The door to the room was opened clumsily, and the sound started her awake. She was still sitting on the bed, leaning against the bulkhead. She was sure it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but she wasn't sure. She turned toward the door, making a face as her neck proved to have stiffened, and the footprint ached. A young man with neat, short dark hair and a handsome and well-groomed look about him was entering the room, a small bag in his hand. Behind him, the dark skinned woman stood in the doorway, and watched. Dicey frowned a little, realizing in all this, not one of them had told her their names. How rude, after the fuss made over hers. The young came close, setting his very doctor-like bag on the bed. He smiled a little, trying look encouraging, she thought, "My name's Simon. I'm a doctor. Just want to take a look at you, make sure you're ok. Is that ok?" She sighed. Another doctor. Oh joy. At least he was polite. And a little cute. A little young, too. She inched forward letting her legs hang over the edge of the bed again. "Hiya, Doc. I'm Dicey." He smiled, encouraged himself, and began a very standard check up. He tilted her head, asking her about how it felt, poked her bruise a bit, then moved to her shoulder. From the doorway, the dark skinned woman watched, her face expressionless. He looked at her shoulder, making her hiss and squeak a bit as he thoroughly checked the damage. Her upper arm he frowned at, but there wasn't much to see, another bruise like the one on her throat. Finally, he turned back to his bag, opening it and rummaging into it. He took out an injector and a vial. Dicey nearly jumped off the bed. Looking half-terrified, she reminded herself the chances these people were going to send her back into a coma had to be... beyond insanely high. "I'm sorry.. oh, I am sorry... that's.. let me guess.. painkiller?" She tried to relax, a look of embarrassment on her face. For a second, she could see Weasel in her mind, the injector in his hand. Now she saw a rather earnest young doctor, trying to help her out. Simon stood frozen, a look of complete confusion slowly fading into one of vague understanding. "It'll help with the stiffness and pain. Those are some nasty bruises, and your shoulder is going to take a while to heal up." He shook his head, "It's been a while since anyone was afraid of one of those. Better than needles, though." He was talking as much to himself as her, and she appreciated the doctor-ish habit. It did help give her a chance to focus again. He injected her, and she pretended not to notice the faint increase in her heart rate. She didn't feel anything for a moment, then slowly, the aches in her shoulder seems to smooth over, and while she felt a little fuzzy, she wasn't tired, wasn't falling asleep. See, nothing to worry about. He put the injector gun away, and moved back in front of Dicey, shooting a glance at the dark skinned woman, who only gave him a sort of nod. He reached up, feeling Dicey's neck, one hand moving around to the back, and one to her forehead. At first, she assumed he was checking where she'd banged it against the ground, but then she realized where his hands were. In a very tight, angry voice, she asked him, "What the hell are you doing?" His face had changed, and a faint look of amazement came over him, "My god..." his eyes met hers, and she pressed her lips together, unsure of what was wrong with him. "What did they replace it with?" he asked, his fingers tracing the edges of the patch through her hair. She swallowed, once, her throat tight, "I don't know. I don't want to know. I don't.. I ... Please stop." Her voice went very small on the last two words, and he froze, pulling his hands away. "I'm sorry. It's just... amazing work. Osiris?" he asked, looking like he'd like to continue feeling up her skull for a few more hours. "I don't know.. I think so... Ariel, Osiris, I've been to all the best hospitals." She made it sound like a vacation visiting resorts, but with a hard edge of sarcasm. "It's a long story, Doc. And I never read the medical part. I don't want to know what they did." He nodded, slowly. "You're very lucky," he said, turning away to collect up his bag. He didn't see the look on her face, like he'd said the last thing she wanted to hear. She leaned forward over her knees, her hair half hanging down over her shoulder. She turned her head in time to see him step out of the room, followed by the dark skinned woman, but she couldn't hear what they said to each other, and just scooted back on the bed, this time pulling her feet up so she could rest her arms on her knees. He'd been right about the painkillers - her shoulder, her neck, everything only ached a little, mostly when she moved. After a few more minutes, the dark skinned woman came in again, this time with a very strange look on her face. "When did it happen?" she asked, her question forceful but somehow softer than their previous conversation. Dicey knew what she meant. It had to come back to that, did it? "About six years ago." Her eyes narrowed, "Why aren't you dead?" Dicey looked down at her hands, "I'm very lucky." Her voice sounded completely at odds with the words. She didn't want to have to tell the story. She was so very tired of talking about it. Of having IT, hanging over her head, influencing every moment of her life... She had grown very tense, stiff, almost hostile. The woman started to say something, then paused, then seemed to decide to say it anyway, "You always were." She turned and ducked out of the cabin, moving quickly, closing the door behind her. Dicey sat staring in shock at the closed door. Her heart beat filled her ears, so loudly she closed her eyes, and bit her lower lip. They knew her. HAD known her... before. Her stomach twisted in a tense, sickening knot. There's always been someone there, telling her who the people she met were, how they knew her before. She'd never met someone randomly that had known her. She was a walking ghost here. The panicked thought crossed her mind, Maybe it would have been better for Weasel to catch me, put me to sleep for good, but she knew she'd never give in. The toe of one blue boot tapped against the bed, and she bit her lower lip. What was she going to do? What could she do? --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the hallway, between the passenger dorm and the Infirmary, Zoe faced Simon. "It's really possible?" Simon still looked stunned, "It's amazing, but I can't argue with the evidence. There's massive reconstruction to the skull, but the work is... flawless. Expensive. Someone spent a lot of money on putting her back together." Zoe shook her head, smiling slightly, "She really always was lucky." A cloud came over her face, and she looked slightly upward and away, toward the crew quarters and cockpit of the ship. Simon didn't need to ask. "You have to tell the Captain," he stated. He understood the look, and didn't envy her the experience. Simon had seen a lot of different versions of Angry Malcolm Reynolds. Not one had come close to what he'd seen in that brief glimpse of the man before he'd went to his cabin. No one had seen him since they'd taken to the black. He took a breath, and then couldn't help himself, "Can.. Can I ask who she is?" The look on Zoe's face made him pause, but her answer wasn't helpful, "Apparently she's Dicey Venice. The rest is up to the Captain."