Author's note: Don't ask me where this came from. Please. It's mostly fluffy, with a healthy dose of angst (no death. Promise.) mixed in.

As a general rule, Simon didn’t like children. Even when he was a child himself, he had preferred the company of adults. He’d never wanted children of his own. He didn’t know how to talk to children or nurture them. No one had ever showed him how. In his world, children were a status symbol, something to have and then discard with a nanny. Dress them up in the latest children’s fashions and parade them about. Simon didn’t want to be like that, but in all honesty, he didn’t know how else to be. He shifted his position in the infirmary chair awkwardly, careful of the bundle in his arms. There weren’t any children’s boutiques out here, certainly no nannies. There wasn’t even adequate medical care for his children, who, if their body temperature didn’t stabilise, wouldn’t make it through till tomorrow. He repositioned his son on his chest and felt scared.

“She won’t eat.” Kaylee’s voice was frustrated and more than a little tearful. “Why won’t she eat?”

“Her sucking muscles are probably undeveloped.” He stood, careful not to jostle the sleeping infant. If I can just get you to hold him for a moment, I’ll see if I can find a clean medicine dropper.” He delicately transferred the baby into her arms, and as he did, ran his finger across his daughter’s translucent forehead. “Her temp is improving,” he commented hopefully. “Let’s hope it stays that way.” He turned to the cupboard. “If you can express a little milk into this, we can feed them that way.”

“Simon, cargo bay. Now!”

Simon handed Kaylee the dropper and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right back, bao bei. If you need me, buzz me.” He walked briskly out into the cargo bay. “Yes?”

“At the fastest we can go without Kaylee in top form, we can be on Persephone in a week and a half,” Mal informed him.

Simon swallowed.

“Can they make it?”

“Kaylee is attempting to feed them with a medicine dropper. I have them swad