River sat on the stairs in the cargo bay, her dress moving gently in the breeze from the air units, scribbling furiously in a notebook.

“What are you doing, mei-mei ?” Simon asked, looking up at her.

“Writing.”

“Oh? What, a diary?”

“No. A story. Only it doesn’t come out the way it should.”

Simon smiled. “Well, you’re writing it. It can end how you like.”

She glared down at him. “You tell the story that.”

He walked up the stairs. “Okay, I will.” Sitting down carefully next to her, he leaned forward. “Story, come out the way River wants it.”

“Boob.”

“Brat.”

He grinned at her, looking much younger than his years. “So what’s this story that won’t behave?”

“An alternative ‘verse. One that keeps poking me in my brain when I'm asleep and won’t let me alone. So I thought I’d write it down, get it out of here.” She tapped her temple with her pen.

“River …”

“You know my hormones are within acceptable parameters. Checked them this morning. Pincushion.” She sighed, and glanced down at her belly. “But the story won’t write properly. Should be a happy ending.”

“So tell it to me.”

She glared at him. “It’s not finished.”

“You used to tell me stories. When we were children. All about soldiers and pirates –“

“Cabbages and kings.”

He leaned back, resting his elbow on the hard metal of the staircase. “So tell me a story now.”

She bit her lip, trying to decide, then nodded slowly. “But you mustn’t laugh.”

“Is it funny?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t.”

She let her feet run through his mind a moment, and, apparently satisfied he wouldn’t burst into heated guffaws, said, “Once upon a time …”

“Once upon … is this a fairy story, then?”

“No. But all good tales begin once upon a time .”

“I suppose they do. Sorry.”

“Forgiven.” She touched his forehead in benediction, and began again. “Once upon a time …”

…

Freya strode up the steps to the bridge, buckling her gunbelt around her hips.

“Wash, what the good gorram is going on?”