ONE WEEK

“Doctor?” Mal asked from the doorway. “You got a moment?”

Simon looked up from where he was taking inventory of his medical supplies. “It’s your ship, captain.”

“And as you pointed out, this is your infirmary,” Mal said, stepping inside. “Although I’d ask you to bear the former in mind.”

Simon’s lips twitched. “What can I do for you?”

“Freya.”

Simon nodded, knowing this conversation had always been on its way. “Perhaps we should go somewhere more comfortable?” he suggested.

“Don’t want comfort, doctor. I want answers.”

“I’m not sure I have any.”

“Try.”

“Her tattoo.”

“Yeah. You saw it – hell, you worked on it after Lon burned it off her back. Unless I’m very much mistaken there ain’t no way it could just grow back.” Mal crossed his arms like a shield.

“A week ago I’d have agreed with you,” Simon said, leaning back on the counter.

“So what’s changed your mind?”

“Not changed,” Simon put in quickly. “But I’ve been thinking, talking to River … about them, and the Academy.”

“Go on.”

“This isn’t the first time Freya’s recovered from something maybe she shouldn’t.”

“The swordfight.” Red blood on yellow sand, and Mal shivered involuntarily.

“I know Inara was sure she hadn’t hit any major organs, and I didn’t disabuse her of that notion, but –”

“Doc, I know Freya nearly died.”

“Thing is, Mal, she should have. Any normal person, anyone else on this ship, wouldn’t have stood a chance.” Simon shook his head. “I may be a good doctor, but even I can’t perform miracles.”

“It ain’t the only time, Simon,” Mal said quietly, remembering the ridge at Dhu Khang, kneeling in Freya’s blood, tugging the braids from her shoulder and taking what he was sure was a final kiss … “Always thought she had nine lives, like a cat.”

“I think it’s more than that, Mal. I think the Academy … changed something.” He bit his lip. “We don’t know what they did to her there, all those years ago, and I doubt she could tell you even if you asked. But what if they … th