Sometimes she was the victim of a wreck, a lone survivor pulling herself aboard his ship and fighting pirates and mythical beasts over the edge. Sometimes her dream world was too real for even logic and intellect to contend with, and she'd slip between the sheets, limbs trembling. Sometimes they would lay, foreheads pressed together, whispering their way into sleep, unraveling the mysteries of the verse below the whir of the fans.

Now, apart, his bed is too wide, too empty. Simon curls in on himself as he used to curl around River, who protected him from the inside out.