She remembers, but only sometimes; tiny puzzle pieces of herself
that no longer fit the picture.
Watching Mal and Inara dance around each other, she sees quick,
firefly flashes of recognition – Mother and Father and sly
glances across the dinner table – just a word here, the memory
of a movement there. Nothing complete or whole, but that’s good.
She’s not whole anymore either, never will be, and remembering
how things used to be would ache too much for words.
She’s seen what the past has done to Simon; seen his frantic
attempts at recreation, and thinks perhaps she has it better
after all.
She can see now, the molecules and atoms spiraling out from
everything, a kaleidoscope of color and sound and possibility
always on the edges of her mind.
She reads their memories, instead of her own, the image of Wash
stained across the pilot’s console, memories of his hands and
how to guide Serenity through the storm. Mal thinks Serenity
talks to her, and sometimes she does, but not the way he thinks.
Serenity talks to her through Kaylee and Zoe, and even Jayne,
because they have all spilled lifeblood into her, left images
behind; pieces of themselves for her to read.