Author's Notes: Contains sexual references, semi-explicit references to violence, and issues of consent.

She can see inside their heads. She wishes she couldn't, but it's something she can't control. Thoughts spiral like iSerenity/i when she rebels against control. The parts need to be fixed, but there are no spares available.

River doesn't often like what she sees, when her mind goes beyond herself.

Sometimes it's all blood and guts and other things that she knows Simon would rather she didn't know about, but he can't protect her from the open minds of the crew around her. He can't protect her from herself, either. She remembers blood dripping from a curved blade, gravity pulling the liquid to the ground in steady drops at an average rate of approximately one drop per six point five-nine seconds. She did that. She doesn't need the crew to taint her mind; it's designed to be tainted. She's imade/i to kill. She hears that in their thoughts as well. Their recollections of blood flinging away from sun-tanned skin are more distant than the ones that belong solely to iher/i. Those are the ones that have her waking with useless beads of sweat soaking her nightshirt.

Sometimes, though, they're not thinking about the brutality at all. She's not sure whether or not she prefers those other times. They're merely horrific in a different way, she thinks.

They conjure up useless thoughts that make her wonder how the people around her are any different from animals. The linking of complicated concepts, with a view to the integration of cause and effect, must surely define the human mind. Without that, they're like cows, dreaming of nothing more than a blue sky and grass beneath their feet. It's so simple. She wishes her mind could be quiet like that, occasionally. At the same time, the thought that she could ever be on par with an animal that doesn't even begin to understand its place in the universe sends her silently screaming.

Sometimes, though – more often for some of them than others, and she has some theories she's drafting about ithat/i – all they think about is ithis/i.

She knows the purpose of the act. It's about reproduction. At least that's what her parents told her long before these things got all bundled up in other people's perceptions. She understands that. What she can't quite grasp is why the act and the concept are never quite linked in those minds that press their thoughts on her, unwanted. They don't do it with offspring in mind. They seem to have other, less tangible intentions.

It's a puzzle that she can't quite solve. She doesn't like things that don't have clear answers. Numbers should add up.

She watches, just to see. She thinks that Simon and Kaylee both look like they're in pain, and can't imagine why they'd inflict that upon themselves. Then she hears Kaylee's thoughts, and wishes she hadn't. They're not about anything that River's defined as being within the parameters of 'pain'. They're about something she's never felt. Something odd.

She feels those things now exactly in the manner that Kaylee does. She wishes her mind could back away as easily as she can make her body, on her better days. Simon's tried to explain how she shouldn't have thoughts like that about him. She knows he wouldn't appreciate it. She doesn't always understand 'appropriate' in a way that allows her to extrapolate it to cover new concepts, but she iremembers/i the specific things he designates as belonging in that category. She's not stupid, after all. She knows that Simon thinks being her brother precludes certain things, and that that's one of them. She hasn't figured out iwhy/i, but that isn't the point.

She has yet to collate enough data to create a valid final conclusion, but her intermediate thoughts on the matter are that she shouldn't be thinking those things at all, about Simon or otherwise. She shouldn't feel like this. That rush of blood can't be normal. Blood speeds with action, typically, and she's standing still. The universe is spinning in every which direction around her, but she's in the middle, the centre of gravity, unmoving.

There's nothing there to cause the adrenal glands to make decisions all on their own. She'd appreciate a bit more control over her own bodily functions. Why can't she be strong that way, instead of in all of the ways she hates? The reaction is strange and unwanted, even when her brother isn't involved. It can't be quantified. Her skin crawls, but there's no itch to scratch.

Jayne corners her one day, and the odd itch isn't just something that can't be dealt with, but something from which to cringe away. It's not anything like what Kaylee feels about Simon. It's something else. She likes this new feeling even less, so she bashes Jayne over the head. When the Captain tries to pry the details out of her later, she can't enunciate the concept. It frustrates her. She used to always have the right words.

It's mere luck that the Captain doesn't find her to be at fault. She doesn't like luck. It defies equations. There's no proof.

Jayne always looks warily at her after that, even more than he used to. There are a lot of things in her head that are fuzzy, but 'good' is a thought that rings through her mind loud and clear. She knows she can kill him, easily, but she doesn't really like the wet, almost black shine of the blood. She knows the others wouldn't like it either. It's best that he just stays away.

She thinks that her regard for what the others want might be a sign of progress towards the sort of girl that they want her to become. She can't even tell her that, though. They never quite understand her.

She's alone in her thoughts, as always. But they're never alone in theirs. She's with them, even when she doesn't want to be.

"I try to sleep, but the wolves come rushing," she tells Simon one day. "It's for life, but then it isn't always, and the thoughts chill my feet. Why do they go so close? Why does the pack split?"

He tries so hard to figure out what she means. He always was a little slow, though, and she's not even entirely sure that ishe/i knows the full extent of it. She's aware, though, that it makes Simon want to fly away like the birds from Earth That Was when she brings these things up with him, so perhaps it's better that his mind can't grasp the nuance.

She decides that the only way to come up with a hypothesis is through observation. One time is never enough. Two test subjects aren't enough, either. Good thing she has a whole ship-full to study.

River thinks that they wouldn't appreciate being treated like rats scrabbling for cheese in the darkness of a holographic maze. That's not what she wants. She wants to observe, not dictate. She's not that kind of scientist.

Even though she knows that they wouldn't want her just passively watching either, it's all right. She can tip-toe through the ship, lighter than a ghost. They'll never even know.

~FIN~