Disclaimer: All characters and places contained in the following text are owned by Joss Whedon, the Sci-Fi master, and Mutant Enemy, the ones that make it happen.

***

Never thought the day would come when I would feel like this. When I'd have too many stories to tell, and not much time or heart to tell them. When I have more good stories than bad ones, but the bad ones weigh more'n the good ones, pullin' me down, down into a bottomless pit that I fear I'll never be able to climb out of.

Only four times I've ever cried since I was a girl. These are my best stories, the ones that I find myself thinking of most often, though ironically, they are the ones I tell the least.

First time, was for the war. The war we lost. The 'verse would never be the same after that war, and most everyone I'd known had fought and died in it. I gained the best friend I would ever have, besides you, that is. I realized we may have lost the war, but we gained something as well, gained a deeper understandin' of ourselves.

The second was the day you asked me to marry you. Happiest day of my life. I remember thinkin' that I had died and gone to Heaven. After I said yes and kissed you, I secretly pinched myself to see if I was dreamin'. Most say the wedding day is the happiest, but for me, it was the askin'.

The third time, I hadn't expected to be cryin', and nobody knows I did, nor do I ever fancy sayin' it aloud. I cried for the child that almost was. Hadn't even known it was there, and wouldn't have for another month or so. Missin' one monthly ain't somethin' that makes one suspicious, hardly even notice it. Especially when you live on a spaceship and keepin' track o' time ain't measured in suns and moons. Wouldn't have realized it for another month, maybe two, if it hadn't died.

It's quite obvious why I cried the last time. Cried for you, cried 'cause you wasn't comin' back. You weren't comin' home with any stories. We'd be tellin' stories 'bout you, rather than with you.

I've been cryin' ever since. But something occurred to me just now, promptin' this lengthy one-sided conversation. You wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life cryin'. You'd want me to live, and come back with the stories.