A man will die from lack of sleep before he dies from lack of water or food. I don’t know how much longer I can go on this way. I’m coming apart at every seam, I can feel it. Each passing day gets longer and requires more of me. I haven’t slept through the night in months. Even when everything is quiet and calm and there’s no noise in my cabin but the drone of the engine and the rasp of my own breath, I don’t sleep. Don’t want to sleep. Every class of nightmare assails me when I close my eyes. Well, it's actually only one class of nightmare, but in various twisted configurations.

River is held to an operating table with hard restraints, eyes staring into the open air. The Men are there, the Men who brought excruciating death to the Fed soldiers on Ariel, as well as doctors and guards, surrounding her. Blindly, I lunge at them. But I'm unarmed and suddenly so weak. That battle is over almost as soon as it's engaged. And there I am with a knife in my back or blood pouring from my eyes while They whisk River away effortlessly. She doesn’t even know to fight them anymore.

When my eyes open and the hold that these scenes have on my mind finally begins to slip, I run. I run as far away from River's and my berths as I can, hoping that distance has some bearing on her preternatural perception. She doesn't need to see these things. Not with what she's already been through.

I'm breathing for River. I'm breathing for her and pumping her chest. I feel like I've been doing it for hours and still she's prone on the cold, black floor, as peacefully as if she were sleeping. Like a circle of ravening wolves, the crew stands around us. Kaylee doesn't look at us and Mal just shakes his head as I breathe for her and forcing her heart to pretend to beat. Suddenly, they are all gone, and we're alone in the void.

Tonight was the worst yet. Even as I sit here, fighting off traitorous sleep with this noxious impersonation of coffee, I can't clear my mind of it.

Tiny River is laying in her crib while I stand there dumb. Such a peaceful front, but I know there's a maelstrom underneath and so much pain and misery awaits her. I'm ready. I think I'm ready. I'm holding the little pillow that our nanny embroidered with hearts and flowers. It covers her face completely. And she's thrashing and kicking, pounding her little heels against the mattress. It's only a moment before she's reduced to wincing and whimpering. And then she's still and I've saved her. Haven't I?

Did I?

Can I?