Author's Note: I originally intended for Emily (and this chapter) to be different, but hey, I only control the pencil. A little bit of fluff toward the end.

“There ya go, Cap’n Reynolds.” Mr. Frye smiled. “Now, that ain’t even close ta being ‘s good ‘s my Kaylee could do, but she’s spaceworthy ‘gain.” Mal offered his hand and Mr. Frye shook it. “Cap’n Reynolds?” “Hmm?” “Goes without sayin’ you’ll take care ‘er ship, but do me a favour an’ take care of ‘er boy?” Mal swallowed. “I will.” “She loves that boy,” Mr. Frye said slowly. “Every time she’d wave home it was ‘Simon this’ an’ ‘Simon that’. Hung onta every word he said. Make sure he never forgets that.” Mal looked out yonder toward the graveyard. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

***

Simon leaned against the stone and sighed. “I can’t leave you now, bao bei.” He shifted his body so that he could read the letters. He read them over and over until the words blurred together—a feeling, nothing to do with sight, though he’d long ago memorized the text. “So.” Emily’s voice behind him, sinfully bright. “I hear you’re leaving.” “How did you know where to find me?” Emily rolled her eyes. “This is where you always are.” “It’s not as if I don’t have a reason.” “Dontcha think it’s a little weird to spend all your time in a creepy old graveyard?” “No,” Simon answered simply. Emily sighed, decided to try again. “I honestly think you love some dead girl more’n you love me.” Simon took a long look at Kaylee’s grave. “You’re right,” he said, walking away. Emily watched, trying desperately not to notice that he was crying.

***

“Boob,” River muttered. “It’s not booblike in this particular situation,” Simon said absently. “Coulda been happy.” Simon looked up. “River, I don’t think I’ll ever be completely happy without Kaylee.” She walked across the floor gracefully, one foot in front of the other. “I know that. She doesn’t want you to be so sad, though.” “River, I don’t need this right now.” “All you’re going to do is watch your capture,” River pointed out, with a smile she hoped he wouldn’t misinterpret. “Do you know what day it is?” River stopped. “June 19th. She thinks you should pretend it’s yesterday, though.” She dropped something purposefully in Simon’s chair and walked out of the infirmary, babbling away to herself. Simon picked up the object almost mechanically, before realizing what it was, at which point he held it reverently. He stood like that for what must’ve been five minutes, weighing it in his hands, turning it over, before finally cracking the cover.

June 20th (on Ariel) Simon took me to a special kinda doctor in the Hospital here. I ain’t gonna have a baby after all, and I ain’t never, not now. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna stay at this hospital. I wanna wake up and see Simon and tell him what a terrible dream I had, even though it ain’t. I don’t wanna spend even one second without him. I’m not gonna die. Tomorrow Simon’ll go tell that oncology doctor that he got my blood mixed up with an actual sick girl and it’ll all be shiny.

Simon closed the book slowly, trying his hardest not to cry. She believed in him like a storybook superhero, trusted him to save her just by loving her. It made his heart ache. He wished there was some way to reverse time, bring her back and make it right. He sank down into his chair, capture in one hand and book in the other, as close as he was going to get to her. Idly, almost as if he were on autopilot, he pressed play, and the capture snapped to life. “Not too much longer,” he promised. “Just a little while.” He’d never lost anyone close to him before, not even a pet. There had been nothing to prepare him for the vast emptiness that followed, the waking up every morning convinced she was there, and the overwhelming loss that followed when he remembered. It had taken him so long to get his act together and when he did, it was like breathing. And now, he didn’t want anything—or anyone—else. He wished he could just open his eyes and be done with this nightmare. He wondered if this was how River felt—trapped in a world beyond her control. “No.” River’s voice, sad and more than a little wistful. “That’s your world. Mine isn’t so dark. There’s light and music and laughing in mine, but in yours there’s nothing except pain. Hurt. Darkness. Can’t go on.” His breath hitched and River reached out for him. “Don’t cry. You’ll find your light again soon.” He blinked, expecting clarification, but she was already gone.

***

“We got a job,” Mal told them at dinner. “Where?” Simon enquired, pushing his food around his plate. “Ariel.” Simon pushed his plate aside. “Shouldn’t be more’n a day, though. Just in-n-out.” Simon nodded. “I…inventory.” He stood up and walked quickly out of the dining room. “Does anyone else want to hit that guy?” Jayne remarked. Silence. Inara glared. “What?”

“Simon?” Inara called. “Simon, we’re all worried about you. Would you like to talk?” She poked her head into the infirmary door and found him sleeping in his chair, capture clutched in his hand. She shook his shoulder gently, and he jumped, the capture tumbling to the ground with an uncompromising crunch. Inara gasped. “Simon, I…” Simon slid to the floor, retrieving the capture, murmuring, “please” under his breath. But the screen was smashed in and the machine wouldn’t even offer him a whir in response. “No,” he said softly. “No-o-o,” he groaned, voice rising in anguish. “Kaylee.” “M-maybe Alf can have a look at it,” Inara offered. “Go away.” Simon pressed the capture to his chest. “Go away now.” “Simon, I honestly didn’t mean to startle you, I’m so sorry.” “Go away.” There was an edge of something cold and terrifying in Simon’s voice, and Inara backed out of the infirmary.

***

She was crying by the time she ran into Mal. “Bao bei, what’s wrong?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “I broke his capture,” she cried, attaching herself to his shirtfront. “Simon’s capture? From Christmas?” She nodded miserably. “He’ll probably—it doesn’t work at all, he’s going to kill himself and…” Mal tilted her face up, expertly silencing her with his own lips.

***

Inara woke up somewhere unfamiliar but not strange, with someone’s warm body pressed against hers. Mal. Mal’s body. She’d broken Simon’s capture and then kissed Mal. She felt him kiss her shoulder and, in turn, her resolve melting. “’Mornin,” he murmured. “Mal, I have to make sure Simon’s all right, I…” Mal’s mouth closed in on a particularly sensitive spot. “He has other captures,” he whispered. Inara groaned. “I suppose you’re right.”