She was trying to undo her buttons, ready to get under the covers for the night, but she still couldn’t make them work enough, and it was frustrating her.

“Hey, let me do that,” Mal said, crossing the small room in two strides and sitting down next to her.

“No. I have to.” She batted his hands away. “It’s just buttons. I have to be able to do this. It’s just –” Her fingers slipped again, and in rage and frustration she found a sudden strength and pulled at the fabric of her shirt, bursting the stitches, three buttons flying to the corners of the room.

Mal just sat and watched. “Can I help now?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“I’ll get Kaylee to sew them back on some time,” he said, undoing the remaining buttons. “If I can find ‘em. Course, might’ve got into the workings and could blow the main atmo feed, but we’ll deal with that when it happens.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” He smiled. “Blowing the atmo feed?”

“Getting annoyed.”

“ Ai ren , if anyone has a right to get annoyed, I figure it’s probably you.” He pushed the shirt from her shoulders, revealing the incision marks and scars on her skin. He ran a finger across one.

“Don’t,” she said, trying to cover herself. “Don’t look at me.”

“Why not?” He asked, feeling the raised areas. “I love you.”

“It’s not me.” She tried to force his hands away, but she was as weak as a kitten again. “Please don’t.”

He stopped, dropping his hands into his lap. “I’m not trying to make you do something you don’t want,” he said softly. “I just want you to understand these …” He indicated the scars. “… don’t mean anything. You’re my wife. My Frey. And I love you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I love you, Frey. More’n I ever loved anyone or anything. More’n I ever believed I could. I love you.”

“Don’t keep saying that!” She turned and pushed him away, trying to make him stop.

“I love you.”

She stared at him, her face anguished, then began to cry, leaning into him. “Mal … help me,” she said softly. “Please help me.”