Disclaimer: Firefly and all related elements, characters and indicia © Mutant Enemy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television, 2003. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Mutant Enemy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.

Please do not archive or distribute without author's permission.

Author's Note: This story contains mature themes, including sexual violence. Proceed with caution.

Lex Talionis
by Tara O'Shea

Part III

They'll tell you that the pain will go away and time will heal all wounds and that everything will be all right.

And they're lying, but not about everything.

And they're not lying to you—they're lying to themselves. Because it hurts. It hurts so much you think that the entire world is red and raw and bleeding. But it's not all a lie. Not all of it. He promises, and he always keeps his promise. Post-holer. For digging posts.

Remember. Remember.

It's not all lies.

Zoe stared out the flight deck ports at the stars. Wash had set the autopilot, and she would join him in bed. But she'd wanted to sit and watch the worlds go by first.

She'd grown up on ships. Never spent more than a day or two planetside before the war. Her daddy had been a supply ship's captain, running cargo from world to world. Her mamma was an engineer and a damned good one. Uncle Marcus had been their pilot. He'd been an honorary uncle, just like half that twelve-man crew had become Zoe's family from the second she'd been born, her and her brothers and sisters. The other half of the crew had actually been blood-kin. By the time she was seven, she'd had five or six cousins to play with, grow up with, train to fly the shuttles, patch the electrical systems and patch each other up in the infirmary.

Marcus had married—and they'd hired on a new pilot. The wedding feast had lasted four days and had culminated with her mamma giving Marcus back his share of the ship in platinum, and then some—so he could put a down payment on a freighter of his own. That was what you did. Those were the rules of the society she'd grown up in. Everyone was precious, because when it came down to it, you depended on one another for your own survival. Everyone knowing how to shunt the main E-Cee to the back-up system in case of a burn-out meant you weren't asphyxiated in your sleep. Everyone knowing how to pilot a shuttle meant there was always a way out. And everyone knowing how to make moulded protein into a meal that you could at least swallow without gagging... well, that was something too. Everyone did their part, and when they celebrated, it was as a family. And when they grieved, it was as a family.

They had been a family—until the Alliance had tried to conscript them. Tried to force them to give up their home, their ship, their livelihood to run Alliance supplies during the first year of the war. They'd done it to dozens of independent freighter captains, and like many before him, her daddy had run. Straight out to the Rim. They'd gotten caught, finally. Gotten their ship taken from them. Zoe had joined up after her daddy had died—brought up on charges by the Alliance and thrown into a detainment camp where he'd gotten pneumonia and died by inches.

"Who else knows?" she asked when she heard the footfall on the metal grate behind her.

Mal came up behind her, laid a hand on her shoulder. "Knows what?"

"That they didn't just beat her." She leaned back in the chair and met his eyes. His gaze was steady—and haunted.

"Inara," he said after a long pause. "And I think it's fair to say that whatever Simon knows, River knows too."

"Poor kid. Poor kids," she corrected with a sigh. "You gonna tell the others?"

"They're hurting enough as it is."

Ain't gonna do any good, keeping it a secret. She bit her tongue before the words could slip out. But they echoed in her mind anyway. She knew—knew from a life lived aboard small ships with small crews—it would just make the hurt fester. Just make it hurt more, when they did find out.

"Don't stay up too late. Got a big day, tomorrow." He withdrew his hand and left her alone with the 'verse.

She stared out at the stars that were one of her earliest memories and thought about the family she'd been born into, and the family she'd chosen.

It wasn't that Jayne was ashamed of his family. He wasn't.

But, the first day they'd met, he'd lied to her. When Kaylee'd asked if he had any family, and Jayne had said not really. His mamma would have kicked his ass, but he'd wanted to sound all tough. Like a loner. He'd gotten pretty lucky with that act in the past. Good girls who liked bad boys, and all.

She'd just looked so sad, and patted him on the arm, and he figured it musta been working—not that he was exactly looking for a pity hump. But she was a pretty little thing, and her being part of the crew gave Jayne the notion that maybe this gig wouldn't be so bad after all.

In the month since Mal had kicked Bester out on his incompetent stoner ass, though, she hadn't shown much interest in bunking with him. He'd seen her get all googly-eyed over the captain, and he figured that was that, until Mal had started callin' her little sis and all. So, barring any weird kinks, Jayne figured that meant he still was in the running.

However, as Jayne stared at the giant paper-wrapped box with his name scrawled across it, he knew his lie had been blown. The jig was up. He was screwed.

"Well, aren't ya gonna open it?" Kaylee poked him in the ribs. "C'mon, Jayne!"

"Might be a bomb or somethin'."

They'd stopped off on Persephone to check in with Badger on a job. Eavesdown was partying late into the night, it being New Year's and all. Year of the Cat or somesuch. Jayne never did pay much mind to what day it was out in the black. Only day he gave a hump about was payday. But Kaylee was in high spirits, as she'd convinced Mal to let them do a lion dance for the ship.

He'd hefted her up on his shoulders so she could hang the "bait"—a sad looking cabbage and some oranges that were hard as rocks she'd found in the mess—from the cargo bay doors. She'd giggled as he'd weaved, pretending she was heavier than she was and miming dropping her before she'd secured the line.

Mal had even come down to watch as five boys in a ragged red and gold cloth and tin-foil lion get-up had come and the firecrackers had been so loud Jayne had almost reached for his gun. But Kaylee had clapped and squealed like a little kid. Afterwards, they'd sat around the kitchen table with the first jug of engine room hooch Kaylee had cooked up using her brand new intra-engine fermentation system. Tasted a lot like berry wine, but Jayne realised after his third mug that it packed a lot more punch.

He was half in the bag already when the kid showed up with the post. Mail call was rare—being on the move so much, you could never really count on anything find you 'less you told somebody right where you was gonna be, with enough time for them to get it there when you were gonna be there. Jayne had been shocked when the big box had his name on it.

"Who'd send you a bomb?" Kaylee asked as he set the box on the table and pulled out his knife to poke it.

"Anyone who's ever met him?" Wash asked, then ducked Jayne's only half-serious swing at his head.

"We could use the scanner in the infirmary to be sure," she said, trying to be helpful. But he'd recognised the writing on the package and knew damn well who it was from, and what was in it.

He ripped away the paper and opened the box. Sure enough, his mamma had been knitting again.

"Oh!" Kaylee squealed as he lifted out a red hand-knit sweater. "How pretty!"

There was a card tucked amongst its folds, which fell to the cargo bay floor. Jayne made a grab for it, but Kaylee was quicker.

"Who's it from?" she asked as she handed him the card, which he opened.

"Nobody," he grumbled, scanning the letter quickly.

"Just sound out the words with more than two syllables, big guy," Wash said from the safety of Zoe's arms. "C'mon, we'll all pullin' for you. You can do it!"

"I'm gonna pull you—"

"Oh, it's from your mamma," Kaylee cooed as she read over Jayne's shoulder, and Jayne stuffed the sweater back into the box. "That's so sweet! Did she make it her own self?"

"Hey! That there is private!"

"You never told me you still had folks. Oh, Jayne, you gotta try it on!"

"Later," he muttered, but Kaylee was positively glowing. And not just from the wine.

He found her later on, after the dinner dishes had been done. Mal had wandered off to check the cortex for answers to the ad he'd placed about the second shuttle, and Zoe and Wash had gone to their quarters all giddy and sickeningly sweet as to make Jayne's teeth ache. She was in the engine room, on her back beneath the engine, fiddling with something.

"Should you be doin' that?" he asked, crouching down next to her knees.

"Doin' what?" came the voice from beneath the spinning engine.

"Workin' on the engine while intox—toxica—drunk."

"I ain't drunk."

"You are too drunk. I seen you drink a whole lot of that berry wine."

"Doesn't mean I'm drunk," she chirped, sliding out and getting to her feet. "And anyway, if I don't shunt the—oh!"

She'd finally noticed he'd put on his mamma's new sweater, and her face just lit up with a grin. She had her grubby coveralls pulled up over the red and gold tank top she'd been wearing earlier, and her hair was twisted up into two little buns on either side of her head to keep it from gumming up the works.

"There. See?" He gave a little half-turn, arms stretched out to keep his balance, since he'd had rather a bit more wine than Kaylee had. "Fits."

"It's shuài!"

"My mamma does good work."

"Xin Nian kuai le," she said with a grin and got up on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek.

He moved his head so that her lips landed on his mouth instead. She made a squeak of surprise as he pinned her against the wall, and next thing he knew, he was laid out on the floor of the engine room, clutching the side of his head.

Kaylee had both hands pressed to her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh no, you're bleeding!"

"'Course I'm bleeding, you just hit me with—what the hell did you hit me with?"

"It's just a wrench. I didn't mean to hit you so hard!"

"What'd ya hafta go and do that for?'

"Well you was the one with the roaming hands all of a sudden, mister!" She scowled at him even as she pressed a rag to his head to try and stop the flow. Head wounds bled like a son of a bitch, though. He could already feel the hot wet trickle of blood down his neck and seeping into the fabric of his tee-shirt beneath the sweater. "Does it hurt?" she asked, biting her lip.

"'Course it hurts. You hit me. With a wrench," he grumbled. "You didn't hafta hit me."

"Well, you took me by surprise is all! All grabby and lips outta nowhere like that. Oh, I think it's gonna need stitching. I'll go wake up Zoe—"

"Ain't nothin'," he said quickly, not too thrilled at the idea of what Zoe or the captain would say once they found out why he had a head wound in the first place.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—is it your sweater all ruined?"

He looked down, and saw that the collar and shoulder were now a darker red than the rest of the yarn. "Naw. Good thing my mamma made it red."

She laughed and then winced in sympathy as she helped him to his feet and he swayed.

"You're going straight to the infirmary, mister," she said, all gruff, like she wasn't so tiny he could lift her with one hand. He swore she actually felt bad about hitting him, and that just made him feel like a low down dirty dog for pulling what he tried to pull in the first place.

Of course, that didn't stop him from making a grab for her ass, as they navigated the stairs down to the infirmary. But after she hip-checked him into the metal railing, he figured maybe the captain was right about one thing.

Little Kaylee was definitely the little sister type.

Simon was keeping vigil. He was curled up on his side on the bed built into the wall of the infirmary, trying to will his eyes to stay open despite utter exhaustion that made his arms and legs feel leaden. He kept staring at Kaylee, who lay unmoving on the examination table, pale beneath the bruises which just got uglier with each passing hour.

He'd seen family do this in the hospital. Wives, sons, parents—loved ones dozing in chairs in the ICU or curled up on spare beds when there were spare beds to be had. He remembered feeling compassion for them as he passed them on rounds or accidentally woke them when he came to read charts, check vitals, all the other things a doctor did for dozens of patients every day. He'd seen, but he'd never truly understood until now. He wished to God he didn't.

He was waiting for her to wake once the smoother had worn off. Waiting for her to wake, so he could ask her the questions he needed to ask her. The things he couldn't tell, just by cataloguing the damage. Things he desperately wished he didn't need to know.

Waiting to see if her spirit had been as broken as her body.

River had brought him some rice and cider earlier, her dark eyes shadowed as she'd reached out to carefully brush Kaylee's cheek with her fingertips and whisper in her ear. Simon had eaten slowly, trying to settle his stomach. He didn't remember actually tasting the food, and the cider sat untouched in a mug on the counter. River had kissed his forehead, and tucked the blanket over him before she had gone off to bed. He could only imagine what this must be like for her.

He'd been unwilling to believe that his sister could actually be a reader. He'd spent months chalking up her uncanny insights to her just being... River. His baby sister. A genius, bratty, wonderful seventeen-year-old girl. Even in the face of undeniable proof, he just couldn't bring himself to admit that whatever the Academy might have done to her would make such a thing possible. As a doctor, as a scientist, as a brother, it all just seemed impossible. And the truth was, he didn't want it to be possible. All he wanted in the world was for River to just be a kid. To help her become the girl he'd known again. And accepting that she could be so different meant accepting that she would never again be the sister he remembered.

But if it was true, that made her a victim of the thoughts and emotions of everyone around her. The thought of her bearing the weight of all his pain and worry in addition to her own, not to mention the rest of Serenity's inhabitants... He remembered, now, River waking screaming when they had found the derelict hit by reavers. He shuddered, drawing the blanket closer around him, thinking of what sorts of nightmares she must have—would have—once Kaylee woke up.

He worried more about what sorts of nightmares Kaylee would have.

He'd had a few of his own, in the brief snatches of sleep he'd caught when he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to stave them off. Worst-case scenarios that played like horror vids across the inside of his eyes every time they drifted close, bringing him back to waking in a cold sweat, his hands balled into fists, nails cutting half-moons into his palms.

He saw the captain's face at the window and silently slid off the bed, folding the blanket over the back of his chair.

"How she doing?" Mal said, his voice pitched low despite the fact that Simon had closed the infirmary doors behind him.

"I've got her heavily sedated. She's going to be in a lot of pain when she wakes up and the pain block wears off."

Understatement of the century, a little voice inside Simon's head mocked him.

"Badger gave us a lead on Niska," Mal said, and just hearing the name made Simon's blood run cold. "I talked to Inara—we're heading to Bernadette. There's a guild house there, run by a gal she trusts. They got medical facilities. Inara'll take you, your sister, and Kaylee in her shuttle once we reach orbit."

"I want to go with you," Simon said, and Mal's eyes drifted past him to the infirmary doors.

"When she wakes up, she'll need you."

"You said they have medical facilities. They'll have doctors—"

"When she wakes up, she'll need you. Not because you're a doctor."

There was a kindness in Mal's eyes when they met his, and Simon swallowed his intended reply. The bruise on the captain's cheek was a purple smudge, and as furious as he had been in the moment he'd given it to him, seeing it now made Simon wince in sympathy.

"And anyway," Mal continued, "if anything happened to you, she'd have my hide. Here." He handed Simon two ident badges. River's face stared up at him from the small plastic card which bore the name Jiàn Li. "In case something happens to us, you and your sister're gonna need these."

"Where did you—"

"Badger's got some good forgers. And he owes us."

"Mal—"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I hit you."

"We'll arrive at Bernadette in the morning, about oh-nine-hundred. You get some rest. Can't help Kaylee if you're dead on your feet."

Simon had been off-world before. He'd taken day trips to other core planets. Gone hiking with his Medacad roommate on Ariel, attended the theatre in Capital City on Poseidon with his parents in his teens. He'd spent two months, between Medacad and his residency, working in a clinic on Tiantán.

Nothing in his life thus far had prepared him for the absolute chaos of Eavesdown Docks on Persephone.

He'd arrived on a transport shuttle that morning and met with two men he knew only as Michaels and Nelson—aliases, he was sure—in a dusty warehouse on the edge of town. He'd handed over the bag of platinum for which he'd exchanged almost every last credit he had without a thought, his eyes fixed on the silver-grey stasis module sitting almost haphazardly among the cargo in one corner of the cavernous building. He'd wanted to open it right there and then—make sure that this all hadn't been some sham, but it would be another seven days before the drugs would wear off and it would be safe for River to emerge.

By then, Simon hoped to be at the other end of the galaxy.

"There's a man waiting for you on Boros," Michaels had said as he'd tucked the bag into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a flimsy with a set of co-ordinates and time, which he handed to Simon. No names. He was getting used to that, finally, after three years. "Got ident cards for the both of you—so you can start a new life."

"Thank you," Simon had said, no knowing what else to say, continuing to look past the tall blond stranger to stare at the box that was his one lone possession left in this world. "Thank you so much—"

They had turned and walked out, the transaction complete. Their end of the bargain held up. And Simon had been left alone in the storage facility, his luggage and medkit at his feet.

Now, he looked over the row of ships of every shape and size—none of them Alliance. Alliance vessels docked at the spaceport, an enormous structure of steel and glass and cool white plastic walls half a mile east. When the morning haze had burned off, Simon could see the building in the distance, the sun glaring off its windows.

Eavesdown docks, on the other hand, were mainly for cargo ships. Of the seven ships displaying Boros as their destinations, only three were taking on passengers. Paragon had a cluster of Alliance feds a little too close to it for Simon's comfort, and Brutus wouldn't land on Boros until four days after his scheduled rendezvous with the forger.

So he found himself reading the screen in front of a disreputable little midbulk firefly-class transport called Serenity with 12 berths available. It wasn't leaving for another hour, but it was going straight to Boros and thus far no other passengers had signed on. It had the added advantage of being cheap. He'd paid three times as much for his trip from Ariel to Persephone, and he was running low on credits. He hadn't accessed his accounts since he'd left Osiris, worried that they would be able to track him through his credit accounts. He'd cleaned out a separate account he'd set up before he'd left Osiris, and had paid in cash for everything from food to lodgings ever since.

"You headed to Boros?" came a voice, and Simon looked up to see a girl a little older than River sitting in a lawn chair set out in front of the ship, a yellow wooden and paper parasol leaning against its side.

She wore a peacock blue embroidered silk jacket over a pair of dingy coveralls and her light brown hair was twisted up off her neck. She was holding a paper boat with four guo-tie in it, a set of plastic disposable chopsticks still in their wrapper held against its side with one small pink thumb as she used her other hand to tuck stray wisps of hair behind her ears.

"Yes," he said, startled at her wide smile. No one else he'd met since he left Ariel the night before had smiled at him. Not like this. It seemed absolutely genuine—he wasn't used to people smiling at him like they meant it. "Yes—I am."

"Well, we've got plenty of room, and Serenity here is the smoothest ride from here to Boros."

She popped one of the dumplings into her mouth and giggled as the juice from the pork ran down her chin, which she dabbed at with her fingers to catch it before it could hit her shirt. Before he realised what he was doing, he had pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Xièxie—xièxie nî," she said once she'd swallowed and almost daintily wiped her mouth with the square of silk. "Is it just you, then? Or you got a wife or family coming along—"

"Just me," he said quickly. "I have some cargo stored in town—"

"Oh, well, cargo we's used to." She jumped up and ran over to the ramp. She pressed a button on the side of a comm just inside the door. "Hey, Wash? We got a passenger with some cargo—hey," she called over to Simon, "will it fit on the back of a mule?"

"I believe—yes."

"Yeah, Wash, it can go on the mule. You wanna come down and go pick it up?"

"Shìde, Kaylee. Be right down," came the static-laden reply.

"Shiny," the girl smiled and handed Simon back his handkerchief before she picked up her lunch and sat back down. "We'll be ready to go soon as our captain gets back—is your stuff far?"

"It's just across town."

"Wash'll get it brought round for you quick as anything, don't you worry, mister...?"

"Simon. My name's Simon," he said as he folded the silk and tucked it back in his pocket before extending his hand.

"Gaxìng jìandào nî." She shook his hand, her grip firm. "I'm Kaylee—ship's mechanic, and this here," she turned as a man in orange coveralls, his blond hair sticking up every which way came trooping down the ramp, "is our pilot, Wash. Wash, this is Simon—we're takin' him to Boros. Um..." She turned back to him with a charming smile, suddenly shy. "We are, aren't we?"

He hadn't actually said that yes, he was booking passage, and suddenly it was being treated as a fait accompli. It made him feel slightly dizzy, like he was caught up in a whirlwind. One, he suspected, with a charming smile. Simon wanted to stammer a denial—something. Anything. But try as he might, he couldn't actually dredge up a decent reason not to book passage on the little firefly. It was going where he needed to go, it seemed safe enough, and...

The girl—Kaylee—continued smiling at him, looking hopeful.

He couldn't think of a good enough reason.

Jayne didn't say anything when Shepherd Book came over to the weight bench.

He just kept lifting the barbell over his head, ignoring straining muscles and tendons. He'd lost count of how many reps he'd done. It just gave him something to do—something to keep his mind off... everything. Arms and neck ached, muscles burning with exertion, but he'd kept at it. He welcomed the pain, the simple oblivion of the mindlessness of it. Didn't require no thought, working out. He could push all the thoughts away and narrow his focus down to one simple thing. Like breathing.

His shirt was soaked through with sweat, which stung his eyes as he sat up.

"I just came to see how you were doing," Book said, and Jayne gave him a sharp look.

"Walkin' and talkin'. I'm just fine. Can't say the same for Badger, though. Little bastard just about pissed himself. It was entertainin', almost."

"The captain was right. It won't be like the last time, you know," Book said almost conversationally as Jayne gave up the weight bench and moved to spot. Preacher didn't even change the weights—over the last few months, it had become kinda a routine—a game, even—between them. Book couldn't work as long as Jayne could, but he worked as hard. Jayne didn't think he'd ever seen an old guy as cut as Book. Made him wonder what the preacher was 'fore he became a preacher, sometimes. Man had tracking skills and knew far too much about crime as any clergy had a right to know.

Next to Kaylee, who pretty much thought the best of everybody until she was proven dead wrong, Book was the closest thing he had to a friend on this boat, and that was a spooky thought in and of itself. No one ever seemed to give a damn about what Jayne thought or felt or did—unless it was to kick his ass about it. 'Cept Book.

Zoe had Wash, and when Mal was in a mood to be sociable, he more often went to Inara's shuttle or presided over the dinner table like some damn lord, master of all he surveyed. The doc and his sister kept more to themselves, though that had changed a fair bit once the doc and Kaylee started getting it on. But him and the doc never had quite worked out their little scraps, and Jayne was in no hurry to. Doc set his teeth on edge too much—not to mention there was too much between them now thanks to the Ariel job to ever make them anything even approaching friends.

But Book was different. The shepherd seemed to actually enjoy his company. That was something Jayne had never expected. And he found, some nights, he actually went looking for the preacher his own self. Not to make any kind of confession, of course. Jayne had been raised most as what his granny would have called a Godless heathen on a good day, godforsaken bastard on another. But it was nice to have someone who didn't look down on him like he was scum all the time. Book talked to him like he was, if not an equal exactly, then at least somebody worth talking to.

"A man like Adelei Niska," Book began, not moving to start his workout yet—just talking, like Jayne and him were sitting at dinner instead of in the hold near the dead of night, "he couldn't understand why we came after the Captain, because he can't conceive of that kind of loyalty with no basis in fear. His men follow him—respect him—because they fear him. But Malcolm Reynolds' crew came after him because they love him."

"Hold it now, Preacher. Never said anything about love—"

"And he has to realise that the captain would do the same for any of his crew. He's got to know we'll come after him. But even if we didn't, he can pick us off one by one. Either way, he holds all the cards."

"This ain't no ruttin' card game."

"We could turn him over to the Feds. I'm sure there's plenty of lawmen be glad to collar a criminal of his standing."

"Can't. We'd get pinched."

Shepherd's brows drew together in a frown. "With Simon and River safe on Bernadette—"

"Don't have nothin' to do with them two fugies." Jayne shook his head. "We try and turn Niska in for what he did to Kaylee, and they'd say 'Why?' And we'd say 'Revenge.' And they'd say 'Why?' And we'd say ''Member that train job in Paradiso?' We'd get pinched.''

Book seemed to be collating that particular bit of data, his eyes focused on something far away. Something Jayne couldn't see. "So we take the law into our own hands?"

"The law and justice ain't the same thing at all," Jayne said, a grim smile playing with the corners of his mouth. "And what I plan to do to that man—that's justice, plain and simple."

"I'm surprised you're so gung-ho to go up against Niska."

"Why? I went the last time, didn't I?"

"Even though it was, as you put it, suicide."

"Everybody's got to die sometime." Jayne shrugged. "Might as well be in a firefight with Niska's boys. Not that I intend to die. There'll be dying, I just don't count on any of it being me, if you know what I mean."

"You care about her very much, don't you."

"It ain't—Man made it clear that he was gonna go after all of us. I just plan on going after him first. That's all."

"It's all right to care, Jayne," Book said, real softly, like Jayne was some wet-behind-the-ears kid and not a man full grown. "About Kaylee. We all do."

Kaylee. She was always so damned cheerful, always thinking the best of folks—made you want to live up to her expectations. Or duct-tape her mouth shut and dump her in the hold for a week.

"Doc'll fix her up," Jayne said with a shrug as Book laid back on the bench and lifted the barbell. "He always does."

"We're good, people," the captain's voice came over the comm. "We're outta the woods."

Jayne whooped in answer, and Kaylee reached over to stroke Serenity's side.

"That's my girl," she said softly. "That's my good girl."

She grinned at Book, who smiled back at her before kneeling down beside her, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek just like her mamma used to do when she was a little kid and took sick. He frowned when it came away slick with sweat.

"I think we better get you back to the infirmary," he said as she coughed and then grimaced at the pain that shot through her abdomen. "Jayne?"

The mercenary stopped his victory dance and crouched down to Kaylee's side.

"I'm okay," Kaylee tried to protest.

"You been shot, child. Still a ways from okay."

Jayne scooped her up, lifting her like she weighed nothing at all, and she bit back a cry of pain.

"Guess those meds the doc gave me're wearing off," she conceded as she let her cheek drop to Jayne's shoulder.

Simon was in the infirmary when they got there. River lay on the bed built into the wall.

"River! Is she okay?" Kaylee asked as Jayne laid her on the examination table.

"She's okay. I just gave her a smoother."

Kaylee coughed again, and this time she wasn't able to keep from whimpering from the pain. Simon reached into his bag and removed a syringe.

"Pain?"

"Oh yeah," she said as her eyes blurred from the sudden tears. "Lots."

He rubbed the inside of her arm with alcohol before injecting her. Almost immediately, the pain began to recede.

"You're bleeding," she said muzzily. Simon blinked and touched his split lip in surprise.

"I'll be fine." He carefully peeled back the dressing on her wound, frowning at the blood. "You tore your stitches, getting out of bed."

"Maybe tore more'n that," she admitted.

"Lay back—I need to scan you. See if there's any internal bleeding." She shifted her weight, closing her eyes at the twinges of pain even the meds couldn't catch.

"Thank you, for what you did," Simon said softly as he passed the scanner over her. "For warning me about Dobson."

"Did he... I mean, is he—"

"He's dead," Simon said, his voice sounding flat and hollow. "The captain shot him."

She wanted to feel bad, about him being dead. He'd seemed so nice, when he'd signed on to be a passenger. But she couldn't help it. She was glad. She'd never been so scared, when he'd snatched Simon's little sister from the infirmary and pointed that gun at her. It was scarier than getting shot. That had happened so fast—one second she'd been walking through the door and next thing she knew, she was on the floor of the cargo bay.

"He was gonna shoot me in the throat," she said quietly. Even the reavers hadn't scared her the way Dobson's voice had, when he'd said he was gonna shoot her. Because this was a man who had smiled at her as he'd passed her the tomatoes at dinner. Someone she'd thought was a good man.

She'd frozen like a rabbit. To scared to move or breathe, even. She'd waited until his footsteps and River's whimpers had died away before she'd pushed herself off the bed and lurched to the comm on unsteady legs. She'd sank to the floor afterwards and stayed there.

It was Shepherd Book who found her. He'd come in, blood on his face and helped her back to the bed. He'd gotten a cloth to wipe the blood away from the cut, and she'd been about to ask him what had happened when Jayne had barrelled in and said they had to get her to the engine room.

"I'm sorry he ever shot you at all," Simon said, and she looked up into those blue, blue eyes and knew he meant it.

"You're limping, too," she said as he replaced the scanner in its casing.

Smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Jumped off a catwalk."

"Ai ya, ù kê néng!"

"It's true. Landed right on him."

"Good," she said, smiling. "Hope you dented him."

"Now, you rest." He pulled a blanket over her, and the darkness came up to swallow her. She let it, thinking about those blue eyes and kind smile.

Wash awoke to darkness, panicked and unsure of where he was for the split-second between waking and hearing Zoe's steady breathing beside him.

Slowly he allowed his eyes to adjust, and the darkness softened. The glow from the green and red buttons of the comm on the wall next to the ladder gave him enough light to pick up shapes, rendering in shades of brown and grey what had been impenetrable blackness seconds before. Slowly, his home—his and Zoe's quarters—took familiar shape around them, banishing the memory of a back room. Warm sheets and a soft mattress chased away the cold touch of orange metal stretchers welded to a pipe frame. The scent of his wife's hair masked the smell of ozone and human flesh cooking like meat. He swallowed, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

Zoe shifted, her breathing changing, and then her hand was at his shoulder.

"Nightmare?" she asked, snuggling closer.

"Yeah," he said, still trying to shake off the effects. "Don't know if I'm going to get much sleep tonight."

"Gotta sleep. Can't get the bad guys if we don't sleep."

"How can you... I mean..."

"Practice," she said, stroking his hair. "Once you've slept in a foxhole while shells rained down and machine guns went off ten feet from your head all day and all night, you learn. You learn to grab what sleep you can. Even with the nightmares."

"Never thought I'd be jealous of your war stories..." he pressed a kiss to her temple. "I just can't stop thinking about it, you know?"

She went very still. "About what?"

"About everything. About what would have happened if you'd gone with Mal to meet Bolles, instead of me—"

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. "Honey, we've been over that—"

"Zoe, that could have been you, months ago. If it hadn't been me, it would have been you. That could have been you, today, 'stead of Kaylee."

"Shhhhh, ài rén. No point in worrying over might-have-beens."

"No, Zoe—nî bù dông." His voice had an edge of desperation to it. "I was glad. I was so glad it wasn't you. Jesus, what kind of person am I—"

She laid a hand against his lips to stop the words. "You're my husband. You're my wonderful, brave, smart, heroic husband."

"I don't feel like a hero right now," he said, eyes burning with tears. "I feel like a monster."

"Baby, every man and woman who died in Serenity Valley—don't you think, even as I mourned them, I thanked God every second that it wasn't me who took that mortar shell? Lost a leg? Bled to death while we waited for them to negotiate the armistice?"

He shuddered. Zoe hardly ever talked about the war. Not like this. She was so calm, describing horrors that would have given him nightmares for years. A kind of calm that sometimes scared him.

"Captain's got a plan," she said, sound so sure. "It'll all work out, you'll see."

He wanted to have the same kind of trust in Mal that Zoe displayed every day. He didn't know if it was truly blind, or if she was trying to convince herself as much as him. But he couldn't stop himself from not believing. As much as it was Zoe's nature to trust, it was his to worry.

"How, Zoe? How will it work out? Even if we get the guy—that doesn't make it all go away. Doesn't mean it never happened, you know?" He buried his face in her hair, letting the curls wipe the tears away. "It just... I can't stop thinking about it."

"I know, baby," she said, pressing a kiss to his temple, and he thought for a moment he felt tears on her own cheeks.