She always knew they'd get here someday.

They were the kind of couple that takes things slowly. Soft kisses, holding each other as imminent death approached, candlelit dinners in the city of the ancestors. The adorably dorky couple that all of their friends liked to poke fun at. But they had to reach this point eventually. And now, almost eight months into their relationship, they finally had.

They appeared perfectly civilized as he pressed the button to open his door and stepped out of the way, allowing her into the room before him like and old-fashioned gentleman. But as soon as the door slid closed and they were alone, the calm, polite act vanished.

His lips smashed into hers, and she stumbled, the force of his movement pushing her back. Together they stepped the rest of the way until her back was pressed against the wall, and his mouth moved from her lips to her cheek to her neck. Her head dropped back, her lips gently parted as air flowed through them, in and out, in the form of broken, almost inaudible gasps. She draped her arms over his shoulders, her hands clasped together behind his head, but he quickly removed them as he unzipped the gray-and-yellow jacket of her medical uniform. She helped him to push the sleeves down her arms, wriggling out of the jacket until it fell, a lump of fabric on the floor behind her legs. She watched him as he took in the tight white button-up shirt she wore underneath; she could tell by the look on his face he wanted to tear it from her body, but she managed to gasp out "Careful," because the shirt was one of her favorites. So as his lips returned to hers, she could feel his fingers fumbling with the buttons, cautiously undoing them one by one.

She'd been looking forward to this. So much that she hadn't realize exactly what him seeing her naked would entail.

She'd managed to forget exactly what she'd been concealing, what he would soon discover. What he did discover as he pulled away to unbutton her pants.

"Jennifer," he said, stopping. "What's this?"

"What's what?" she asked, lifting her head and peering at him.

"This," he said, bringing his hand to a spot low on her stomach. She shivered as his fingers brushed against the small circle of rough tissue that marred her smooth skin.

And she remembered.

"It's nothing," she told him, but she didn't even sound convincing to herself.

"It's not nothing," he insisted. "Jen, that's –"

"Rodney, stop."

"A bullet wound," he finished, his voice strangely blank as realization washed over him. "Jennifer, you were shot."

"Nothing," she repeated weakly.

"When?" he asked shakily. "Here, on Atlantis? It doesn't look recent, but I don't know, I'm not a medical doctor –"

"It's not," she interrupted, her voice stronger with her need not to let him finish what will surely be a nearly endless run-on sentence. No, he wasn't a medical doctor. And a part of her desperately wished he was. "Recent. It's not. It's from…" She took a deep breath. "A long time ago. Another life."

"Another life?" As he took a step back, looking dumbfounded, she picked up her shirt from the floor and slid her arms into the sleeves. "Jennifer, tell me."

"No," she stated simply, looking down as she began to button up her shirt.

"No?"

"No," she repeated.

"Why not?"

"It's not important."

"Not important?" Rodney repeated indignantly. "How can it not be important? You were shot!"

"Yes, I was," she agreed. "It was a long time ago. I was a different person with a different life. And I'm fine now. It doesn't matter. It's not important." Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she slid to the floor with her back still pressed against the wall and tucked her legs up close to her chest..

"It matters to me," he said, walking over and sitting down on the floor next to her. "It's important to me."

"Why?"

"Because you never told me," he replied. "Dammit, Jennifer, this… this is important, okay? This is something I really should know about, seeing as I've been dating you for eight months and I've known you for longer." When she didn't reply, he reached for her hand where it lay, balanced, atop her knee, but she pulled it away before he could take it in his. "Please," he said softly. "Talk to me."

"No," she replied stubbornly, standing up and grabbing her jacket from the floor. "I don't want to talk about it, Rodney," she said as she forced her left arm into her sleeve and tugged it up to her shoulder. "I don't even want to think about it," she added as she did the same with the right. "I don't want to revisit that part of my life. I've moved on." She connected the zipper and pulled it all the way up, stretching the fabric of the tight jacket over the curves of her body. "I've moved on," she repeated, so softly that she wondered if he'd heard. And then she opened the door and left.

The woman who called herself Jennifer Keller strode with a confidence she did not feel through the halls of the city of Atlantis, galaxies away from both of the places she had once called home.

-0-0-0-

"Spinning. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Round and round again and come right back to where we were."

River Tam seemed to be in a rather good mood, unlike her brother. While Simon sat, looking utterly dejected, in a lawn chair near the open door of the cargo hold, looking out on the planet of Persephone, River danced. She twirled in circles, the skirt she'd borrowed from Inara flowing out in a colorful halo. Her bare feet made no sound as they brushed over the floor of the ship, and her dark, stringy hair floated around her head when she spun, impaired only by her lifted arms.

"River," Simon called weakly from his chair. "What're you talking about?"

"Spinning," she repeated, spinning once to emphasize her point. "Round and round in circles, running away and running back. Taken so far away, she can't find her way home. Running round in circles and she never goes anywhere. Three years today."

Most of the time, every word of his sister's babble was lost on Simon. Most of the time, he didn't understand a word of what she was trying to say to him. Most of this speech was no exception – it sounded like complete gibberish. Except for the last sentence.

Three years today.

He could never miss the significance of those words.

Three years ago today. Three years ago today, Mal, Zoe, and Jayne took Kaylee with them on a job. They needed her to reprogram something on the spot. Three years ago today, one of them got sloppy – to this day, they weren't sure who – and didn't realize that they'd triggered an alarm until it was too late. Three years ago today, three criminals fled the vault that four had gone into. Three years ago today, Mal, Zoe, and Jayne returned to the ship with downcast expressions and told him that it was likely he would never see their sweet mechanic again.

Three years ago today, his world fell to pieces around him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, because in light of 'three years today', another sentence, 'taken so far away, she can't find her way home', makes a little more sense. "River, what do you mean?"

"Serenity sings," she replied simply. "The lost one wakes. Three years to the day, she turns around and walks forward again. Spinning."

"What's spinning?" he demanded. "What do you mean, the lost one wakes? Are you talking about –"

"Three years today," she interrupted. "But… not quite seven."

"Not quite seven what?"

"Years," she said solemnly. "Three here, not quite seven there. Such a long time. She's so lonely."

The seven years thing made absolutely no sense to him, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He couldn't dwell on that now. If River was talking about Kaylee, there were things he needed to ask.

"Is she okay?" he asked, standing up and hurrying over to where River stood. "Is she alive?"

"So lonely," River repeated. "So lost. She's with friends, but it's not the same. Never the same. Earth-That-Was is destined to die."

"Earth-That-Was is gone, River," Simon said. "It's been gone for ages."

She just shook her head, saying, "Not for the lost ones." Without another word, she spun away from him, continuing her dance and singing, "Spinning, spinning, spinning," over and over.

Simon stepped backwards away from her, his mind reeling, turning faster than ever, running on the fuel of the words his sister had spoken. He knew she was a reliable source – she read the thoughts of the world around her, tapped into the consciousness of the universe, and spoke the truths she learned in the form of poetic nonsense. If he could decipher the nonsense, he could understand so much. But it was normally so random, so unintelligible, that even he couldn't decode it. Not even when it mattered most.

Three years today… that part was obvious.

Spinning, running in circles, coming right back to the start… he didn't understand that.

Taken so far away, can't find her way home… if she was talking about Kaylee, that would mean she was alive and okay, but that she couldn't figure out how to get back to them.

Serenity sings… the ship was happy about something. Or… something.

The lost one wakes… could the 'lost one' be Kaylee?

Three years here, seven years there… how could that be possible?

Earth-That-Was is destined to die… but it already died. What could that mean?

God, it was gibberish. It meant something – he knew it did. Of course it did. If it didn't, she wouldn't be saying it. But its meaning fell on deaf ears, because try as he might to learn, Simon did not speak the language of his sister's damaged mind.

So he just collapsed into the lawn chair that once belonged to Kaylee, trying to drink in any remaining fragments of her essence that had lingered with it, without success. She was gone. He was beginning to accept that. She was gone, and she wasn't coming back. She couldn't. If she could, she already would've come running right back to them.

Running back to him.