Sometimes if I listen very carefully I can hear Serenity in his head – each turn and tick and hum and creak of the engine, like it’s the beating of his heart.

I don’t have to listen very carefully at all to hear when Serenity Valley is in his head; I have to try harder to not hear. The shouts, the fear, the anger and loss – some nights I have the same dreams he does and when I wake up screaming Simon never understands why.

Simon doesn’t understand a lot of things; he thinks he does, but he’s wrong. He thinks that he can make me better with science, with his drugs and care and love, but I know that won’t work.

The captain understands; he doesn’t know he understands but he does.

I know why the captain watches me. He wants to see what Simon sees, wants to believe that I can be fixed - but he doesn’t.

He watches me to make sure that I’m not going to hurt anyone again. He didn’t care, not really, that I hurt Jayne (but if it had been anyone else…) but he did care that he wasn’t in control, didn’t see it coming. He doesn’t want to be caught off-guard again.

The captain knows that I’m broke, broke like a shattered glass. He knows that even though broken glass doesn’t mean to cut, the pieces are still sharp and can slice your hand open if you aren’t careful when you try to pick up each tiny little shard.

The captain’s careful. He won’t get cut, he won’t let anyone else get cut if he can stop it.

If he can stop me.

Simon doesn’t like the way the captain watches me. But Simon doesn’t see that the captain protects. Simon doesn’t understand that’s the captain’s heart, protection. Simon will make excuses for me if I hurt someone even if it’s Kaylee or Inara because Simon won’t see that

nothing

is

helping

He doesn’t want to admit that maybe he can’t fix me.

The captain knows that I might always be broken. He calls me “little one” and smiles and teases me sometimes just like he’s brother-father-uncle, and yet.

Yet.

Yet.

There’s a dark in the back of his eyes that te