The cracks in her were razor thin hairlines like fine, old porcelain...like capillaries beneath the skin. He wondered about them, searched for them, but he only got to see the physical because he wasn’t privileged; he wasn’t Mal. Mal knew of the tributaries leading to larger oceans. Mal saw all of it, and as much as Wash tried to ignore it, those secrets burned deep and hurt like hell.

He pulled at one of Zoë’s curls, but she did not respond. Instead she breathed deep and exhaled whiskied fumes that brushed his cheek and fanned the curl from her face. He remembered the first time he’d seen her in this state, before they were married. They were as good as husband and wife then, true, and marriage was a notion that felt right to them both. But there was still one thing between them. Same as today.

Never could get out of that gou cao de Valley.

He sighed. “Zoë…”

“No.” She drowsily batted his arm away and turned from him. He frowned darkly and decided to be just as determined as she was stubborn. Gorramit, this was his fight as much as hers – more so, maybe, since he had so much vested in it – and he aimed to make this his final, last attempt.

No prisoners.

“Tell me.” He grabbed her shoulder but she shook him free, groaning in protest.

“Gorramit, Hoban.” She was mad, now, mad enough to use his given name, but he didn’t care. “Leave it be.”

“It’s not U-Day,” he pressed. He wrapped his arms around her torso and squeezed a bit too tightly, forcing her to stay awake. She tried struggling from his thick arms but she’d had far too much to drink and he’d had far too much practice wrestling ships. “What anniversary is it this time? Every year, it’s you and Mal. Every year we go through this. I want to know why.”

“Not important.”

The words tumbled from his lips because he was too angry to stop them. “It is, if I’m gonna stay your husband.”

Then her body tightened and she lay still for longer than he’d like, and he wondered if he’d gone the step too far and done the unpardonable s