(no subject)

[Just after this.]

"River?" Simon slides open the door to his sister's room and peers inside. She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, peacefully reading an unfamiliar book. "Mèimei, where'd you get that?"

"Bar," River says solemnly.

"How is it?" He moves closer, sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Fundamentally flawed," she informs him. "It draws faulty conclusions from unsupported assertions."

"I see." The cover of the book is visible now; in archaic lettering, it reads MODERN POETRY.

There is a short pause. River turns a page.

"I, ah ... spoke with Cuthbert last night," Simon says, finally.

River does not glance up, but seems to draw in on herself a little.

"River, he's worried about you. We all are."

"Faulty conclusions," she mutters. "She understands."

He's trying to keep the fear out of his voice, and succeeds only in sounding angry. "You could have hurt someone."

A long pause, then: "Did. It's not hypothetical."

"River -"

Her voice rises, sharp and angry. "They watch you, they watch you all the time and you can't see them. Not supposed to be there. Rutting son of a bitch ain't supposed to be there and she won't let them watch her anymore."

Simon stares at her, dumbfounded. "Was he.... Mèimei, was he from the Academy? Or sent by them?"

For a moment she meets his eyes, her jaw set and stubborn, and then her gaze drops and her voice shades into sullenness. "It's not relevant."

"He scared you," he says quietly.

River hunches her shoulders, her hair falling forward to curtain her face.

He sighs, and reaches to pat her hand. "Cuthbert wants you to ... to make sure one of us is with you when you come to the bar, for a little while. Me or the captain."

One shoulder moves under her hair in what might be a shrug.

Simon gets to his feet and stands there for a moment looking down at her, silent with love and worry. "You should try to rest," he says finally.