Mal spent the first few days in a vague haze, like incense smoke and phoenix feathers rising from the ashes. The doc had him medicated up to his ears to keep him from wandering off too soon from the operating chair and reopening his wounds. He slept to the rhythm of his crew stopping by, every time he blinked there was someone else checking in on him. Even Jayne once or twice, and in retrospect he wondered how it was that he wasn't smothered by his own pillow. Maybe the big ox had grown - they'd all bonded some lately.

River had been hovering around him too, like a spirit guide of sorts listening in on his hallucinations. So he wasn't startled when he opened his eyes, and she was standing by studying him like a raven perched on the gallows. She lifted a silver cross in front of her face, hypnotic, watching the pendulum sway. One of these days, he'd have a conversation with her about stealing from the captain's quarters. Maybe when he could actually walk up the stairs to his own bunk without the long trip leaving him weak and dizzy. Maybe some other time when he'd forgotten that he was only alive because of them on his ship and River's part in that. The troubled girl dropped the chain in his hand. "Thanks," he grunted, and meant the rescue. In the very least, he was out of that ruined orange monkey suit, and back in some of his own clothes.

She looked at him keenly, and pulled out another ligature, and tossed it to him. He ran his thumb over the trinkets, thoughtful, then saw scrutiny from the teen psychic, and shoved them both in his pockets. Then she skipped away and he was alone again.

" Wèi ," he called after her, but she wasn't there anymore. The infirmary suddenly seemed a lot bigger and too bright. He tried to stand to go look for her - couldn't lose anyone else to this place - but he could only raise himself up on his elbows.

That's when he saw his arms were strapped down. Trussed up for the scalpels. They came back, they'