "I think Sergeant Pinter is in the Blue Sun System."
"Oh, yeah, he's on Highgate last I heard," Mallory said. "You think he'll know folks on Deadwood who can give us work?"
"Worth a try," Zane told her.
So they tried. Mallory sent a few waves and so did Zane, and eventually, they got in contact with Sergeant Pinter through a combination of persistence and sheer dumb luck, and he did end up having a contact name for them which settled Mallory and also convinced Zane and Jake that going to Deadwood was a good strategic decision and not just something Mallory had ordered because she had a soft spot for the Companion renting her shuttle.
"We've got a job on Deadwood while you're at your fancy party," Mallory announced as she barged into Inan's shuttle as usual just to push his buttons. "Meeting some Richard Postrel at some Tulip Theater season opening event."
"Mallory, that is the fancy party."
"Inan, I swear, if I end up with another sword wound in my gut because I'm working a job at the same event where you're prancing around—"
"Just don't start a fight!" Inan snapped. "It was not my fault that you ended up in that situation, no matter how much you want to pin it on me. Besides, if you mess up my chance to duel Basil I'm going to be the one spitting nails."
"I'm wearing my suit this time," Mallory said sharply. "Ain't no way anyone's getting me into one of them bustled ballgowns again."
"Good. You looked totally out of place, like a doll from a farming set that got dressed in the princess doll clothes."
Mallory gave him her nastiest grin.
"Thanks. Am I gonna be bringing Kaleb like last time, you think? He'd love a chance to wear that spangly suit again."
Inan grit his teeth and winced and Mallory paused on her way back out of the shuttle.
"I don't think so," Inan said finally.
"No? So I can go alone?"
"Ah…not that either."
"So…I'll take Zane."
"Not if you want to be the one making the deal. And not if you want to wear the suit."
"Inan, tiān xiăo de—"
"Okay, listen. Listen! You cannot go alone. That would be a social faux pas, similar to the event on Persephone. However, Deadwood has…certain expectations when it comes to a man and a woman—"
"They'd be upset that I'm not fucking Kaleb? How are they gonna know any different? Should I expect to see folks getting it on at this event?"
"Please just listen."
"I am listening."
"Kaleb is…he's not exactly what a Rim planet expects from a man."
"Sure, but it ain't his fault he's so tiny, and besides, it don't bother him none."
"I know he doesn't care, which is really wonderful for him, but Deadwood cares. It's not about his size. If he's seen as taking orders from a woman he won't be taken seriously, which in turn will not reflect well on you."
"So Zane would have to be the one holding the reins if I took him, huh?"
"Exactly, which I'm sure would be fine."
"Yeah, Zane can handle a deal. But then I'm guessin' I'd have to be in the dress."
"It would just be for one evening," Inan pointed out. "But if you really don't want to, then I suppose he could take his wife."
"I need Wash at the helm," Mallory admitted, and plopped down onto the plush red couch cushions. "Well, hell, Inan. You've successfully found an event I can't crash."
"You could take Simmone," Inan said lightly. Mallory narrowed her eyes at him but couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her.
"So…you're saying that rich folks on Deadwood would care about a man looking like he plays second fiddle to a woman, and they'd care about a man with a woman in a suit on his arm, but they don't care if a gal is sly?"
"I'm sure there are plenty of essays on the subject," Inan said. "Maybe even a university thesis or two. But I suppose that's the gist."
"Can Zane…take Kaleb?"
"I wouldn't risk it."
"So I have to take the doc if I take anyone."
"Or Jake could—"
"I ain't trusting Jake at an event like that, come on now. And I'm definitely not trusting her with keeping an eye on Simmone, especially not if Basil is gonna be there. I'd end up losing half my gorram crew."
"Sounds like your decision's been made for you, then."
"What's your game?" Mallory asked him outright. He had the gall to look surprised.
"My game? I plan to duel someone who's caused us nothing but trouble."
"You know that ain't the part I'm gettin' at."
"What are you getting at, then?" Inan challenged, and Mallory knew he knew. Instead of answering, she stood and made her way to the door. "Making a life's work out of repression doesn't look good on you," Inan said as she left, and she very nearly stormed back in to choke him with one of his shimmery throw blankets. Instead she continued stomping back towards the bridge to fill in her first mate and her pilot on the latest details of their upcoming job.
"We're going to Deadwood?" Kaleb asked loudly as Mallory passed the engine room.
"You heard that?"
"Wash told me," Kaleb admitted, grinning at Mallory as he bustled to the other side of the room to feed drops of oil into some mechanism. "We got a job on Deadwood?"
"Sure do. Routine," she said. As far as Kaleb knew, it was routine. "Meet a contact, strike a deal, and hopefully get a cut of the brandy profits off of New Canaan."
"Roger that, Captain."
"Maybe we'll get a few bottles," Mallory acquiesced, and was rewarded with a bright, beaming, trademarked Kaleb Frye smile. The anger left her.
"What about some of New Canaan's pork belly in brandy glaze?"
"We'll see, Kaleb."
He gave her a double thumbs up as she continued up the corridor towards the bridge, and she couldn't help but smile.
"So. How far to Deadwood?" Mallory asked.
"Check it out there," Wash said as she gestured at the course map. "We gonna be there in time for Inan's thing?"
"Inan's thing is also our thing."
Zane groaned from where he was sitting in the copilot's chair.
"Have you brushed up on your sword technique?" He wondered.
"I am not going to start any fights there," Mallory promised. "I have self-control. But it does mean that our contact is better connected and more ah…you know…hoity toity than we first thought."
"It warrants a dress up, then," Zane assumed. "Kaleb would love to show off his suit again."
"It warrants a dress up, yes, but I've just heard half of a sociology lecture from Inan and I don't think I can bring Kaleb."
"Oh, that's right!" Wash chimed in. "Some crazy strict expectations over on Deadwood that kinda don't make a lot of sense but I guess that's just the way some rich weirdos are. I don't think the captain can take Kaleb, but you could take me, Honeybutt." She waggled her fingers at her husband, who took a moment to grin at her before looking back to Mallory.
"So is that the plan then, to have me take Wash?"
"I need Wash at the controls," Mallory said. "Just in case."
"You could take the doctor, right?" Wash wondered. "Isn't that a couple-up that the folks on Deadwood would approve of?"
"Sure is," Mallory confirmed, trying not to look either Alleyne in the eye though she could tell they were giving each other knowing looks. "I'll go brief her about it."
There was no better time to bite the bullet. Mallory flicked the switch that would turn on the intercom in the medbay.
"Doc. Need you up in the galley for a chat."
And then she went to the galley to wait.
The echo from the sharp clicking of the doctor's little heeled boots told Mallory that Simmone was somewhere on the stairs. For the first few weeks the noise had infuriated Mallory, especially combined with the actual presence of the doctor on her boat. Simmone Tam had felt at first like all the worst parts of all the meanest girls on Shadow, distilled into one insufferable woman. Smaller, gentler, daintier, smarter, more polite and more gracious and just more correct and smug about it. The fact that the doctor weirdly seemed to actively resent herself and her entire carefully curated image had softened Mallory's ire, and Simmone's earnest desire to help out on the ship and unconditionally loving devotion to her brother had carried Mallory all the way to affection for the younger woman before she even knew what was happening.
It didn't change the fact that the clicking noise from Simmone's heels was immensely annoying.
"People heard her and turned before she ever had to say anything," River said suddenly from where he'd been hiding behind the stove. Mallory managed to not jump out of her skin and turned to watch as he unfolded himself and made his way around the galley to sit at the other end of the table.
It was sometimes hard to believe he'd spent his first few months on Serenity sharing wardrobe with barely five-foot-three Kaleb. These days River was mostly clothed in Zane's hand-me-downs. He reminded Mallory of the emaciated creatures from Shadow folklore that slunk out of the trees and ate cattle alive but were never satisfied. Not for any malicious reason; it was just because he was in that teenage boy phase of growing vertically but not being able to fill out his frame at the same rate.
He grinned like he knew what she was thinking about (he definitely did), hunched his shoulders, and curled his fingers into exaggerated claws before snarling playfully at her.
"You lookin' for a cow to eat?"
"Maybe."
The echo to the clacking changed. The doctor was on her way through the corridor towards the galley.
"See, you always know where she is," River continued.
"Just don't see why she decided to make such a racket all the time when she was picking out shoes."
"She never had to decipher a good time to interrupt a conversation or wait awkwardly," River pointed out. "Never had to second guess herself in a hospital hallway."
Mallory didn't much care.
"I've not had a good solid day of silence since you and your sister came on board and she started clacking all over the place."
"Mm." River nodded sagely. "Yes. Everyone else on board is completely silent all the time."
"Don't get smart with me."
River had the good grace to not make an obvious joke. He looked at Mallory for a moment, tilting his head right and left as his sister finally entered the galley.
"A party!" He said happily. "I would ask for you to bring back a lychee jelly cake for me, but I do not think you will remember."
And with that, he left the room.
"What's going on, Captain?" Simmone asked, almost turning to follow her brother.
"We've got a job," Mallory told her, gesturing at a chair.
"Oh. Uh…good?"
"Yeah, it's good, doc. Listen. We've got to meet with a contact on Deadwood, and I need you to come along with me."
"Medical related job?" Simmone asked as she sat down.
"Not really," Mallory admitted. "I need someone there so I'm not a lone guest at a fancy gala."
Simmone gaped at her for a few moments.
"You're not…I'm not the…"
"You're the one coming with me," Mallory cut in to confirm. "Ain't no gettin' out of it, either. I figure it won't be that hard on you—you come along with me, make me look like I know how to fit in at a Deadwood high society party, act as window dressing, eat some expensive food, and then hightail it outta there."
Simmone stared at her.
"I'm trying to be…diplomatic—"
"Well, don't," Mallory interrupted.
"What's the catch?"
"Inan will be there, and he believes that Basil will be too—"
"I thought I was supposed to stay out of sight when we were working with Basil!"
"We have to take risks sometimes, princess."
"Are you sure this is wise?"
"Well, of course it ain't. But the crew needs a job and Inan is dead set on going."
Simmone slumped back in her chair.
"What's the dress code?"
"You'll make do with what you got, doctor. All those silk vests and long skirts will do fine."
"But was there a dress code specified?"
"Formal evening wear? That's what our source mentioned, at least."
"Formal…okay. Ah, well…oh, no, I can do that," she decided, and looked off into nowhere, presumably considering every garment she had in her possession. "Will you let me do your hair for the event?" Simmone asked after a minute of silence.
"My hair? What's wrong with my hair?"
"Nothing's wrong with it, but seeing as you don't have Badger's hairdresser at your disposal like you did on Persephone, I might be the next best option."
"You got a certificate in stylin' too?"
"No. But I've done my own hair to my mother's standards for my whole life."
Mallory wasn't sure if that was reassuring, seeing as the doctor's go-to everyday hairstyle was a severe slicked-back twist that wouldn't have looked out of place on a woman working hospitality crew for one of those expensive travel companies with the top of the line ships. Mallory had heard once that they measured the length of the skirts on those women down to the half centimeter every time they showed up for work.
"Fine, may as well try to look as presentable as possible. Just thought it best for you to know you're going on a job."
"I appreciate the heads up," Simmone said. "I uh…hopefully it will be harder for me to make a fool out of myself if I have time to prepare a little."
Mallory gave her an approving grunt and left her medic to think while she went back to her bunk and worked on some bookkeeping.
Most of the next day and even the rest of the trip to Deadwood was spent searching for more jobs to do in the Blue Sun System, either as back up if the Deadwood contact fell through or for after they were finished. Mallory reorganized the armory a little and played some card games with Jake and Wash and listened to Kaleb's wishlist of parts that could replace those that were hanging on by glue and hope.
Mallory made her rounds on the morning of their arrival, ensuring that her suit wasn't wrinkled and rechecking the location of the gala and hoping and praying that River wouldn't suddenly slip into an episode that required his sister's full round-the-clock attention. She was heading up to the galley for some tea and maybe an early lunch when there was a flash of gray habit in the corner of Mallory's eye and she braced herself for whatever knowing lecture she was about to receive courtesy of Sister Denica. Book. Mallory did her best to call the nun by her last name, just because she hadn't wanted a gorram nun on her ship in the first place and figured a little bit of rudeness wouldn't kill anyone, but it was difficult. Sister Denica tumbled out of her mouth without her really thinking about it after years and years of yes, Sister and sorry, Sister while keeping still as the nuns back on Shadow rapped her knuckles with rulers.
"Captain."
"Sister. How can I help you today?"
"I hear we're in for a little bit of excitement on Deadwood this evening."
"Sure are, sure are. Nothing too crazy, though."
"I heard that you're involving Dr. Tam."
"Yeah…she's the best choice to accompany me to the meetup. She'll be fine. Besides," Mallory flashed the nun a wide smile. "Doctor High-and-mighty could use the chance to toughen up."
"To delve further into crime, you mean," Sister Denica said, raising an eyebrow.
"This is the ordinary sort of crime, Sister. Forging customs forms and fudging tariff records. Nothing violent."
"Stealing is still a crime, child."
"Well, you don't have to get involved in it none," Mallory told her. Sister Denica pursed her lips and Mallory hoped that was the end of it; surely the sister had learned when to leave well enough alone.
"Keep Dr. Tam close to you, please? I've seen what happens when you take the poor thing out on jobs."
"Sure," Mallory agreed readily, inching away from the nun. "She'll be right beside me all night."
And with that, Mallory fled the conversation and headed towards her future mug of tea. She was only alone for a little while before Jake came stomping in.
"We landing soon?"
"Should be. You can check with Wash."
"Sure. You ain't told me what I'm gonna be doing for the job."
"It's just a contact meeting. No cargo tonight. But you'll be on mule duty," Mallory told her.
"Sure, waiting around on some street corner as a fallback plan just in case you bungle everything. At least it's consistent work," Jake muttered.
"What the hell do I pay you for if not to have my back?"
"Haven't paid me very much for the past two months."
"We just ran a good job on Newhope. Don't tell me you've spent your whole share already."
"Oh, I didn't. But Newhope wasn't exactly the usual."
"Well if everything goes well tonight, we'll have a good contact and a good product to transport, so you'll be on that mule to make sure that we all get out of there and can run those jobs."
"Yeah. Bet the doctor's gonna need a ride back early. She'll get a hangnail and swoon and you'll have to send her back with me."
"Jake."
"Huh?"
"Go prep the mule."
"I came in here to eat."
"Now!"
After her quick meal, Mallory knocked on the doctor's dorm door for her hairstyling appointment, where she found Simmone engrossed in her Cortex tablet.
"Whatcha reading?"
"Mostly travel guides about Deadwood's social scene and a few recent editions of what they have that passes for society pages, but I also found someone's university thesis on gender expectations on Deadwood, and—"
"Doin' research. Good. Don't get too caught up in the reading, though. It won't prepare you for being in the moment."
"Fair enough. But like you said, it shouldn't be too complicated. Unless you were lying."
"I don't lie to you, doc."
"Of course not," Simmone said quickly, setting the tablet aside. "Sit down and I'll try to be quick. You aren't wearing anything that needs to be taken off over your head, are you?"
"Nope," Mallory said, sitting in the chair Simmone offered.
"Okay, good. I think something simple will be fine," Simmone told her, rummaging in her . "Just a nice neat braid. Surely you've done braids to keep your hair out of your face before."
Yeah, Mallory had. She did a braid every day, after all, and she was a little miffed that Simmone apparently thought that didn’t count. She was about to say something, but Simmone picked that exact moment to start working a comb gently through her hair and she decided that any complaints could wait.
"What sort of impression are we meant to be making?" Simmone wondered after a few moments spent carefully untangling knots.
"How's that?" Mallory shook herself back to full awareness.
"I mean, are we trying to stay as under the radar as possible or are we trying to impress someone?"
"Uh…impress someone. He's a lord or something, similar status to Lady Harrow, at least. I want to make sure we're the obvious choice, and I think he values the sort of folks who can make an impression at an event like the gala."
"I'll keep that in mind," Simmone said, starting to section out Mallory's hair. "I could do something really fancy if my can of hairspray hadn't found its way into the airlock," Simmone mused. Mallory grimaced.
"Yeah, doc, listen: the crew sometimes—"
"Oh, River did it," Simmone assured her.
"He did?"
"Absolutely. He snuck it in there when we were leaving Greenleaf and it floated out during the salvage job. He tried to make me think Jake had done it but I don't believe for a second that she even knows what a can of hairspray looks like, and River has always hated the smell."
The braiding was finished sooner than Mallory would have liked, and she stood and turned so that Simmone could ensure it looked alright from the front. When the flyaways were combed back and she passed inspection, they stood there looking at each other for a bit.
"Well." Mallory said. Simmone didn't respond. "Guess I better get dressed."
"Ah, yes. I should too."
Mallory had not had many recent chances to wear her suit; Rim planet celebrations usually just saw her in her everyday clothes, often still with the dirt of the planet and smell of gunpowder clinging to them from whatever she'd been up to earlier in the day that had warranted a party in the evening, and the last time the party had been closer to the Core, she'd suffered through that ballgown during their contact meeting with Lady Harrow. While Mallory was a fine hand with a darning needle, she didn't know how to get bloodstains out of ivory silk and so the dress was somewhere in her bunk after she'd stuffed it out of sight. The suit was more comfortable; her father had given her her first one at 14 when she'd wondered idly if it would be acceptable to have a Sunday best suit instead of a Sunday best dress and her father had been overjoyed in the way that a widowed Shadow man was when he suddenly found that he had a teenaged daughter who was more interested in dressing like the teenaged son he never had and he no longer had to really deal with things like sourcing information on hair ribbons or other girly things to give as Christmas presents.
She slid on her jacket and climbed out of her bunk, tying her cravat as she made her way towards the cargo bay.
"Everyone ready?" Mallory called as she neared the door.
"Cap, you gotta come see what this prissy little jiàn huò has got on," Jake said through laughter. "I was beginning to wonder if she even had tits at all."
"Jake," Mallory put on her best warning voice and made her way into the cargo bay.
The doctor was not wearing what Mallory had expected (her usual full black skirt, white dress shirt, fancy brocade vest, a tie maybe, and those ruttin' loud as all hell button up boots with the little heel). Instead, Simmone had pulled an ankle length hip hugging red silk qipao out of who-knows-where and had paired it with spindly black high heels that made her several inches taller than she usually was though not quite on the same eye level as Mallory. She'd put on quite a bit of eye makeup and her hair was loose over one shoulder and Mallory first took a minute to wonder how the doctor kept all that hair pinned up all the time before her mind wandered and she also started to wonder what it might feel like to run her hands through it.
"You said formal eveningwear!" Simmone squeaked out, and Mallory realized she'd been staring.
"She was right," Inan said from where he'd just left his shuttle, breaking the tension. "I'm glad Mallory communicated the right dress code. You look lovely, Simmone."
"Thank you. I was afraid the dress would have taken on permanent creases after so long packed up in the vacuum sealed bag, but they came out with a little improvised steaming."
"Fugitive runnin' for her life and she still packed her little silk dress and fuck-me heels," Jake said. "Got some crazy priorities there, doctor."
"Well. They've come in handy, haven't they? I'm not about to attend an evening gala in business wear."
Jake didn't have the opportunity to respond as they were all startled by Kaleb letting loose a whistle at a volume that really shouldn't have been possible (lung-size wise) from such a small man.
"What an outfit!" He hollered from the catwalk. "Simmone, that's the kinda dress that would knock the boots straight off of a Kowlonshi miner, and they're the sorts of men that do drag shows in mines."
Kaleb was wearing his own showstopper of an outfit: the jacket from his suit they’d conned Badger into buying back on Persephone over his coveralls. He thundered down the stairs to join them in the cargo bay, the rhinestone studded fringe across his chest bouncing and catching the light.
“I figured even if I ain’t goin' anywhere, I should take a few minutes to wear it again.”
He attempted a shoulder shimmy once he reached them, in order to throw the fringe around a little more, and while he couldn't quite get the rhythm right, the effect was still there.
Kaleb offered his hand to Simmone and led her in a little bit of two-step, and didn’t they make a handsome pair? Mallory had spent the last few months trying to ensure she wasn't acting a fool when she saw Kaleb make a move on the pretty medic, and she was pretty sure she was doing a good job so far. Kaleb had apparently not picked up on her jealousy, or maybe he'd decided to let up on the overt flirting since it didn't seem to be going anywhere. He was on good terms with the medic at least, and they giggled at each other as they twirled. Kaleb's fringe shimmered and though there wasn't much skirt to swirl around Simmone, the qipao's embroidery shone.
Sister Denica eventually started whistling a little to provide the pair with some music and after a while, River gracefully cut in, taking his sister’s spot. The two boys spun around a bit before River maneuvered himself behind Kaleb and bent his knees in a way that had Simmone crying out in alarm and Mallory, Jake, and Sister Denica all leaping forwards before River could suplex his friend into the metal floor. He’d been attempting all sorts of wrestling moves on Kaleb ever since he’d finally been lucid enough to consider Kaleb a good friend and while Simmone’s insistence of he doesn’t mean to hurt Kaleb had served well at first, with the new growth spurt and reveal of what Sister Denica delicately called intensely cultivated combat skills, River’s urge to roughhouse had taken on an edge of danger. Mallory was reminded of a rottweiler that kept trying to playfight with a terrier even once they were no longer puppies of the same size.
“I’m fine!” Kaleb insisted. “River wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Not on purpose, sure, but anybody throws anybody around the cargo bay and someone’s bound to get hurt,” Mallory reminded him.
“River’s just playing around,” Kaleb insisted, reaching up to hook an arm around River’s neck and pull him down just to give him the gentlest noogie Mallory had ever seen. River smiled placidly and let him do it and Mallory's heart ached. The boy was starved for a bit of normal socialization; wrasslin' and pranks and bonding and talking about girls. Kaleb did his best, and after the crew's ordeal at the hands of the bounty hunter Mollie Bell, he'd apparently grown even closer with River, not shying away from sharing tales of his lurid exploits back home, whether or not Simmone found them appropriate or not.
“River'd crack your head open like an egg,” Jake told Kaleb, interrupting Mallory's musing. River started nodding.
“Like they did to me,” he said, making unnerving eye contact with Jake. "You know all about that, don't you?"
Simmone stepped forwards with all the aggression she could muster and Mallory felt it was in everyone's best interests to steer the conversation away from what Jake may or may not know about River's brain situation.
"Well, I think we ought to focus on tonight's party," Mallory said firmly.
"I'm ready," Simmone insisted.
"No lipstick? Mouth pretty enough already?" Jake asked, leering.
"Oh, no lipstick at a party like this," Inan and Simmone said seriously at the same time, and Mallory was suddenly doubly grateful that she'd not had to learn dress codes and makeup restrictions and whatever other secret rich people rules while she was growing up. She let herself look the doctor up and down under the guise of inspecting the outfit. Simmone fidgeted under the scrutiny.
"You gonna be able to keep up with me if we need to get out of there running if you have them shoes on?"
"I can run in these," the doctor insisted.
"Can you?"
"I was a debutante," Simmone informed her, as though that explained everything. Mallory stared at her for a moment.
"'Course you were."
"If she gets too slow you can just leave her behind," Jake suggested.
"Or pick her up and carry her," Kaleb added. "You've picked me up before, Captain."
"Can pick her up like a doll," River mumbled, looking off into nowhere.
Mallory really hoped she wasn't blushing. Unfortunately, the last time they were on Santos, Wash had gotten her drunk enough for Mallory to start waxing poetic about the doctor's blue eyes and smooth ivory skin and had eventually gotten to the inevitable end point of comparing the younger woman to a porcelain doll. Wash had miraculously managed to keep her gorram mouth shut about the whole evening when it came to mealtimes or other crew bonding moments, but Mallory knew that Zane had heard about all of it. She was grateful that the two of them were not present in the cargo bay to smirk at her, but River gave her a knowing look and Mallory started to worry that she might soon find herself on the receiving end of protective brother related violence. Maybe a suplex would be involved.
Once they landed, Inan took off in his shuttle and Jake drove Mallory and Simmone close to the theater on the mule but dropped them off a few blocks away so they wouldn't be seen arriving on a utility vehicle.
They joined the crowds of theater enthusiasts and folks who wanted to be seen at the right places, Simmone holding on to Mallory's elbow, and they walked up the building's front steps. Mallory had been to plenty an event under false pretenses but she was still always a little anxious whenever her invite or ticket was scrutinized at the door. Thankfully, Sergeant Pinter's sources were good, and they were welcomed inside with a smile.
Servers with trays of finger food and cocktails walked pathways through the room; one of them with a tray of some sort of green drink paused in front of Mallory and Simmone as they took everything in, but Simmone grasped Mallory's hand before she could reach out to take a glass.
"She drinks rye," Simmone informed the server. "Three fingers, on the rocks. And I'd like something citrus flavored with a local liquor. Fresh. Not something that's been sitting on a tray for a quarter hour."
The server nodded once and kept moving through the crowd, passing Simmone's order on to another staff member who wasn't occupied with holding a tray. Mallory felt acutely aware of the fact that folks nearby had been watching the interaction with at least mild interest.
"What the tiān xiăo de was that?" She whispered. Simmone had the gall to look at her blankly.
"You said we were meant to make an impression."
"I…yeah, but—"
"I made an impression, did I not?"
"I meant a good impression."
"That's the foundation for the sort of impression you want to be making. Trust me. This is the only sort of social setting I know how to navigate," Simmone admitted.
"This? This is easier for you to handle than getting blackout smashed in a rundown pub where no one's looking at you?"
"What do you think I was doing on Osiris?" Simmone asked her, turning to fuss unnecessarily with Mallory's cravat.
"I…trauma surgery?"
"Aside from that. What I was doing socially."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess this is the sort of party they'd throw back where you're from. Didn't figure you'd be going to them, though. Pictured you as the staying in and reading medical journals type."
"Not my choice."
"Whose, then?"
"My mother's."
Mallory thought about what kind of mother Simmone must have grown up with and very nearly shuddered.
"Dragged you out to galas and balls, huh? She wanted you miserable?"
"She wanted me married."
"Same difference?" Mallory joked, and Simmone nodded more emphatically than Mallory anticipated.
"That's what I felt! Like an incoming prison sentence."
"Okay, well, easy now. Zane and Wash have a good thing going," Mallory pointed out.
"You think people expected me to keep working after marriage?"
"They didn't?"
"The goal of a Tam daughter is to get a very expensive degree, have a blindingly brilliant career for five years, and then run a household with such vigor that the maids are prepared for a second career in the military."
"Seems like sort of a waste of talent," Mallory murmured. "To leave all those folks at the hospital wanting."
Simmone gave her a brief startled look, like no one else had ever expressed that opinion, and Mallory was afforded a few moments of looking into those blue-gray eyes before a server appeared at her elbow with one crystal glass of whiskey and one flute of something bubbling with a curl of lemon rind on the rim.
Mallory took her whiskey and Simmone watched as she tried it and waited until Mallory nodded her approval before taking a sip of her own cocktail. She made an appraising face and then smiled at the server.
"It's excellent, thank you."
"I hope this looks more like I make my girl talk to the help rather than me needing someone to order for me," Mallory muttered as the server left.
"That's the general idea," Simmone breathed. "And I think we're doing okay so far."
They made their way around the room, Mallory keeping an eye out for their contact as well as trying to ensure that they didn't run right into Basil or otherwise interrupt whatever careful plan Inan had laid out for himself. Simmone kept herself glued to Mallory's side, which was a nice change from the other times the doctor had been planetside and wandered off on her own only to need rescuing.
Eventually Mallory found the man she was looking for: fancy suit, red sash, jeweled watch, waiting patiently in a corner that wasn't seeing much traffic aside from the occasional guest going out of their way to greet the older man. By the time they reached him, he was entertaining a small group of other guests and they must have been business partners, because they stayed for the meeting.
The meeting itself felt wonderfully familiar. Parsing details of cargo transport in order to avoid certain customs regulations and skirt import limits was something Mallory knew she was good at, and she could see the whole job and how to run it before half the information was out of Sir Postrel's mouth.
Simmone listened to the whole discussion silently, following each speaker in turn with her eyes and Mallory hoped the doctor was maybe getting a quick lesson in what sort of usual jobs they did and what a meeting looked like. Finally they came to price negotiations.
"Two hundred ten plat," Mallory insisted. Sir Postrel shook his head.
"One twenty."
Simmone gave a quiet scoff and looked off towards the bar like she'd suddenly lost all interest in the proceedings. To Mallory's pure shock, Sir Postrel's eyes widened and his brow furrowed in worry.
"It's standard market rate," he said quickly, which only earned another huff of disbelief from the woman on Mallory's arm, but this time up went the doctor's chin and she narrowed her eyes at their contact.
"Standard market rate? Do not insult her. You think my lǎopó doesn't know what a standard rate is for a job like this is? You think she's a fool? You—"
Mallory shushed her softly in a panic and when Simmone quieted immediately and lowered her gaze docilly, Mallory actually had to fight to keep the surprise off of her face. She took another sip of her whiskey to buy a bit of time and found it was mostly water now. Before she could look for a place to put the glass down, Simmone plucked it out of her hand, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and swept off towards the bar.
"Your wife has high expectations," Sir Postrel commented. Mallory fought past the lingering feel of Simmone's lips on her cheek and the word wife and shrugged.
"She's hard to please," Mallory admitted with a flippant smile. "But I manage."
"That reflects well," he told her. "Not every captain of a transport crew I've contracted can say that their work is to Core standards."
"And that's the sort of work you can expect from this job and any in the future," Mallory promised. Sir Postrel considered her for a long moment and sipped at his drink.
"One fifty."
"Two hundred."
"One seventy five," he finally said. "But! With an additional fifty on the table if the job gets done when you say it will."
They shook on it, Sir Postrel slipped her a folded note that she tucked into her inner pocket, and they split, Sir Postrel remaining in his claimed corner and Mallory continuing on her meandering path through the ballroom. Mallory took a moment to look over the rest of the guests, just people watching, before she thought she'd better find Simmone at the bar. As she approached that side of the room, she noticed that the doctor was talking with someone and Mallory's blood ran cold when she realized that it was a very familiar slender redheaded man.
How long have they been talking? What has Simmone said? That girl can't keep her mouth shut at the best of times.
Mallory approached them slowly and managed to position herself behind an ornate column close enough to hear the conversation.
"No, I'm sure we've met," Basil was insisting and Mallory very nearly thanked God for the fact that Simmone looked so different with all that eye makeup on and also out of her self-imposed uniform.
"Well, I'm sure if we have, you didn't make much of an impression," Simmone replied, and the haughty tone alone had Mallory clenching her fist reflexively.
"Maybe I can make an impression tonight, instead."
"Maybe you can apologize for stealing my drink and go back to whichever hole you crawled out of," Simmone said huffily. Basil smirked and shrugged, sipping what Mallory assumed was her whiskey refill.
"That's a little…audacious to say to someone you've…just met, isn't it?"
Maybe you don't know her, Mallory willed. You only saw that crewmember for a moment. Maybe you mistook this woman for someone else. Maybe she isn't that awkward medic from that ship you tried to steal and you're bothering some powerful Deadwood so-and-so's wife.
"Men who take drinks right out of a lady's hands and act too forwards with people they don't know are men who definitely crawled out of holes in the ground," Simmone snapped, and Mallory let the wave of satisfaction wash over her as Basil's confident façade visibly weakened. At least the doctor's secret talent was useful for something other than almost getting burned at the stake.
Basil apparently decided that it wasn't worth the risk of pushing further, and he ordered a replacement whiskey for Simmone and then left with a smug little clink of his glass against her coupe. Mallory stayed where she was so that he wouldn't see her and watched as the doctor slumped against the bar in relief and looked wildly around the room before Mallory stepped out from behind her column and joined her medic.
"Oh, thank god," Simmone breathed. "That was terrifying."
"You handled him pretty well, from what I could see."
"How much did you see? He was terribly rude, which was really working in my favor." The bartender handed Simmone another little crystal glass of rye on the rocks and she passed it dutifully to Mallory.
"Only caught the tail end. You're fine; don't worry, and don't let it trip you up for the rest of the evening. I've made the deal and we just need to keep an eye on Inan now."
"He's been making the rounds," Simmone told her. "Plenty of folks seem to know him."
"Of course they do." She looked at the coupe in Simmone's hands that was full of a bizarrely purple drink. "Whatcha got there?"
"Lavender gin sour."
"What's that mean?"
"Lavender gin, lemon juice, egg white."
"Raw egg white?"
"Yes, raw."
"Blegh."
"Well, don't knock it 'til you try it," Simmone told her, and held her drink out at a height that really made more sense for Mallory to simply lean forwards and sip, rather than taking hold of the cup herself. It tasted sort of like what she imagined drinking frothed up perfume might taste like, and while it wasn't entirely terrible, she didn't think she'd be changing her drink order up any time soon.
"Not too bad," Mallory admitted. "Let's hit the food table before we get too sloshed."
It turned out that they found a good angle to see the rest of the ballroom once they were next to the food, and therefore practically had front row seats to Inan confronting Basil.
Inan's challenge to a duel was far more graceful than Mallory's had been, with the wild and unplanned punch that had sent Amandine Wing tumbling to the marble floor. Instead, Inan opted for slapping Basil across the face and then throwing a drink at him as follow up. It soon became clear that the actual biggest difference between Persephone and Deadwood was that when someone challenged someone else to a duel, that meant they were settling it right that moment. No plans to meet at ponds the next morning at dawn. Clear the dancefloor and get these men some swords.
"I think you should be ready to shoot," Simmone said as the party guests retreated to the bar or just out of the way and attendants rushed about to provide swords. "Just in case it turns out that Basil was some sort of fencing champion on whatever rock he was born on."
"Yeah, doc? You looking forward to some gunplay? Not sure I expected a taste for bloodsport from you, princess."
"I'm looking forward to calling Inan my friend for many more years and not a patient I couldn't save, captain. And I'd happily watch you put a bullet in Basil for Inan's sake."
The duel was on very quickly, and Basil was fast. He was faster than Inan, which was worrying, but Inan could still hold his own, and Mallory found herself watching transfixed. She could see the appeal in watching two people who were trained in the art rather than an expert versus some offworlder who made a social slip up. The appeal of watching soon turned into anxiety as Basil landed a slash right across Inan's left pec, but after an initial cry of pain, Inan bared his teeth and kept right on fighting, and soon enough, Inan's chance presented itself. He twisted and dodged and wrapped Basil up in some sort of maneuver that had the other man yelping in pain and dropping his weapon. It was really sort of beautiful, Mallory had to admit. What was less beautiful (at least in the elegant, dance-y way) was the fact that once Basil was no longer armed, Inan threw his own sword to the side, where it barely missed a party guest, and bodily launched himself at Basil, taking them both to the ground, where he got a knee on Basil's chest and started whaling on him.
And sure, Basil may have been lithe and slippery like an eel and trained in at least some hand to hand, but Inan was far bigger and, quite clearly, stronger. When Mallory had first met him, swathed in black silk and looking to rent her shuttle, she'd thought he could have been a wrestler, but not the kind that wore singlets and tried to pin his opponent. More like a sumo wrestler: stout and hefty and unyielding like a brick wall. Besides, she'd heard enough about the training and daily life to compare Inan and his Companion status to those men on discipline and control alone.
"Maybe you ought to step in," Simmone said urgently as the other folks at the gala alternately gasped and shouted at the beatdown occurring right in front of them. Mallory shrugged.
"Maybe. But ain't it sorta nice to see Basil get his?"
"Inan is using closed fists," Simmone pointed out. "He's going to break something in his hand, and he might not mind now, but he won't be able to play the zhēng for months if you don't do something."
In the end, after they snapped Inan out of his tunnel vision, Simmone took on the task of pulling him away from the fight while Mallory assigned herself to keep a firearm trained on Basil until none of us can see him anymore duty. It wasn't hard—he didn't even move to get up from the ground, and one eye was swollen completely shut so it wasn't like he could really tell where they were going.
Aside from the waitstaff having called for medical personnel, no one seemed to be bothered by the fact that there had been a fight and a drawn pistol at the gala, which made Mallory feel like high society on Deadwood could be her kind of scene, but they decided that it was best to just hoof it out of there back to where Jake was waiting with the mule, and Mallory found that the doctor could, in fact, run in her high heels.
"There's that punchin' bag hanging in the cargo bay," Jake pointed out as they slipped back on board and closed up the ramp. She'd evidentially clocked the redness on Inan's knuckles along with his fresh cut. "You don't need to go to galas to get yer anger out."
"Going to the gala was what I needed," Inan snapped as Simmone helped him up onto the operating table. "Basil got what he deserved."
"Basil? You mean that janegirl the captain married way back? He was on Deadwood?"
"He was on Deadwood and I'll reckon at least one tooth is staying on Deadwood," Mallory confirmed.
"Inan got hurt?" Kaleb's voice preceded him, but he appeared at the medbay door soon after, breathing heavily and only just managed to not barrel right into the room. He'd shed his spangly jacket at some point during the evening, likely so it wouldn't get grease on it.
"I feel fine; great even," Inan insisted as Simmone pulled his slashed clothing away from the wound.
"Inan, the wound isn't that severe, but you also have quite a lot of adrenaline in your system. I need you to be prepared for the aftermath."
"What happened?" Kaleb asked. The way he was reacting would have seemed more fitting if Mallory had dragged Inan back onto the ship half dead.
"Mister licensed Companion here got into a duel," Mallory told Kaleb. "Which wasn't that surprising, seeing as that's why we went in the first place."
"We went there for a duel?" Kaleb asked. "No one told me that."
"Well, it was never a guarantee," Inan said, hissing in pain as Simmone occupied herself with the steps to clean the wound and give Inan stitches. She was halfway through her preparations before her hair started getting into the way. She froze for a moment, staring at her gloved hands, but River suddenly appeared behind her with hairpins in his mouth, and gently pinned his sister's hair into an approximation of her usual twist.
"Thank you, dìdi," Simmone said. "Sorry, Inan. Continue."
"Oh. Uh, well, Basil was there," he told Kaleb.
"Basil did that to you? I oughta…oooooh if I see him again, I'll knock him real good with a wrench." Kaleb whipped around to look at Mallory. "I was a baseball champion back home, you know?"
"I didn’t know," Mallory admitted. "But that sure ain't nothin'." She wondered if Kaleb registered that knocking a man with a wrench as a baseball bat was likely to end up with brains all over the place.
"Inan, if we ever see that son of a bitch again I'll take care of it," Kaleb promised. Inan considered him thoughtfully for a minute.
"I know you would," he said eventually, managing one of those winning smiles that must have charmed clients from Sihnon to Higgin's Moon.
Simmone finished the sutures quickly as she usually did, and there was the counting out of painkillers and the quick debrief about post-procedure care that would likely be forgotten as Inan crashed after his whirlwind night and had the benefit of being able to seek out his primary care physician down the hall the next morning if he had any questions. As soon as Inan was out of the medbay, helped back up to his shuttle by Kaleb who was floating ideas of movie night, River was right back next to his sister, this time shoving a washcloth in her face, which she took gratefully to remove her makeup as soon as her gloves were off. She'd looked stunning in it, but Mallory had to admit she was a little relieved to see the return of that wide-eyed woman who'd gone shrieking about her cryobox all those months earlier.
"My little helper," Simmone said fondly, wrapping an arm around River's waist and squeezing him to her side. Maybe in years past it had been a move that lifted him briefly off his feet, but now he just bent sideways with her.
"Doc?" Mallory prompted. "We need a quick debrief upstairs with Zane and Jake."
"Okay, I just…let me get River tucked in."
Mallory gave her a nod and headed up the stairs, undoing her braid as she went and giving her scalp a bit of a massage. Jake was nursing a bottle of beer at the table and Zane was sitting on the couch in sweatpants and looked like he wanted to be in bed half an hour earlier.
"I didn't even start any fights," Mallory said. "Aren't you proud of me?"
"Inan did."
"Well, sure, but that was part of the plan," she reminded him.
"I'm assuming we made contact, since you seem like you're in a good mood."
"Sure did." Mallory fished the folded note out of her pocket and Zane got up to join her at the table just as Simmone made her way into the galley.
"Your brother's all settled?"
"Yes, he's fine. Climbed right into bed and then told me very firmly that he's going to sleep through the night and doesn't want to be bothered, so…I'm hoping he's right."
Mallory handed Zane the folded paper and recounted her price negotiations.
"These Cortex codes look legit," Zane admitted. "And he used the code word that Pinter told us, so I'm optimistic. I'll remind Wash to plot a course for New Canaan in the morning." He folded the note back up and tucked it in his sweatpants pocket and then turned to Simmone. "How'd you fare with the evening, doctor?"
"It was…fun, actually," Simmone admitted. "I got a bit of a scare when Basil approached me, but I think I convinced him that I wasn't who he thought I was. And it was sort of fascinating to watch the discussion of the job prospect."
"Yeah, and a little weird," Mallory said. "You sure quieted down and deferred real quick during the meeting when I asked."
"And you saw the effect it had on Sir Postrel."
"You've never done that in response to any order I've ever given you before."
"You think you deserve that reaction all the time? Please be serious."
Zane laughed but had the kindness to cover it up with a coughing fit.
"Why exactly did he act like that?" Mallory wondered.
"Because I look like I have money, and I act like I was raised in a powerful household on a Core planet, and he got the impression that you have a leash on me, which he then presumed means you're in a position of power with my family and therefore have business connections above his station. He filled in all the blanks himself."
"You're telling me we're about to be hearin' rumors that the captain snagged herself a Core planet trophy wife?" Jake asked. She was on the verge of busting out laughing; Mallory could hear it.
"That's a pretty impressive feat," Zane commented. "Probably more prestigious than a Triumph trade husband."
"I'd like to see any of the rest of you look like a Core planet aristocrat belonged on your arm at a party," Mallory pointed out, and that actually seemed to work in quieting them down.
"Yeah, I guess something about it must have just looked natural," Zane finally said, and stood. "Well, captain, sounds like the meeting was a success and if Inan's injury is as minor as you reported, doctor, I can't think of anything that needs attention right now. Can I get back to my wife?"
"Yeah, go on."
Jake remained, looking at Simmone with narrowed eyes. Mallory didn't want to know what sort of comment the merc was cooking up.
"Jake! I think Vernon's calling your name back to your bunk."
"Yeah, reckon you're right, cap'n. A Callahan fullbore autolock might not be as nice and squishy as a Core planet trophy wife to cuddle up to but he's way more useful in a fight."
And with that, Jake left Mallory and Simmone sitting in the galley alone.
They looked at each other across the table for a while.
"How does that get-up…work?" Mallory finally asked clumsily, gesturing vaguely at her own collarbones. "With the little clasps and all?"
Simmone gave her a long, appraising look.
"Maybe you'd like to find out later?" Her words sounded like they very nearly hadn't made it all the way out of her mouth, like she wasn't entirely sure of them.
"Later?" Mallory prompted, raising one eyebrow and trying not to let the spike in her heartrate show. "Meaning in a week when I'm on laundry duty or meaning after the ten seconds it takes to leave the galley and get down my bunk ladder?"
"Oh, like I'd trust you to launder this dress."
Mallory stood up, circled the galley table, and offered Simmone her hand and the doctor beamed up at her and took it. It did take a little longer than ten seconds before Mallory could investigate the dress, because while Simmone could run in her heels, she had some difficulty with the ladder, and then the shoes had to come off as did Mallory's suit jacket and Simmone occupied herself with undoing the cravat.
River was nothing if not efficient, and so Mallory managed to pluck the pins out of Simmone's hair within seconds. She made sure that they at least landed on her desk to be collected later, and finally (finally!) raked her hands through the doctor's silky locks, pulling her into a kiss. Simmone let loose a groan that sounded like the culmination of years of not being touched, and Mallory reluctantly broke the kiss and took a step back so she could start fiddling with the knotted clasps as Simmone started working on her shirt buttons. Mallory's fingers slipped on the silk.
"Now, how does this ruttin' thing—"
"Those are all for show. There's a zipper up the back," Simmone admitted with more than a hint of laughter in her voice.
Maybe Mallory should have been annoyed that Simmone had waited to share that fact, but she couldn't complain when it meant she had to slide her arms around the other woman's body in order to get a hand on that zipper pull.
The doctor was wearing maybe half a dozen other unnecessary pieces of clothing under her qipao that were all made of the same smooth blue silk, and while Mallory had enough patience to get all of it off without tearing anything (she even managed to unclip the little fasteners that kept up those stockings that may as well have ripped if someone so much as looked at 'em wrong), it would have taken a woman with a lot more self-control (or a woman going through a shorter dry spell, maybe) to really appreciate the look.
Maybe she could convince Simmone to give her a bit of a show in that outfit another time when they weren't just desperate to feel skin on skin. That could be a fun time.
She'd think about it more later, when her hands weren't tangled in soft, dark tresses and the doctor's plush mouth and nimble fingers weren't driving her to distraction.