River sits on the catwalk, chin in hand. It's relatively early in the morning, about half-seven. The Shepard is awake though, as is his custom, and in prayer or deep thought. Sometimes she can hardly tell the difference. His thoughts are quiet and slow, like an old tree in a forest. Ponderous and distant enough to be ignored. The Captain is still asleep, close enough to waking to be barely dreaming and thus no bother at all, as Kaylee might say. She sits and she waits, and sure enough the grinding of the cargo-bay door precedes the arrival of Zoe and Wash. They're often early birds, and this morning they make her think of the dawn, almost reborn in each other's presence. They embrace as the door shuts behind them and River feels no shame in her unknown intrusion on this very private moment – it's serene and beautiful and it fills her with a sense of their calm. Their love is often fierce, sometimes jealous, and always passionate. Sometimes the intensity scares her; she worries she might become overfull with it and lose the part of her that is River – but not this morning. For once she almost feels gratitude to the people that cut up her brain and left her like an empty glass Wash's lips linger on his wife's, and neither of them can stop smiling. “I should go check the bridge, make sure the engineers haven't messed up the flight systems,” he whispers, between kisses. “Mmm,” Zoe says, “I feel like breakfast.” “Save some for me.” “Always.” He kisses her deeply, one final time, fingers of his left hand light on the back of her neck. “I love you,” he says and River can feel it, in the pit of her stomach, in the tingle of her limbs and her own mouth turns up in a smile she can't hide. “You too, baby,” Zoe replies and only River can see the truth of her statement. Zoe watches her husband out of sight, still with a soft smile The door crunches again and the smile is gone as Zoe turns, replaced by one subtly different, perhaps a change only River can see. She's got her armour on again as Jayne strolls up the ramp, surly as ever. “Mornin' Jayne,” Zoe offers. “Yeah,” the mercenary returns, “Looks that way. When we shippin' out?” “Scheduled to pick up the goods at fourteen-hundred,” Zoe answers as they head away from River, towards the kitchen. She sits and she waits, and next comes Kaylee, singing to herself and as bright as always. The mechanic alone of all the crew glances upwards and sees River. “Hey you,” she says, waving, “You coming for breakfast?” River stands, feeling the strands that make up Serenity threading themselves back together again. “Yes,” she replies, “I'm coming too.”

*

Mal is slumped in the co-pilot's chair, the only pickle in the big fruit salad that is Serenity this morning. Wash makes an appreciative noise as they launch from the dry-dock, the doctor having finally found his way back on board. “I guess Kaylee got the parts she wanted,” he says to the maudlin Mal. “She handlin' okay?” “Better than ever,” Wash replies, “Lighter too. Reckon we should make the run to Tranquillity a little quicker than we planned.” “That's good,” Mal decrees, “I got the notion this cargo is gonna burn a hole in our hull whilst we carry it.” Wash nods. “Well, we'll be touching down in.... twenty minutes. Soon find out.” Mal nods, rather less enthusiastic. “Yep.” Nineteen minutes later they have landed outside the warehouse, Wash still warbling about Serenity's improved turn of speed. Zoe and Jayne are waiting in the 'bay when Mal gets there. He thumps the button to open the doors without ceremony, bright Beaumonde daylight streaming in. Bill Wymann strides up the ramp, hand outstretched, a nod of greeting aimed at Zoe. “You must be Bill,” Mal says, taking her hand in his own. Her palms are soft, but there are fine lines around her eyes and a way of holding herself that speaks volumes to Mal about how many years its been since this woman was a Companion. “And you must be Mal,” she returns, sizing him up in exactly the same manner. “Cargo's ready for loading and then you can be on your way.” Mal nods. “We'll get started then.” He follows her back down the ramp to where the large boxes are stacked and waiting. There's nothing about them that suggests anything odd. They look like normal construction materials. Some have hazard labels, but as promised nothing higher than Grade II - Serenity has carried far worse in the past. The pallet truck chugs over, old and oily but sturdy enough to trundle the crates inside. Mal watches carefully, lest anything unexpected should be slipped in with the load but there are no tricks he spots. In twenty minutes the job is done and they're ready to go. “See you on Tranquillity,” Bill says casually, and he nods, turning to leave. Her hand on his arm stops him and he looks down into cool blue eyes. “And Mal? Don't open the boxes.” There's no trace of mercy there. It's an icy warning, plain as day. Just as he was starting to feel like this job might go right. “Why would I want to do that?” he asks, smiling at her politely, “Just construction materials, aren't they?” She smiles thinly. “That's right.” “See you in two weeks, then,” he says, feeling her gaze on him all the way back up the ramp. He doesn't turn around to look at her again, just hits the button. The doors close behind him with a slightly ominous boom and he's left staring at the wall of boxes that now fill his hold. “I hate mysteries,” he mutters, before hitting the comm button. “Wash? Take us out of the world.”

*

“River?” says the Shepard, face full of concern. She is hiding under the kitchen table, completely frozen with fear. “Are you okay?” She turns her eyes up to him, huge in her terror. “She's here,” she breathes in a tiny voice, “She's here and she's smiling.” “Who's smiling?” Book asks, utterly mystified “They're loading up the teeth,” River whispers, almost hyperventilating now, “They're loading, they're loading...” She can't continue, dissolving into silent sobs. Book puts a reassuring hand on her arm, disturbed to feel how tightly the girl is holding herself, like a coiled spring. “Come out from under the table, River,” he tries, speaking as soothingly as possible. She merely shakes her head, rocking back and forth now. Jayne comes down the steps, rubbing dirt from one of the crates off his hands. “She off her axle again?” he says, calmly pulling out a snack bar from one of the cupboards and ripping the packaging. “Could you go and find her brother?” Book asks, knowing Simon is likely to be the only one who can persuade River to come out. Jayne takes a bite from the bar and chews it, considering his answer. He respects the preacher, has done since he saw him knee-cap a man from nine-yards, and with a shrug sets off on his task. “Sure, why not. Not as if I have anything better to do...” He almost walks into Simon, hurrying to the kitchen himself. “Is River-?” he begins. “In the kitchen,” Jayne answers, “Her normal crazy-self.” Simon sprints up the stairs and drops to his knees by Book. “Thank you,” he murmurs to the preacher, who stands out of the way but remains in the kitchen, watching them with pity. Simon puts his own hand on his sister's arm and the frightened concern he radiates cuts through the rising hysteria. She tries to focus on his face, on the words he's saying rather than the ones he's feeling. “River, what's wrong?” “Teeth...” she manages, “They're here and soon they'll be biting... Teeth.” “I don't understand,” he says carefully, “Who's teeth?” “Her!” she shouts suddenly, and sobs again, “The one that came... the one that... that bought me and sold me. Her teeth. Dragon's teeth. She'll breathe fire on us all and they'll be nothing but dust. Everything burns.” “River,” Simon says, a lump in his throat he can't quite swallow. She's been doing so much better, he thinks, Why now, why this? . There's no logic, no pattern but he won't let it beat him, won't let them win, those that have done this to her. He draws in a deep breath. Emotions under control, he tries again. “River, come out from under the table.” She feels him clamp down on his feelings, tossing aside the mingled anger/pity/confusion/sadness with an ease that makes her weep harder. “I'm fed up of...of feeling,” she cries, “I want to sleep again, Simon.” “Come out from under the table,” he repeats softly, though there's a part of him crying inside, “Come out and I'll give you something to help you sleep.” She finally does as he requests, collapsing like she's boneless into his arms, and he half carries her past the preacher, back to their room. Her tears have soaked his shirt by the time he's deposited her on the bed and he reaches into his red-bag for a sedative. She turns her face away from the needle and grips his fingers tightly as she lays back, her eyes screwed up as if she's in pain. “I'm sorry, Simon,” she manages, and he can't tell if she's lucid or lost in some corner of her damaged mind. “I shouldn't have listened to her. Stranger danger. Shouldn't go with them... even if they-if they... offer you sweets or a puppy or...” She's asleep.