Book yawned as he headed up towards the kitchen.  It was still early morning, so much as time meant anything on a space ship, and the rest of the crew was fast asleep.  At the monastery he'd been harkened from his bed every day at dawn by carillon for the morning prayers.  His first few weeks it had seemed hard, nigh impossible, a burden.  But as Book's devotion and faith grew he found himself longing for the stillness of his morning prayers more and more.  The gratefulness he felt every morning to be alive, the hope that the new day held, the freshness of the world, still damp with dew, it was the best part of the day. The monastery may have been worlds away, but he was still grateful to be alive every time he woke up and each new day still held hope. And even if there was no dew in Serenity, and no true morning for that matter, he still enjoyed the quiet of the time before everyone else was awake.

                He was humming absentmindedly, more or less to the tune of "A World of Spirit's Bright," as he walked into the kitchen, where he usually made himself a cup of coffee and poured out prayers over all the ship.

                He moved, almost instinctively, to turn on the lights when a very soft voice said. "Don't."

                "River," the shepherd gasped, drawing his hands away from the light switch.  "You almost gave me a heart attack."

                "Your family has no history of heart disorders, It would be very unlikely for you to have a heart attack," River said dryly.  "Don't turn on the lights."
                "Why not?" Book asked, stepping further into the room, away from the light switch and towards River, who was lying on the kitchen table illuminated by the light of the stars drifting past the skylight.

                "The light scares them away.  It's big and boorish and fake.  They're small. They can't fight it, so they just go away." 

                "I see," Book said as he stepped next to the table and looked up, "They are mighty pretty."

                Book pulled a chair out and sat in it, angling it so he could stare up at the stars drifting past. The room fell into silence for a while.

                "You're praying," River said after a moment. 

                "Yes, I am."

                "Why?"

                "Because, I like to keep in touch with God, and I'm pretty sure He likes to keep in touch with me."

                "What do you pray about?"

                "Oh, everything."

                "That's not specific."

                "Do you want an example?"

                "Do you pray for us?"

                "For the ship and her crew, yes."

                "So you pray for Simon."

                "Yes."

                "What do you pray for Simon?  Be specific."

                "River, what exactly are you asking?"

                The girl stared up at the stars for a few seconds more, examining them very critically, as if they could tell her how to answer her question.  Then, very gracefully, she pushed herself up, so she was sitting on the table, and turned around, leaning forward so that she and Book were eye to eye.  "Pray that he's happy," she said earnestly.  "Please."

                "Those really aren't the kind of prayers . . ." Book started.

                "You have to," River pleaded.  "If you pray than God will do what you ask, because you're a Shepherd.  God will make Simon happy."

                "That's not the way it works," Book said, a little mystified at River's sudden exuberance in matters of faith.  "Why is it so important to you that Simon be happy . . . wait, I know why it's important to you. I guess I'm asking, why do you think I need to pray over it?"

                "He's so sad," River said.  "He's too sad.  And he doesn't want me to see it, but I can.  It's in his eyes."

                "I know exactly what you're talking about," Book said compassionately.

                "They you have to pray and fix it," River insisted. 

                "River, you don't pray to fix things. You pray so that you can keep in touch with God, so that you can have a relationship with your creator."

                "If he created Simon than he can make Simon happy," River said pragmatically.  "It's only a matter of brain chemistry."

                "River, you're missing the point."

                The girl nodded and glanced away, she looked either furious or heartbroken: in the dim light the preacher couldn't be sure.

                "I'll not pretend to know your brother as well as you do," Book said very carefully.  "But Simon always struck me as the very sensitive sort.  He has a very large heart."

                River didn't react to this observation, so Book pushed forward.  "And while he definitely is sad, there is another, stronger emotion that I see in him.  And that's gratitude."

                "He's not happy," River muttered.

                "No, but he's grateful," Book insisted.  "Every time he looks at you he's overwhelmed with gratitude.  He's grateful that he was able to get you out, grateful that you're all right, grateful that he has the background to help you, grateful that he's found a safe place to help you in.  Most people, in his situation, would be bitter, would be angry, would curse God and man.  But your brother is better than that, he can see what gifts he's been given and he can be grateful for them."

                "But he's not happy," River insisted.

                Book sighed, "In the monastery we had a saying, 'Happiness only happens when your happenin's happen to happen the way you want your happenin's to happen.'  I'll admit that your brother doesn't have that.  What he has is much better.  Happiness comes and goes, the gratefulness, the joy that penetrates the sorrow, I see in your brother's eyes every time he looks at you, that will stay forever."

                "But he doesn't smile," River said.  "He should smile."

                "He smiles sometimes," Book offered.  "Kaylee makes him smile."

                River sucked in a sharp breath and glared in the general direction of the engine room.

                "Oh," the shepherd said softly.  "Hit a sore spot, did we?  Do you want to talk about it?"

                "No," the girl snapped.

                "River, I really think . . ."

                "I don't care, I don't care, I don't care," River said, her voice getting louder and shriller with every course.

                "Shhh," Book scolded.  "You'll wake the others."

                "I just want to make him happy," River muttered.

                "I see," Book said.  "You want too make him happy."

                The girl stared blankly at the floor for a moment before nodding.

                "Well," Book said.  "If you don't mind, I do have a few suggestions I could offer."

                River's head didn't move, but her eyes shifted from the floor to the preacher.  Book took that as leave to continue.

                "As you noticed, Kaylee makes him smile, which ain't so surprising, Kaylee makes everyone smile."

                River kept eyeing the preacher cautiously.

                "I think it would mean a lot to Simon if you tried to make peace with her.  It's my understanding that you called her some pretty nasty things; I don't think an apology would go amiss."

                River shrugged vaguely and her eyes drifted back down to the floor.

                "'Course, I can't think of anything that would make you're brother happier than seeing you happy."

                "River happy?" The girl asked, as if the concept was foreign to her.

                "I know there are things in your head," Book said kindly as he reached out and gently turned her face so that she was looking in his eyes and could see that he really did care.  "Demons, nightmares, voices you don't want to hear.  I know that you're in pain.  But the moments when who you are, when the real River shines through all that, those are the moments that make Simon happy."

                "But I make him sad," the girl insisted.

                "He loves you," Book insisted.  "That large heart I mentioned, it's full of love for you.  The reason he's sad isn't because he's not a rich doctor anymore, and it's not because he's living on this small, shabby ship, it's because you're in pain."

                "It's my fault Simon's sad," River said matter-of-factly.  "I know that."

                "No," Book sighed, "That's not what I meant.  I'm trying to tell you that your brother loves you, he loves you more than any empty happiness that comes with wealth or prestige or creature comforts.  He'll never be happy if he doesn't have you."

                "So what should I do?" the girl asked, there was a slight tremble of desperation in her voice. 

                "Sweetheart," Book said kindly.  "You should let your brother know you love him."

                "I don't . . . I don't know . . . don't know how . . ." River stuttered.  She was looking everywhere but at Book.

                "It's all right, sweetheart," Book soothed.  "It's just fine.  Your brother knows you love him.  I didn't mean to upset you.  I guess this morning I'm just not being a very effective comforter."

                River seemed oblivious to the last bit, she was taking deep breaths in and out and staring at her hands.  "Simon loves me," she said very softly, as she shoved her hands deep into the sleeves of her nightgown.  "And I love Simon."

                "I know that's true," Book said, trying to pretend that the girl's actions were not alarmingly bizarre.

                River laughed, softly, almost nervously, before standing up and running across the table and jumping gracefully off.

                "River," Book said, slightly worried by her sudden change.
                "You can pray again," The girl called over her shoulder as she ran through the ship, presumably back down to the passengers quarters where her brother was sleeping soundly.  The shepherd wanted to chase after her, tell her to wait a few hours before she did . . . what ever her eclectic little mind chose to do.  But he decided that, maybe, River was the best judge of her business.  If she barged into her sleeping brother's room jumped on his bed, woke him up and proclaimed loudly, "I love you!" that would surely make Simon smile.  
*   *   *
                "I'm sorry," River said.
                Kaylee turned her head, surprised that the younger girl would even venture to the engine room, not to mention apologize.  "What?"
                "I'm sorry," River said again, her eyes dancing across the floor, her gaze not going anywhere near Kaylee.  "I called you a Fury and you're not.  You're not at all.  I was  . . . I mean, the books not real, none of us are who I said we were.  I was confused."
                "I know, sweetie," Kaylee said, taking a step closer.  "S'all right."
                "No," River said, shaking her head.  "Because I was mean." She glanced quickly at Kaylee.  "I made you sad, made Simon sad," her eyes returned to the ground.  "I'm sorry."
                "S'ok," Kaylee said.  The mechanic had swallowed her pride and forgiven Simon for River's words a long time ago.  It never even occurred to her that the poor confused girl would apologize.  Kaylee had thought the prospect so impossible that she hadn't even bothered to hold a little grudge.  "Forgiven and forgotten."
                River nodded and turned around, apparently finished.  Kaylee took a step forward and watched, amazed, as she walked down the hallway.  As if River knew she was being watched, she paused, right before turning to the steps.  "If the book had been true, you would have been Thalia," she said, before disappearing down the stairwell.
*   *   *
                "Thalia," Simon said.   "I'll have to look her up."
                "I jus' wanna know if she's good," Kaylee said, falling into step behind the doctor as he walked through the common room towards his quarters.  
                "Well, I think she would be," Simon said, over his shoulder, "Did River really apologize to you?"
                "Yuh-hun," Kaylee said.  "I thought you'd put 'er up to it."
                "No," Simon said as he opened the door to his room, stepping aside so Kaylee could enter first.  "Although, I think maybe I should have."
                "Din' expect it," Kaylee said.  "But it was so sweet."
                "All right," Simon said, pulling out his encyclopedia and inserting the tube for Arts and Literature.  "Search: Thalia."

                Kaylee walked over to Simon and peeked over his shoulder.  "Well?"

                Simon scanned the entries, "I think this one's it," he said, pressing on one of the entries.  Immediately a picture popped up.  It was an oil painting in a very romantic style, with rich colors and the illusion of movement.  It was of a woman wrapped in cloth with the exception of one of her breasts.  There was a mask in her hand and her face was joyful, like she'd been caught in the middle of laughing.
                "Simon," Kaylee scolded playfully, "What kinda 'cyclopedia is this?"
                "Read," Simon said, glancing sideways at Kaylee with playful annoyance. 

                "One of the nine Greek Muses, Thalia, as portrayed here by Jean-Marc Nattier, was accredited with giving inspiration for joyful, playful, and idyllic poetry. Seen here with a comic mask, she is also portrayed with a crown of ivy and a crook. By Apollo, Thalia had the Corybantes, priests who castrated themselves in identification with the goddess, Cybele."

                "Well," Kaylee said after a moment, "'Sept fer that castratin' thing, Thalia sounds like a pretty good person ta be."

                "Yeah," Simon said softly, sinking onto his bed.  "River chose well."

                "Are you saying I inspire you, Doctor?" Kaylee asked, sitting down next to him. 

                Simon chuckled.  "I guess."

                "Really?" Kaylee asked, with a little wonder in her voice. 

                "I've, ah, been thinking about what River said, about you giving me pedestrian dreams."

                "Really," she said again.

                "And you do," Simon said glancing up into her eyes and quickly glancing away, very much like his sister had earlier.  "I mean, I don't . . ." he took a deep breath, brow knit as he tried to find the exact right words.  Kaylee waited eagerly.  "I imagine things," he finally said.  "Things I can't have.  A normal life, a family, a home.  And, ah, you're always part of those imaginings."  He looked up at her again, she was smiling sweetly down at him and, for some reason, he felt compelled to explain more.

                "Like I said, these are things I can't have, things I know I can't have," he said quickly, looking at her with an almost stern expression.  "I don't want you to think that . . . that I think that these kinds of things . . . well, I  . . . I don't want any . . . misunderstandings."

                Kaylee sighed and shook her head, "Too late fer that, Doc."

                The boy looked almost frightened, "What do you mean?"

                "Yer life may not be what you think is normal," Kaylee said frankly.  "But you got a family an' ya got a home here, on Serenity."

                Simon's expression melted into a smile, "Thank you."

                "Now gimmie that," Kaylee said, hiding her blush by grabbing the encyclopedia out of Simons hands.  "I wanna look something up, wha'da I do, just say search an' then . . ."

                "You push that button," Simon said, scooting a little closer to her on the bed.  "And yes, just say search and whatever it is you're looking for.  What are you looking for, by the way?"

                Kaylee cleared her throat before pushing the button Simon had shown her, "Search," she said very clearly.  "Twelfth Night."

                Kaylee was surprised by how few results popped up.  "That's it?"

                "Well, Twelfth Night is one of Shakespeare's most famous plays," Simon said.  "There's not really much confusion about what you might be looking for.  That is what you're looking for, isn't' it?"

                "So, you know about the play?" Kaylee asked, ignoring the encyclopedia in her hand.

                "Yeah," Simon said, "Why?"

                "Y'ever read it?"

                "When I was younger," Simon continued.  "I ask again, why?"

                "'Cause I been tryin' ta read it," Kaylee said, pulling a small, blue, hardbound book out of the pocket of her coveralls.  "The words are prettier 'en anything I've ever tried ta read," She said, laughing a little nervously.  "But, no matter how much I read 'em, they don't make no kinda sense."

                "Where did you get this?" Simon asked, taking the book from her and carefully flipping through its pages.  It was an older volume, printed in English, and someone had written notes in Chinese in the margins.    It reminded Simon very much of something from his old life, something he would just find, lying around the house, something familiar, casual yet formal and comforting in its simple richness.

                "That book store back on Greenleaf," Kaylee said.  She was having a hard time telling what Simon was thinking, if he liked it or not.  He was so consumed in flipping through the book that he didn't even glance in her direction to offer a clue.  "Manager said it was a good story, bout a brother an' sister findin' each other after they'd been separated.  And, ah, he said it was a good romance too, actually, said it was a couple a good romances.  And most important, there's a happy ending."

                "This is an amazing play, Kaylee," Simon said, closing the covers and handing it back to mechanic.  "Funny, romantic, suspenseful. You'll love it."

                The mechanic laughed, "I could never read a book like that."

                "But why did you . . .?"

                "'S for you Simon," Kaylee said.  "Happy Birthday."

                "My birthday was a month ago."

                "Yeah, but I didn't get a chance ta get ya anything 'for then."

                "You baked me a cake."

                "You didn' get any a it."

                "That's because the ship broke. That wasn't your fault."

                "I bought you a present, Simon," Kaylee said, a little exasperated.  "Can't ya say thank you?"

                "I'm, I'm sorry," Simon stuttered.  "Yes, thank you."  He looked down at the book again, his fingers ran over the warn blue binding that still held the imprints of its gilded title even though the gold lettering had worn off long ago.  "Thank you."

                "Well, yer welcome," Kaylee said primly, before scooting even closer to the doctor, so that their shoulders were touching, "Now, kin ya 'splain ta me what some a them pretty word say?"

                "All right," Simon said, opening the book and flipping through it critically.

                "What you looking for?"

                "The right passage," Simon said.

                "Which passage would that be?" Kaylee said, looking at the text, barely comprehending a phrase here or there as Simon skimmed effortlessly over the text.

                "Ah," Simon said slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "I think this one's good."

                "Go on," Kaylee said eagerly.

                Simon cleared his through and straightened his back,

"O mistress mine, where are you roaming?

 O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,

   That can sing both high and low:

 Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

 Journeys end in lovers meeting,

   Every wise man's son doth know."

                "So," Simon said, closing the book and glancing over to Kaylee, who was smiling about as unabashedly as he'd ever seen her smile.  "What part of that didn't make sense?"

                "Oh, that bit I understood just fine."
*   *   *
                It was late, after dinner, and the crew of Serenity had wondered off to their prospective corners of the ship, settling into the night calmly and quietly.  Inara and Kaylee had retreated to the companion's shuttle, chatting, giggling, doing what normal girls did.  River gave the shuttle a large breath.  Jayne was working out in the cargo bay, lifting weights.  She avoided him as well.  The Captain, Zoë, Wash and Book were in the kitchen playing some card game River didn't know the rules to.  It seemed simple enough though, one was given two cards and they would continue to take cards until the total equaled 21.  Because this rarely happened, the person who got closest to this total, without going over, appeared to be the winner.  
River watched for a few moments, but quickly realized that she would never be able to join such a game.  There was an obvious component to it that she was missing.  River knew that she could do the probability equations necessary to win much faster than anyone else playing the game, in fact they seemed to be ignoring those equations all together, but they were laughing, or tense or excited.  She didn't know what was creating those feelings and, as much as she wanted to ask, she didn't want to sound stupid, sound daft.  So she ventured down the stairs, away from the chuckling of the game, into the relative quiet of the common room, where Simon sat alone, lost in his little blue book.
                River hesitated at the foot of the stairs.  All day what Shepherd Book had told her drifted in and out of her mind. She could make Simon happy if she could be his little sister, if she could breathe deep and swallow the pain, if she could keep straight for a little while which voices were hers and which weren't.  That seemed to make scene, until she tried to do it, then it seemed to be impossible.
                "River," Simon said, shocking her out of her brooding.  There was the hint of pleasant surprise in his voice.  "I didn't hear you come down."
                The girl nodded.
                "Are you all right?" the doctor asked, closing his book and leaning forward, as if he was going to get up off of the couch.  "You were very reclusive today."
                "I didn't know what to say," the girl admitted quietly from her spot.
                "To me?" Simon asked, a little confused.
                She nodded.
                "River, I don't care what you say," he said, pushing himself up and walking over towards her.  "You can tell me anything."
                The words 'I love you' floated to the top of the girl's consciousness.  She opened her mouth, tried to force them out, but they seemed to get caught in her throat.  
                "River, are you all right?" Simon said, reaching out for her.  "You look . . ."
                "Stop," the girl said, holding her hands in front of her, freezing him in his tracks.  "You do too much and it should be her turn.  That's fair."
                "What are you talking about?" Simon said, clearly confused.
                River took a couple of very measured breaths. Her fingers were moving as if she was playing the piano.  
                "River," Simon said, taking another step forward, reaching towards her.  "If something is wrong I'd like to help."
                The girl looked up, "You used to be Cinnamon," she said cautiously, like a student unsure of the answer she was giving her teacher.
                Simon's worry melted away into a soft smile, "You remember that."
                "We made cookies, and I thought your name was Cinnamon.  Proper nouns confused me."
                "You were two, at most," Simon said with wonder.  "I can't believe you remember that."
                "I was afraid to roller-skate.  I was afraid I would fall."
                "Yeah," Simon said. "You were five.  You drew these diagrams of how you're ankles would be broken," he laughed.  "You labeled the muscles."
                "You wouldn't slow down to talk to me unless I had my skates on."
                "Yeah, one day I did that."
                "Then you wouldn't slow down to talk unless I was skating with you?"
                "In two day's time you were skating better than I was."
                River looked up, at him, smiling.  "You've always been a clutz."

                Simon nodded, he didn't even notice the insult.  "You got all the grace in the family."

                "And all the brains,"
                "And all the pretty."
                "You're happy?"
                "About not being graceful, smart or pretty?" Simon asked.
                "I want you to be happy," She said, a little of her mirth slipping into worry.
                "When you smile, I'm happy," he said, reaching out and pushing some of her unruly hair away from her face.  "I love your smile."
"I love you, Simon," she said softly, looking him in the eyes.
                He smiled back down at her with a smile so warm and sincere that, for a second, it seemed like all the dark voices and evil phantoms that haunted her mind were scared away.  For a second, she basked in Simon's warmth.  "I love you, too." 
                She leaned forward, falling into him, and felt his arms wrap around her, "I really, really love you," she said with a little more confidence.  "I'm certain, I really, really love you."

THE VERY END

Dear readers,

I know I promised you Chinese translations.  I lied.  I'm too lazy to go back and figure it all out.  Sorry
On an entirely unrelated note, I am going to post another painfully long and complicated story soon.
Harri