River stood still, gazing at the still form on the ground. Now she said, “Why doesn’t she get up?”

Simon glanced sharply at her. “River,” he said quickly, appalled at her insensitivity.

“She should get up. Come home.”

“River …” Inara’s voice broke.

“Get her out of here,” Mal said, dark, violent.

Simon turned to his sister, putting his hands on her shoulders. “River, go back. You can’t do anything. Freya’s … Freya’s dead.”

“No she isn’t.”

Mal’s head snapped up. “Get her –”

“She’s breathing.”

Simon stared at her, the intensity of belief in her young face, then looked back at Freya. He moved forward, almost not of his own volition, and slowly went down onto his knees, reaching out to touch Freya’s neck. Mal’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist.

“Leave her alone.”

“Mal. Let me check.” He looked into the dead blue eyes glaring at him. “Let me.”

Slowly the grip on his wrist lessened until Mal let go, sitting back and looking down into his wife’s face.

Simon put his finger to her neck, pressing into the swollen flesh, feeling the silver pendant sunk deep, trying to reach an artery. He held his breath, waiting, waiting. Finally he breathed out, starting to turn, to look at his sister. Then … “My God.” He was so shocked he couldn’t move, his fingers still over the faint beat.

“Simon?” Zoe said, taking a single step forward.

“River’s right.” His words were almost inaudible.

“What?”

“I think she’s alive.” His professionalism, almost a separate entity to Simon the man, took over. He began to check other vitals, lifting her eyelids, seeing a slight reaction in her pupils. A hand on her chest, only light because of the probability of internal injuries, felt the slightest of movements. “I need that stretcher. Now!” he ordered.

Mal lifted his head, looked at him in uncertainty. “Simon …”

“She’s alive, Mal. I don’t know how, but she is. I’ve got to get her back to the infirmary as soon as possible.”

Mal stared as the young doctor began assessing her other injuries, hearing Hank run up with the stretcher, Jayne swearing, Zoe grabbing the metal from him … but all he knew was that Simon had said she was alive.

---

“I have to cut the rings off. If I don’t she’ll lose that finger. It may already be too late.”

“Do it.”

-

“Inara, help me.”

“What do you need?”

“Get those scissors and start removing her clothes. A little at a time.”

-

“My God. Can you do anything?”

“I’ll try.”

-

“Pass me the spreader. No, the big one.”

“Simon …”

“If you’re going to faint, go and do it outside.”

“No, no. I’m … what else?”

-

“Zoe, clamp that. Hurry.”

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

-

“Hank, pull.”

“I can’t.”

“You must. Harder. That’s it. Now hold.”

“Wuh de tyen, ah.”

-

Outside the infirmary Kaylee was shivering, Jethro trying to comfort her while feeling no comfort himself.

“I don’t understand,” the young mechanic said.

River, sitting on the floor, spoke softly. “They broke her hands. One finger at a time. Then her wrists. They dislocated her elbows, broke her collarbones. They didn’t care that she was screaming. They weren’t asking anything, just doing a job. Her feet, ankles, calves –”

Kaylee put her hands over her ears, not wanting to listen but unable to stop. She turned and vomited onto the decking.

Jayne calmly got to his feet and went to get a bucket and mop. His anger he was keeping down, banked like a fire, ready for it to flame up into a conflagration when it was needed.

---

It was late, very late. Simon had been working for hours, operating, setting, sewing, Zoe and Inara helping, the white aprons over their clothes not protecting them from the blood, even Hank assisting with some of the more arduous tasks, while Mal was unable to do anything except watch, her rings clutched in his hand.

At one point the doctor had asked Kaylee to fetch some things from the engine room, and she had stayed, doing whatever he needed, whatever he ordered in his quiet way. But at last he stepped back, his face grey with exhaustion.

“Simon?” Mal asked softly.

“She’s … I think I have her stabilised.” The young man checked her vitals for the hundredth time.

“You think?” Mal asked.

Simon looked past him to his erstwhile assistants. “You’d better go clean up.”

“Simon -” Kaylee began, but Zoe understood.

“Come on,” she said, ushering the others out into the common area even as she glanced back at her captain. “I’ll call Dillon, let him know we’ve found Freya.”

Mal ignored her and moved closer to the medbed, looking down at his wife. “Is she going to be okay?” he asked.

Simon rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Mal, she should be dead.”

“I know.” The words were barely audible.

“If this wasn’t Freya …”

“How often do I have to be grateful to the Alliance for what they did to her? For saving her?” Mal asked, bitterness filling his every word.

“It wasn’t them, Mal,” Simon said, stripping the gloves from his hands and tossing them onto the counter. “She had this ability well before –”

“Did she? How do you know that?”

“Mal –”

“How do you know that she’s not alive right now because the Academy did something to her?”

“Does it matter? Does it honestly matter?” Simon had had enough. “She’s alive, Mal. That’s all that counts.”

The anger in Mal’s eyes blazed for a moment, then he took back control. “You’re right. It is all that counts. For the moment. Until I find the man that did this.” He reached out, wanting to take her into his arms, to protect her, to do the very thing he hadn’t been able to … “Her injuries … are they … is she still …”

“They’re bad, Mal,” Simon said gently. “She could still die.”

“Then don’t let her.” There was no threat in his voice this time. “Please.” He touched the restraints, the supports all around his wife’s body, the frame that Kaylee had built holding her hips. “Why this?” he asked.

Simon moved up. “Her pelvis is broken in two places. She has to … I can’t wire it, not with the other injuries, just hold it in place until it heals enough.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How did they …”

“I don’t know, Mal. And you don’t want to.”

Mal looked up at him, his blue eyes full of conflicting emotions. “Simon, I have all these pictures in my head, of them doing this, of making my wife scream for me, and me not being there. You think what you can tell me is gonna be worse?”

Simon paused, then took a deep breath. “I think … I think it … from the wounds above, in her skin …”

“Go on.”

“A hammer. Or… or a mallet. Her feet …” He couldn’t finish.

“Why didn’t they just shoot her?” Mal asked, shaking his head. “Why put her through all this pain?”

“So you’d know they had.” River spoke from the doorway and they both looked around at her. “So you’d look at her and feel every blow, hear every bone crack, taste every drop of blood they spilled –”

“River!” Simon barked over her, sickened at his sister.

“No, doc, she’s right,” Mal said. “This was for me. This was supposed to kill me.” He paused, a question behind his eyes that he had to ask, had to know. “Simon, did they …” Even then he couldn’t finish.

River got in first. “No rape,” she said. “It wasn't about that.”

Mal felt none of the great knot of stone in his belly ease. “No, albatross,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

to be continued