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Chapter Two

'Lost little Albatross'

There have always been good days and bad days.

When she first left the academy though, it seemed like the good days were just myths. Like she could never gather enough of herself to prove that there were good days. But lately there are a few more. Days where she remembers who she is, that her favourite berry is blue and that she loves to dance ballet but not Jazz. Those are good days, where thoughts follow logically, where the voice in her head is her own. She's not whole, but she's certainly better than she was.

There are also days when the good days seem like pieces of a fevered dream. Where people cease to be people and she feels perilously empty. Where the weapon seems far more real than the girl and the thoughts of everyone else crash against her skull in a cacophonous roar that almost overwhelms her. Those are the days that she secludes herself as best she can. Tucks herself away in the bowels of the ship to count her breaths and feel the solidity of the metal. Because the crew, her crew, seem like paper shades.

She forgets that Kaylee loves strawberries, or that she smells of engine grease and ionised air, or that every time she sees her it's like a little ray of sunshine even though she knows that's impossible. Jayne becomes an amalgamation of threats, easily dismissed and countered. She forgets that he loves his mother, that he owns a peculiar beanie and that he names his guns. She forgets what Zoe felt like before, sharp edges and grief stricken skin.

Simon seems almost immune at first, she remembers the way they used to play hide and seek in the library. He seems real, until she catches herself counting up the number of steps she would have to take before she could immobilize him. before she could say the words that would break her apart.

It is on these dark days that she can feel the Alliance reaching for her. When she wakes up from an unsteady slumber, bolting upright and hand pressed against her mouth before she can give herself away. They are always looking for her, watching and waiting for a fragment of her to drift away from the whole and call to them.

Though the Alliance had been shaken, it's foundations had not crumbled. Wounded but not slaughtered it was twice as deadly as before.

There are more good days than bad days now. But sometimes the bad days are terrifying.

She can feel herself splintering. Something will disturb her, shake the foundations of her very core and she's back in the Academy chair. She's the terrified little girl again, needles in her eyes and flooded with adrenaline. They manufactured nightmares to make her more and more afraid, break the will so that their programming could take effect. On those days she wants to crawl out over skin, claw at the marks they made and take out the stitches that catch on her insides and make her uneven.

But she won't. Because clawing at her skin only makes her bleed, there's no stitching to pull, no string to tug upon to unravel the mess they've made of her mind.

She feels alone, afraid and liable to breaking.

So she hides from them.

She's real now. The girl and not the weapon. She's made so much progress, assembled herself from the jigsaw that they had left her with.

If the crew saw her, if they knew, their faith would be shaken. She'd be the crazy girl again, dangerous and untrustworthy. They'd clip her wings and collar the bird so it couldn't hurt them.

Simon, in a misguided attempt to help, would make her sleep. Would trap her in the world where nightmares had far more power than they should be allowed and she would be helpless against them.

She stumbles as she drifts into the Cargo bay, the cavernous space calming but full of places to hide if the crew comes looking. Though Serenity was calmer, it was still mired in echoes. Blood that spilled, not just because of her.

For a moment she can see the law man being shot as Mal stormed back onto the ship when she first woke up. She remembers being entwined with his mind, with both of them. A flash of gunfire, of cold implacable defence. Horror and fear in the split second between the sound and death.

She tears her eyes away, only to see the echo of Kaylee. She's bleeding, shot when the Lawman first made his attempt. She wasn't awake at that point, wasn't really aware. but Simon had replayed it in his mind often. At first it was all Mal thought of when he looked at them, painting them as potential traitors. Though that association had faded, she shared enough of the memories that she can still feel the visceral punch as Kaylee went down. The fear and shock that spread through the crew like wildfire. The grim determination that burned in Simon, demanding that he protect her even at the cost of Kaylee's life.

There is nothing she can ever do to repay him for saving her. For realising and recognising her call for help. For giving up everything, all his dreams, to save her life.

Even though he was happy now, she knows that part of him wonders what his life would be like if he hadn't saved her.

She doesn't begrudge him that.

There is a flash of Early. Of the mad lion that clawed his way into her home and put a great fear into her crew. She remembers feeling his madness, like a discordant song amongst the melody of the galaxy. A sharp sour note that had no place to be as it was. He walks, footsteps heavy as he prowls across the hold towards her. In those steps though, were echoes of the people who stained his hands. The blood he'd carried on board had nearly drowned them all.

Her heart is racing, adrenaline kicking in to face a threat that isn't there. She wants to scream. To cry out that these memories weren't hers to begin with. she shouldn't have to wear them, that they shouldn't have the right to overwhelm her the way they do. But there is no one that can change it.

A sound breaks her despair, splinters the world, and without thought she dives into the crawlspace, desperate not to be found. The movement scrapes her knees and cuts into her hands, but the pains are small enough to be ignored. Flying was the only freedom she had, the proof that she had come so far. For it to be taken away from her now was more than she could possibly bear.

But it isn't Jayne, who would ignore her, or Simon or even Kaylee. It's Mal. And she draws herself even tighter into that tiny space. Maybe he won't notice. Maybe he'll accede to her silently muttered wishes and leave her be so that she can piece herself back together before morning comes.

"River?" his voice is soft, confused and concerned. It is also right outside the crawlspace. There was no way he hadn't seen her. "What are you doing?"

She flinches away, and his aura flickers with concern, "Maybe I should get Simon."

She sucks in air in a sharp painful gasp, "No!" he flinches in surprise and she manages to continue, "I'm not here. You're not supposed to see me."

It's childish, but she buries her face in her arms. Pretending for the brief second that if she doesn't see him, then he cannot possibly see her.

She's blocking them out, pulling her gifts down inside her like a fist. Clenching to stop herself from bleeding out.

"I'm not supposed to see?" he questions, but she feels his concern.

"You'll clip my wings. Won't trust me to fly." The admission feels painful, but she owes him the truth. She hunches down, "Hurt it but didn't kill it. It's still there. waiting."

She desperately wants to be alone, to lick her wounds and stitch what's left of herself together again. But in the same instant, she doesn't want to be alone.

When he finally speaks, it is softer, warmer, "River."

She swallows, the motion quick and reflexive. She's terribly afraid, going back now would be heartbreaking. Not just for her, but for Simon who had given up so much in the hopes of seeing her real again. She was finally making progress and he'd find out that she hadn't made it as far as he'd hoped.

"River listen to me." his voice now holds an echo of steel, calm and authoritative it reassures her, "You think I'm gonna stop you flying cause you're having a bad night?"

Sudden hope flares up through the disconnection of her synapses. She glances at him, and the look on his face isn't stern, isn't what she expected. He's crouched at the opening to the crawlspace, no doubt contemplating how to crawl in after her.

"You wont clip my wings?" her voice is tremulous, terrified and filled with an awful kind of hope.

He smiles at her and shakes his head.

The sheer relief drowns her, overwhelms her senses and floods her mind with a singular relief. Tears bubble up and pour down her cheeks in a flush of warmth. The sight of them surprises him, and she feels an echo of embarrassment paint the air.

"Gorram it. you're not supposed to cry." But he doesn't sound mad. Instead he feels confused, a little bit lost and very concerned. His mind however is wide open, and it's calm. He doesn't know how to handle her tears. Doesn't know how to make it better or how to reassure her that it's gonna be okay. Cause they've both seen too many bodies hit the floor for either of them to believe it was going to fine.

But the fact that he wants to help. That he wont clip her wings and chain her down, wont make her into the ghost again, it helps.

Finally he comes to a decision, "Come here."

He reaches out into the crawlspace, offering his hand. He doesn't grab her, like he would Kaylee, he catches her attention and allows it to be her choice. She chooses to take his hand, to slide out of the crawlspace like a frightened kitten, still shaking with the relief that she isn't going to lose everything. He opens his arms wide, "This is a limited offer. 'Parently this chest is mighty good at soaking up tears."

His quip makes her laugh, but the sound is a little sadder than she means it to be.

She hasn't hugged anyone in a long time, but something calls to her. so she does. She lets him hold her against his chest, a beacon around which to rebuild. She isn't used to touching people. Their minds are constantly spilling into hers, but touching makes it worse. So the warmth of him is…surprising.

It fills up the emptiness that the weapon carves, pushes its terrible memory aside and instead calls to the girl. With a shuddering breath and a flourish of dawning colours, people are people once more. She can remember that she really, really hates Brussel sprouts, that Zoe still holds onto one of Wash's Hawaiian print shirts because it still smells of him. She can remember the songs that Jane's mother used to hum when he was little, and that Simon would stroke her hair and tell her that she was going to be okay when the world fell to splinters around her.

Tears still tumble down her cheeks as the pieces of her line up again, like orderly soldiers returning from a battle they slip back into place, world worn and weary. She curls into his arms, and lets herself cry. His mind grounds her, shelters her in the dim lights of the cargo bay. She cries, and for once it is not alone in the hidden parts of her bunk.

He trusts her. The thought is heady, packed with a significance that calms her. He trusts her even though she's given him every reason not to.

She's crew, earned and kept. She isn't alone anymore.


Authors note: Hi again :D

Thanks for your reviews so far :) i'm really flattered :D

Anyways, here's the latest chapter, it was interesting to write, so hopefully you guys like it.

I would really appreciate it if you guys let me know what you think in that pretty little review box down below.

Ta ta for now,

~Madamred