She’d eaten some, but not all of the eggs he’d got Kaylee to make. All the while he was feeding her he was talking, nonsense mostly, just keeping the silence at bay.

“’Course, if I’d cooked ‘em it’d just be a mess in the bottom of the pan,” Mal admitted, smiling. “But Kaylee’s a fine cook. What she can do with a –”

“I hate this,” Freya said suddenly. “You having to feed me.”

“You want to do it yourself?” he asked, holding out the fork. “I’m sure I wouldn’t mind. Be able to get to my own breakfast before it congeals into something we might use to fix a bulkhead leak.”

She lifted her hand, trying to grip the fork and feeling it slip from her fingers back onto the plate. “ Run tse de shang dee ,” she muttered, trying again, and again it falling back.

“Never mind,” Mal said softly. “Tomorrow.”

Freya let him dress her, his hands gentle, doing for her what she couldn’t do for herself, and making her feel even more useless.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, looking down to the top of his dark head as he put the soft shoes Inara had given her onto her feet. She hated him seeing them, the way they looked now.

He looked up in surprise. “You need to get dressed. Feel normal.”

“I ain’t normal, Mal.”

He sat next to her, putting his arm round her carefully, so lightly she could hardly feel him. “You are, Frey. You’re my wife.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t work properly any more. I can’t even pick up my son …”

“I said I’d bring him in.”

She looked into his blue eyes, hardly hearing him. “And what I’ve done to you …”

“To me?”

“It would be better if –”

“No!” Mal’s voice was loud, sudden, violent. “Don’t ever … ever say that again.” He wanted to take hold of her shoulders, shake some sense into her, but knowing he couldn’t. Instead he had to content himself with sitting next to her, pressing as much of himself against her as he could. “Freya, I love you. Please don’t. It wasn't your fault. I wish I could make you believe that.”

“Sure.” She didn’t look at