He has only ever gotten as far as the shuttle’s door. He’s stood here outside it more times than he can remember, one palm resting light against it’s surface feeling the cold, cold metal and trying to decide if it’s time yet but it never is.

And he’s not sure it ever will be.

His hand slides away and he runs it through his hair, shoves it in his pocket.

He still wants to look too much.

Gorram it when’s this gonna be done…

River lifts her head, looks at him with a frown.

You don’t want it to be.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “I do.”

She shrugs, sticks her head between the railings, her hair hanging down in long twists, as she looks at her feet hovering above the cargo bay and framing the busted up Mule with her arches.

She doesn’t believe him.

Neither does he.

“Broken.” She nods at her feet, brings them together, apart, together. “Pieces used to fit, scattered everywhere now… lost now… breadcrumbs hidden under the leaves, hiding the way…”

“I wouldn’t worry ‘bout that none. Kaylee’ll get that heap up and runnin’ ‘fore we git planet side.”

“Not worried. The birds haven’t come yet.”

She swings her legs slowly, points her toes at the floor, ceiling, floor, hums a bit.

The first time he saw her out here he kept going, picked up his pace like he had somewhere to be. The second time she caught his pant leg as he passed, murmured, “Visit,” and pulled him by the cuff towards the shuttle a step before letting go. “You’re hungry,” she’d said with another little shove, those long bare legs swinging, swinging in the air. “Starving to death.” And then she’d stilled herself, looked up at him, eyes large and dark, solemn little mouth, “It’s ok. I can keep secrets too…”

And she has. Kept his.

She lets him have this without questions, without knowing looks. When she’s here she ignores him, studies the mess Jayne’s left below and tries to squish the random bits of tarp and tools and clips between her toes from way up high. She sings to herself, little snatches of songs she’s he