Zoe moved Wash’s hand from her softly rounded belly and levered herself from the bed. The discomfort in her abdomen had wrenched her from a restive sleep as it progressed from a dull ache to a twisting pain. Feeling feverish and stiff with malaise, she rose slowly and padded through the dark cabin to the head. She drew a glass of water and rolled it against her forehead before drinking it down without pause. The coldest water Serenity had to offer was tepid at best, but it gave Zoe some relief as she swabbed her face and neck with a washcloth.

The tinny clatter of water in the metal sink basin roused Wash partially and he reached across the bed for his wife’s warm body. He pawed blindly at the cotton sheet, but instead of smooth and warm, his fingers found wet and cooling.

“Aí ren?”

“I’m okay. I just feel a little sick tonight.”

“No, Zoe.” Wash threw the sheets off the bed, jumped to his feet and switched on the bedside lamp. “Look.”

The red blotch on the sheet was nearly a foot across. It was in that moment that Wash saw the inconsonant look of fear in his wife’s eyes for the first time. The blood on the bed had done what no gun barrel or artillery had ever been able to do. Wash smashed his whole hand against the comm. panel by the ladder, “Doc! We need you in the infirmary now!” The frantic message went out to every comm.-equipped area of the ship.

Simon was waiting for them in the infirmary when Wash helped Zoe in and onto the adjustable bed. He was barefoot, wearing an undershirt and knit sleep pants, hair mussed, but his eyes were alert and focused. “When did this start?”

“I don’t know. I woke up feeling pain and there was blood on the bed,” Zoe explained as Simon swiftly pulled on gloves and reached between her raised knees.

“Is the pain constant?”

“Comes in waves, every few minutes.”

“Zoe, you’re in active labor.”

“What?” Wash was standing at the head of the bed and leaned against it, feeling like his knees had been kicked out. “No. She’s only 24 weeks. Can’t you do something?”

“I can’t.” Simon’s voice was cool but gentle as he saw Zoe clutching at her husband’s hands on her shoulders “Next time you feel the pain spike, you need to bear down.”

“No,” Zoe moaned in a begging voice. “No, this isn’t happening.”

“I’m sorry, Zoe. You need to bear down.”

Mal had heard the comm. from the bridge, where he held the night watch. He had followed them to the infirmary and stood at the mostly shuttered window, frozen in disbelief, as Zoe delivered her premature baby. From the grim look of Simon’s profile and the way he moved the baby away directly, leaving it in an emesis basin full of paper towels, he knew what was happening. Kaylee, Jayne, and Book were in the common area behind him. Kaylee was curled up in the corner of the couch, chewing at her thumbnail. Jayne sat forward on the edge of the couch, forearms on his knees, his eyes as solemn as any crewmate had ever seen. Book stood nearest the captain, wringing his hands slightly. He had forgotten his Bible in his quarters when he had come to see if he could offer any assistance. The doctor tended between Zoe’s legs some more –Mal assumed to collect the afterbirth- and cleaned her down gently. Mal could barely make out Zoe’s voice as Simon turned away.

“Bring me the baby.”

Simon sighed and his pale skin looked especially wan. “Zoe, I don’t know that that’s-“

“Doctor,” her voice wavered and threatened to break, “Let me see my baby.”

Only nodding his assent, Simon did what he could to clean the fluids from the tiny, under-developed face and head. He swaddled the baby, a girl, in a towel and handed her carefully to Zoe.

Wash could not bring himself to look. He staggered backwards and, by some unknown luck, managed to collapse onto a stool, from which he could not will him body to move.

“She’s breathing,” Zoe said, her eyes filling with hope that even she knew to be false.

“It’s a nervous response. I’m so sorry, but … the baby cannot survive at this stage.”

The infirmary was grimly silent for a time. Simon made small motions towards cleaning up, mostly to occupy himself and not have to look at the two would-be, would-have-been parents. Wash buried his face in his hands. Zoe just looked at the tiny creature in her arms

“Simon? Will you send for the Shepard?” Zoe asked in a thin voice that sounded nothing like her own. He nodded and stepped through the door, sliding it only open far enough to accommodate his body turned sideways.

“Shepard Book, she’s asking for you.” Simon looked at those assembled, knowing that they feared the worse and that he would have to affirm it. Inara was gone somewhere and River was sleeping under heavy sedation, or perhaps she already knew what was happening and chose to stay away. Eyes downcast before them, he shook his head.

Shepard Book slid the infirmary door closed behind himself as quietly as he could. The tableau of that room pained his heart. There were no tears, but Wash’s face was flushed and blotchy, his eyes were red as if he had cried all night and might never stop. Book approached Zoe’s bedside and touched her shoulder. The face that turned toward him was not that of the soldier and smuggler who often held the third watch. This face was that of a woman, vulnerable, frightened, hurting, and desperate for answers. “Would you like me to give the Last Rites?”

“I want you to baptize our baby.”

Book looked to Wash, who looked up and nodded silently. “What name?”

“Glory.”

Wash came to stand opposite Book as he began to whisper the ancient words of holy men. There was only the span of a breath between the Shepard’s fingertips touching the baby’s forehead and the last traces of life ceasing. It was over.

Mal pressed his flat hand to the infirmary window. Zoe was as dear to his heart as any living person. She was suffering terribly and there was no way he could help her. He watched her cry wretchedly, the sight twisting his stomach. He had seen tears stream down her cheeks when she was wounded and he had seen her consumed by hopelessness and despair, but nothing he had ever seen could compare to the way she was crying now.

“Sometimes these things just happened,” Simon said quietly.

Mal did not take his eyes from Zoe or the pitiful form of Wash behind her. “Isn’t there something you can do?” “If we were in a hospital, there might have been a chance.” Tentatively but with genuine sympathy, Simon placed a hand on Mal’s shoulder. “It was just too soon.”

Consumed by scanning his brain for after-care instructions to give a mother with no baby, Simon did not see Kaylee approach him, even though his eyes were open and she was right in front of him. “The Doctor” was pushed aside and “Simon” sighed heavily as Kaylee wrapped her arms around his chest. “Oh, Kaylee,” he draped his arms around her shoulders, lowering his head to rest on hers, and she squeezed him closer. “I feel so stupid and helpless,” Simon whispered against her hair “They only need me to do one thing, and I can’t do it for them. I can’t save their baby.”