There was something about it. The way it seemed to go on forever, unchanging and inviolate.

She shook her head, frowning slightly. Hyperbole. Using two words where one would do. Redundancy. Using two words that meant the same. Did that mean they cancelled each other out? Was space collapsing around her, and she would wink out of existence, at the same time as expanding back to infinity in an unending oscillation? Or –

“Gorramit!”

River looked around at Hank, standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips, his untidy brown hair lifted indignantly. She was surprised how well it matched the expression on his face.

“Hello,” she said, smiling at him.

“No.” He raised a hand, shaking a finger at her. “No. You don’t go saying hello. Not when we’ve talked about this.”

“Talked about what?” She widened her eyes.

“You know exactly.” His thumb jerked. “Out.”

“Ah.” She slid from the pilot’s chair and shimmied into the other.

“Better.” Sitting down on his rightful throne, Hank scanned the board automatically, reaching out to correct a warning light. But she was quicker, her hand almost a blur. “Dammit, River!”

She was immediately contrite. “Sorry.”

“’Cept you aren’t, are you, else you wouldn’t do it.”

She stared down at her bare feet, lifting them up to perch on the edge of the seat, as if trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. “Sorry,” she said again, her voice even more so.

He felt like a heel. “Look, River, it’s what I do.” She still wasn’t looking at him, her face hidden behind her curtain of hair. He went on, “I can’t shoot to save my life, not like you and Jayne, or anyone else on this ship, pretty much. And my stitching’s so bad I'm not gonna threaten Simon. As for the engine room ...” He paused. “Well, maybe I can hold my own there, but nowhere near Kaylee’s skills. But you and Frey, you’re always up here, wanting to fly.”

“We like it,” she pointed out, flexing her toes to a perfect ballet point before lifting her head to gaze at him. “A