Hank’s parents had died when he was young, and his grandmother had brought him up. Mal considered it was her fault he was the way he was, but that was unfair – Hank was who he was always destined to be. Or possibly he was meant to be someone else entirely.

---

Freya flexed her wrist. “ Diyu , but that feels good.” She scratched, a look of bliss on her face.

“Stop that.”

“It itches.”

Simon shook his head. “Then go and wash it by all means, but if you break the skin it might get infected.”

Freya looked guilty, a family expression often seen on her children, such as the day a week before when her daughter had been accused of stealing cookies. Bethie still hadn’t forgiven her for blabbing. “Sorry.” She sat on the offending hand.

Simon smiled. “Do you want to keep the cast?” He held it out, neatly cut down one side.

“Mama?” It was Ethan, hovering in the doorway. “Can I have it?”

Freya laughed. “Be my guest.”

“Here.” Simon held it out to the little boy, who clutched it to his chest and ran for his bunk, grinning widely. “Any idea what he wants with it?”

“Not a clue.” She got down from the medbed.

“You do know it would have come off sooner if you hadn’t fallen.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” she insisted. “Jayne tackled me.”

“You decided to play.” He turned to put away the plaster saw. “Hoop ball was not obligatory.”

“You didn’t want to come in on Mal’s side, so I felt I had to.”

He glanced back. “Your notes are starting to rival Mal’s in thickness.”

“Oh, that’s low.” She smiled. “Any plans for Persephone?”

“No, not really. I’m still working on that formula.”

The smile slipped from Freya’s face. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”

He didn’t move for a long moment, then slowly turned on his heel to look at her. “No. Honestly, I don’t. I believe you asked first, that I agreed it was the only course of action. And that you’d ask again before doing something similar. But do I trust you not to if I didn’t want you to?” He shook his head.