"Lungs are rustling," Tasya sounded unpleased as she pulled off her stethoscope. Away from the sounds of pulmonary distress, the rain still spattered heavily outside, running down the window to make the outside world appear as if it were a runny watercolor. "I'm going to give you something to help your lungs out until Simon and I can set up another steroid treatment."

"Was only out for two hours." Zoe countered, fingers nimbly buttoning up her blouse.

"And I'm sure Simon's told you that just a few minutes out isn't healthy, and since being tortured you're even more at risk." She opened up the case. "Then again your Captain said you tend to only occasionally heed his warnings..."

"I gotta work, I gotta move or I'm gonna go crazy." Zoe's voice was firm, a slow smoldering frustration. Simon still henpecked, but this woman just rubbed her the wrong way. "Besides, Mal needs me out there, ain't a time to be laid up."

"Well as a doctor I'm not too entirely happy with you going out and working." She pulled a brown glass bottle out, as well as a plastic package. "Secondly, there's plenty of hands to help out, and it doesn't take three people to blow up a patrol craft."

"Still ain't gonna stay inside, I try, and it doesn't work for me. So unless you gotta solution you best quit preaching, doctor."

"There's one." Gloved fingers ripped open the plastic to show a syringe. Taking it, the doctor jabbed the needle into the self-heeling top.

"Start talkin'."

"You're not going to like it."

“Well isn’t that a change’a pace.”

“Funny.” Light eyes watched the syringe level as her fingers pulled the plunger back, and a translucent orange liquid was drawn up from the bottle. "But you could move. I know you work here, I know you live here with your crew and you and your Captain go back since the war. But you could live and work, comfortably, in a warmer and drier climate."

Zoe's eyes grew dark.

Pulling the needle out of the top, setting the bottle in the bag, she flicked the syringe and expertly dis