(no subject)

River went to Milliways early last night, just after dinner, but it's late at night when she comes back. Late enough that Simon was frowning at the clock half an hour ago, and wondering aloud to Inara if he should go check for her soon.

She's subdued, when she does return. Silent.

"River?" says Simon, glancing up at the sound of her booted footsteps in the corridor outside the ship's infirmary, and then his brows draw together in sudden concern. He's been waiting on the couch there, with tea and a book of Kipling's poems; Kaylee's already in bed. "--What's wrong, mèimei?"

"Fixed the switch," River tells him, very low, after a long pause. "Gonna be just fine."

"River..." Simon stands, leaving his mug abandoned on the low table in front of the couch, and moves towards her. "Did something happen at the bar?"

River closes her eyes, even as she leans a little into Simon's hand on her shoulder. Her face is damp, and her arms too, as if freshly washed. (She did a thorough job; there are no visible bloodstains.) "Not today," she whispers. "The variables are in flux."

Simon stares at her. There are dark smudges under her closed eyes; she looks wan, and very weary.

When he gathers her into a hug, River slips her arms around his waist, and turns her face into his neck with a sigh, and just holds on.