"River?"
"Here."
Mal found her curled up in the copilot's chair with streaks of semi-dried tears down her face.
"Doc said you were waitin' up here for me. I hear you ain't okay."
She nodded faintly.
"What seems to be the trouble?" he asked softly.
"Crying is said to make you feel better…" she sniffed.
"How's that workin' out for you?"
"I find it ineffective. I hypothesize that a hug would be helpful."
He tightly put his arms around her. She set her head against his shoulder and shut her eyes.
"Why exactly are you feelin' bad, darlin'?" he whispered as he mindlessly stroked her hair.
"You were hurt," she returned as she gently ran her hand across the wound on the back of the shoulder. He winced under her soft fingers.
"You're cryin' 'cause I got scraped?"
"Not scraped, grazed. It hurt a lot. You thought it."
"I'm fine. Doc said so. You shouldn't waste tears 'cause of me."
"Never a waste. Worth every one."
He kissed the top of her head and held on even tighter. "I don't rightly know what I did to deserve that status, sweetheart. I feel the same gorram way."
"But you don't cry."
"For you, conjure I just might."