He doesn’t know how long she stays or how often she’s been coming. Since shortly after Miranda probably – after Wash died. He kicks himself for not noticing until now, but Zoë had always been good at stealth. It was the last job that finally left a lingering scent stubborn enough for him to catch on. As soon as he had woken up to that scent in his bunk, he’d woken up to the pain she’d been hiding from him the last few months. But she’d already vanished.

Tonight, Mal waited for her. He lay awake, listening to the sounds of the ship, refusing the exhaustion that threatened his body. It wasn’t sight or scent or smell that told him when she arrived. Just a strange kinesthesia, lacking physical markers. He peeked one eye open, and there she was, squatting in the corner of his bunk, watching intently, her eyes vigilantly observant, but in another time altogether. She was back in Serenity Valley. Not during the war, but after – when the fighting had ceased and all that remained was surviving until help came. They waited for weeks, watching as their friends died one by one of nothing more than bureaucratic neglect. They kept the men alive. Kept them together. Rotating watches, catching sleep when they could.

Zoë had returned to the Valley. She was on watch. It was a pain she had experienced, understood, and dealt with. It was easier than the pain she felt now. She didn’t know how to feel that pain, so she put on a brave face during the day returned to the Valley at night, and kept watch.

Quietly, Mal slipped out of his bed, crossed the room, and sat next to Zoë. She gave him a curt nod, then returned to her vigil. Mal’s heart shuddered at the brokenness behind those glazed eyes. He could almost hear the cries of the dying and the occasional gunshot as one soldier after another took action to end his own suffering. He sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder, watching her face carefully, not wanting to spook her. Just wanting her to return to the present.

“Quiet night,” Mal commented.

She nodded, then