Two by Two by Two, Part 1a

This story is the tenth in a series that begins with "A Lion's Mouth." It follows "Bandiagara." See my profile page for more information.

Rating: This story is a bit of a departure from my usual PG or PG-13 with occasional scenes of R, as it very thoroughly earns an R rating, for violence, strong language, and sex, and it focuses on some mature themes. I don't think it crosses the line into NC-17 territory, as the descriptions are not graphic. After the build-up of Bandiagara, it's time for the other shoe to drop, and it does so with a vengeance. I'm giving the overall story a "T" rating, but understand that it is a hard "T," and sections of this story verge on "M." I will mark the head of any chapter that contains "M"-ish material, and indicate for what reason (violence, language, sex) it has earned that designation.

Thanks to my sister for beta reading, and for sticking with this long-winded saga. Thanks to Bytemite for additional beta reading of several sections of this story. Your feedback makes these stories better.

When the Captain cooks, it's an occasion.

This chapter rated K+

It was the Captain's cook day, and everyone knew that something special was going on. The Captain had been in the galley for hours. Tantalizing smells began to drift through the metallic corridors of Serenity.

They were unusually well-provided with foodstores, since the bulk of their cargo from the remote world of Bandiagara consisted of fresh tropical fruits and vegetables. Bandiagara was corporate-controlled, with the world government securely in the pocket of the mining company that owned the mineral rights to the whole planet, and imports and exports were an exclusive concession held by 狐狸 Húli Network, an affiliate of the Blue Sun Conglomerate. They'd landed and traded illegally, and run the gauntlet of the exclusion zone by the simple expedient of not being looked for. Bandiagara was remote, underdeveloped, and disregarded by most of the rest of the 'Verse. No one expected an illegal trade ship to venture that far, and they got away clean.

Mal was doing his best to re-create the celebratory dinner that their Bandiagaran hosts, Nana and Mamadou, had given the Serenity crew their first night on the ground: white fish benachin—featuring a Bandiagaran river fish called a capitaine, with spicy sauce, vegetables, and rice. The fish had been caught only a few hours before their departure, and he had added a few twists of his own. He was limited by Serenity's small galley—no grilling, no baking—and he had to improvise on the ingredients. But it was delightful to have a cargo hold full of fresh fruits and vegetables, and when he cast his eyes upon the crate of fresh pineapples, he felt inspired to attempt something he'd never tried aboard ship before.

No one was late for dinner. Zoe had set the autopilot, and the entire crew gathered around the table. Mal set the dishes of rice, vegetables, fish and sauce on the table with a flourish, although he couldn't match the style of Nana. Jayne reached for the platter, but Mal stopped him with a gesture.

"I have a few words I'd like to say." He looked down a moment.

Everyone hushed. Was Mal intending to say grace?

"I think y'all know how good the world of Bandiagara has been to us. We went there as our last straw—no cargo but the trash-pickings from Beylix, just about flat broke. Y'all worked hard and turned our trash into treasure. We still don't have no money—" he grinned, and the crew shared in the moment, "—but we ain't broke. Ship's full of good things we can sell for money, next planetfall. So this dinner is by way of thankin' you for making it work." Jayne reached for the platter again, but Mal wasn't quite finished. "It also happens, today is a special day. An anniversary." There was a ripple of excitement, tinged with anxiety. Most of the Captain's anniversaries weren't good ones—U Day, the day of surrender at the Battle of Serenity Valley, the day he heard that Shadow was destroyed. Zoe looked at Mal and saw with relief that his mind was far from those battlefields. "Today is the anniversary of the first day I ever laid eyes—" He paused for dramatic effect.

Zoe was puzzled. Today was not the anniversary of the day he first laid eyes on Serenity.

"—on Inara Serra. The day she came aboard and told me I was going to rent my shuttle to her, for a quarter off the asking price." He picked up his mug of tea and toasted Inara. "Here's to you darlin', and the day we met." There was a roar of approval from the assembled crew, and Inara sat, eyes shining and nearly overflowing with emotion. Jayne dove for the platter.

The food was passed around, and everyone began tasting and enjoying, giving Inara a chance to recover some of that famous Companion control of hers. It took some doing. She had no particular recollection, in fact, of that day three years ago. Yes, she remembered their discussion well enough, but it had never occurred to her that Mal would mark it in his mind as 'the day we met' and fill it with romantic associations. And now he had gone through all this trouble to do something special. She began thinking of what she could do in return.

"How'd you cook this fish, Cap'n?" Kaylee was asking.

"Well, it ain't grilled," Mal replied. "Can't grill a captain aboard Serenity." He looked pointedly at Ip, then at Simon, causing River to hoot with laughter. One or the other of them was always asking the Captain uncomfortable questions. "It's poached."

"Ya mean ya bagged it out of season?" Jayne asked.

"He means he cooked it in broth," Zoe responded with an eye-roll.

"Well, it eats uncommon good," Jayne said, redeeming himself somewhat, as he speared another forkful. "Wish we could eat this good regular," he said around his mouthful of food.

"The sauce is delicious, Captain," Ip said. "Not quite the same as we had in Fajara, but still…"

"We didn't have no tamarind paste, so I had to improvise," Mal replied. "And we didn't have bissap leaves. Well, actually, the only thing in here that was in Nana's benachin sauce is the salt and pepper. But it ain't half bad."

"Well, it's more 'n half good," Jayne responded, further redeeming himself.

"But not according to the plan," Mal returned.

"When did anything ever go according to the gorram plan?" Jayne asked, and the whole table burst into laughter.

. . .

As the meal wound down to its conclusion, Mal produced the pièce de résistance.

"Is that really a cake, Cap'n?"

"A pineapple upside-down cake!"

"Good gorram, ain't a-seen one a those in donkey's years!"

"Upside-down is a matter of perspective. I consider it right-side up," River said, cocking her head at an angle.

"How'd you do that, sir?"

"It's not, technically, a cake," Mal replied. "It's a steamed pudding. Had to improvise—"

"Again."

"—'cause there ain't no oven on Serenity, so you can't bake, and anyways there ain't enough proper wheat flour to make a cake, but you add some of them brown protein packets—"

"Gluten! It's vital wheat gluten!" Ip exclaimed with an air of revelation.

"—to the cassava flour we took on in Bandiagara, and it holds together well enough. Then, I took advantage of the fact we got cane juice—"

"I never knew what sugar cane looked like, before this."

"—and some of the bananas were startin' to turn—"

"It's banana cake!" Kaylee exclaimed.

"—and mixed up a batter, put the pineapples in the bottom of a big ol' coffee can, and poured it on top, sealed the can and steamed it in the big soup kettle for three hours." No discipline, this crew, interrupting everything he was saying, but he was basking in their enthusiasm. "Believe it or not, this is exactly how they used ta make 'em in the days of the old wooden sailing ships, on Earth-that-was. Steamed puddings with colorful names like Spotted Dog—"

"They ate dogs?" Someone hadn't been paying attention.

"For dessert?" Jayne inserted, incredulous. "I mean, I done et grilled dogs, but that was—"

Mal cut through the unsavory chatter. "Inara, will you do the honors?" he asked, presenting her with a knife.

The slices of steamed pudding—which did, in fact, look and taste almost exactly like cake—were handed around, and for a while, appreciative murmurs dominated the conversation.

As she cleared some dishes from the table, Inara brushed Mal's hand. "A dinner this grand should finish with an entremets," she said, low in his ear. "Come to my shuttle."

. . .

"So what is an entremets?" Mal asked, as he entered the shuttle with a couple of packages under his arm. "I'll confess I never heard of it, but it sounds intriguing."

"It's an old French term," Inara replied, "for an after-dinner entertainment, full of symbolism and replete with meaning."

"I'm game," Mal said, "but first, will you accept this—"

"You don't have to give me any gifts, Mal," she began.

"It ain't a gift, Inara," he cut in. "More like compensation." She was puzzled. "Open it."

The box contained a tea set. "I broke your tea set a while back. I'm sorry about it. I hope this is an acceptable substitute."

It was more than acceptable. Inara had seen this tea set for sale on market day in Fajara. She liked it and intended to buy it, but when she came back to the stall after looking through the market, the tea set was gone. Now she knew why. Over the years, she had used many fine tea sets, including an ancient Chinese tea set, a modern five-piece Japanese-style tea set, and even an old-fashioned English tea set. This one was entirely different in style and appearance, and yet it maintained its function of brewing and serving tea. She set the box down on her table, and drew Mal in for a kiss. "谢谢 Xièxie."

"No need to be thanking me. I owed you a tea set. Now this here—" He produced another package, something large and soft.

"Mal, there's no need to be showering me with gifts. You've already given—"

"Inara, this here's a selfish present. I…I want to see you wearing this. Will you please put it on—for me?"

"Alright." Now she was intrigued. What was it that he wanted to see her wearing?

"I'll wait outside." He left the shuttle, shutting the hatch softly behind him.

She opened the wrapper. Carefully folded inside was some brightly colored fabric—some of the hand-tie-dye that the women of Fajara specialized in making. The colors were bright, and she feared they'd be garish, but as she pulled the garment out, she realized the colors were the perfect complement to her hair, eyes, and skin. When she unfolded the dress and laid it on the bed, she marveled for a moment. It was a re-make, in bold tropical colors, of the gown she'd worn to the ball on Persephone—the ball that ended with Mal defending her honor in a duel with swords. She looked inside. The gown was hand-sewn, and the tailor had captured the details with great care. She put it on. It fit like a glove. Mal had clearly had it hand-made just for her—but how had he managed that without her having to go for a fitting? The effect was unusual, but stunning. If she wore this dress in the Core, she could set a new fashion trend. She hastily checked her hair, make-up and jewelry, and opened the door.

He looked up from where he leaned against the rail, took in her appearance from head to toe, and rapidly closed the distance between them. She thought he would gather her in his arms, but instead he offered her his arm and escorted her, formally, back into the shuttle. Then he turned and leaned over and carefully, tenderly kissed her, touching nothing else but her fingertips. It was the same kind of kiss as their first kiss, three months ago, and had the same quality of holy passion she had come to associate with her memories of that first time. She melted with the intensity of it.

At length he drew back and spoke. "You don't mind?"

"It's perfect," she whispered.

"You sure you wouldn'ta rather had a print? There was that fine bolt of fabric we saw—"

And there he was, breaking the intensity of the moment. She began to laugh, and he did too, as they remembered the particularly outrageous tropical print that had caught the eye of both of them as they strolled the Fajara market together. "You mean the one that was fuchsia—"

"And orange."

"—and turquoise. With a—ha—" She couldn't go on, she was laughing so hard.

"Chickens," he gasped, between guffaws.

"—and cell phones," she gasped out, wiping her streaming eyes. "No. Much as I believe that print captures the spirit of Bandiagara in one—ha—ha—" With an effort, she controlled herself enough to finish the thought. "No. I like this one better."

They kissed again, playfully this time, then Mal said, "Now, how's about we get on with this entremets entertainment thing?"

"Let's start with some tea," she said, and set out the Bandiagaran tea things.

. . .

.

.

.

狐狸 Húli [fox]

谢谢 Xièxie [Thank you]

And we're off! The reverse of the coin after Bandiagara. And for the record, I almost bought that fabric with the chicken-and-cell-phone design. It was just too gosh darn funny. But the price was too high for what was, truly, a hideously ugly piece of cloth. Even if it did encapsulate the spirit of the place very tidily. Now, how about leaving me a comment or a review?