Her skin is pale beneath his blue-gloved fingers. Ischemic, though not dangerously so. His hands are steady as he works the needle, doing the work that he spent years training them to do. Faithful servants, creating neat little stitches as surely as they button his shirt or brush his teeth.

It is his brain that is in chaos.

He had been annoyed out of sleep when he heard Jayne bellowing his name, sure that the great baboon had done something stupid, probably just to irritate him. Once his brain kicked over into a beta pattern he had realized Jayne didn't sound pained. The adrenaline surged; of course it was his sister.

He snips the last bit of string and begins the process of protecting the wound with a sterile bandage. Her eyes flutter open as he's patting the last strip of tape in place.

"Sorry," she breathes.

From somewhere he pulls up a smile, gently strokes her hair. "I know, mei-mei."

He wants to ask her why. He wants to yell and scream and shake her until everything is okay, but he knows that none of that will help. So instead he bends closer so that he can kiss her cheek, then her forehead.

"I know."

On to Lost Sheep.