First Gear, AU prompt, Mal/Simon
Title: First Gear
Author: emungere
Prompt: AU
Pairing: Mal/Simon preslash. Er. Pre-preslash
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Summary: Firefly + Drive.
(since Dani asked, we are the Remorseless Harridans, or Team Bu Huihen De Pofu.)
*
Simon dragged himself out of his car and up to his front door, glad to see River's ancient VW bug still parked in the open garage. It was worth working the late shift at the hospital to be able to eat breakfast with her before she left for school.
The door swung open under his touch, unlatched and showing just a sliver of the room inside. Simon froze, just for a moment. He felt a pressure in his chest and a certain clouding darkness behind his eyes.
He shook it off. There was some easy explanation. She always told him he worried too much.
"River! I'm home."
The remains of two bowls of Froot Loops were scattered across the carpet. The glass table they'd sat on was shattered. The couch was overturned, and the curtains had been ripped down.
She'd fought. She hadn't made it easy for them.
There was a little blank period in his head after that. He knew she was gone, but he looked through every room anyway. It didn't take long; despite the inheritance, their house wasn't large. He started at the back door and worked forward, checked in every closet and under every bed. He found nothing, not even further signs of a struggle.
He was halfway through making tea when he realized two things; his hands were shaking so badly he'd just poured boiling water all over the counter, and also that he should call the police.
It was just then, in that shocked second of realization, that the phone rang. Simon tried to answer the house phone first, and then his cell, even though he knew it was set on vibrate. Finally, he saw the phone on the kitchen counter, half covered by the tea towel River had embroidered with symbol for pi when she was four years old. The cell phone wasn't River's, but it rang with the theme song to Doctor Who, River's current favorite show.
Simon picked it up and watched its screen flash the image of his sister's face. "Hello?" he said.
"Turn on your TV," a man's voice said.
The television showed him a local news channel. The image shifted from a matched set of plastic anchorman and anchorwoman to a local bank--Simon's bank, in fact.
"--in this bank heist gone wrong," the anchorwoman was saying in voice-over. "Only minutes ago, the getaway driver fled the scene following the apprehension of his two accomplices by the police. The suspect, believed to be one Malcolm Reynolds, is still at large."
"I'm watching a new broadcast," Simon said. "Why?"
"Mr. Reynolds is a good driver. Fast. He'll be passing your house in approximately--" Pause. "--Four minutes."
"Again, I care why?"
"Because you want to be in Orlando by sunset, Dr. Tam, you really do. And your car now has two flat tires."
"Where in Orlando?"
"You're wasting time, Dr. Tam. You'll be informed of the details after you secure your ride. Oh, and Dr. Tam?"
"What?" Simon snapped.
"There's a nine millimeter handgun in your glove compartment."
"River--"
"Details later. Keep the phone with you. The clock is ticking."
Simon ran through options in his mind as he walked outside. He put the strange cell phone in his pocket, checked to see that yes, he had two slashed tires, and unlocked the door. He extracted the gun from the glove compartment. He'd never used a gun before, but maybe that didn't matter as long as he looked like he knew what he was doing.
Options: he had none. River's car barely reached highway speeds. He didn't have a spare tire. He had no idea how to go about hot-wiring a car. He needed to be in Orlando in--he checked the sky--likely less than two hours.
He heard the growl of a feral engine approaching.
Simon locked the front door to his house and stepped into the middle of the road. He recognized the car from the attempted bank robbery. He held the gun out toward it in a two-handed grip. It didn't even occur to him to wonder if the car would stop until its tires screamed against the asphalt and it was rumbling in front of him, hot metal edge of the bumper nudging at his knees like a big cat.
The face behind the wheel was slack with shock. Simon didn't give it enough time to turn to anger. He wrenched the door open, got in, and pushed the muzzle of the gun against the man's temple.
"I need to go to Orlando," he said. "Please. I need to be there by sunset."
"What? What for?" Malcolm Reynolds took a look at Simon's face and shook his head sharply. "Oh, wait, forgot as how I don't give a rat's ass. Get out of my car, boy."
"You can drive, or you can get out, or I can shoot you. You have five seconds." And please don't pick the last one, Simon thought. I don't think I can. He knew what gunshot wounds looked like. The image of this man's brains drilled out of his skull and plastered over the clear glass like one's of his mother's experimental art installations was too clear in his mind.
"One," he said.
"You look pretty desperate."
"Two."
"Desperate enough to pay."
"Yes. Three."
"Ten grand."
Simon sagged in relief. "Done. Drive."
Author: emungere
Prompt: AU
Pairing: Mal/Simon preslash. Er. Pre-preslash
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Summary: Firefly + Drive.
(since Dani asked, we are the Remorseless Harridans, or Team Bu Huihen De Pofu.)
*
Simon dragged himself out of his car and up to his front door, glad to see River's ancient VW bug still parked in the open garage. It was worth working the late shift at the hospital to be able to eat breakfast with her before she left for school.
The door swung open under his touch, unlatched and showing just a sliver of the room inside. Simon froze, just for a moment. He felt a pressure in his chest and a certain clouding darkness behind his eyes.
He shook it off. There was some easy explanation. She always told him he worried too much.
"River! I'm home."
The remains of two bowls of Froot Loops were scattered across the carpet. The glass table they'd sat on was shattered. The couch was overturned, and the curtains had been ripped down.
She'd fought. She hadn't made it easy for them.
There was a little blank period in his head after that. He knew she was gone, but he looked through every room anyway. It didn't take long; despite the inheritance, their house wasn't large. He started at the back door and worked forward, checked in every closet and under every bed. He found nothing, not even further signs of a struggle.
He was halfway through making tea when he realized two things; his hands were shaking so badly he'd just poured boiling water all over the counter, and also that he should call the police.
It was just then, in that shocked second of realization, that the phone rang. Simon tried to answer the house phone first, and then his cell, even though he knew it was set on vibrate. Finally, he saw the phone on the kitchen counter, half covered by the tea towel River had embroidered with symbol for pi when she was four years old. The cell phone wasn't River's, but it rang with the theme song to Doctor Who, River's current favorite show.
Simon picked it up and watched its screen flash the image of his sister's face. "Hello?" he said.
"Turn on your TV," a man's voice said.
The television showed him a local news channel. The image shifted from a matched set of plastic anchorman and anchorwoman to a local bank--Simon's bank, in fact.
"--in this bank heist gone wrong," the anchorwoman was saying in voice-over. "Only minutes ago, the getaway driver fled the scene following the apprehension of his two accomplices by the police. The suspect, believed to be one Malcolm Reynolds, is still at large."
"I'm watching a new broadcast," Simon said. "Why?"
"Mr. Reynolds is a good driver. Fast. He'll be passing your house in approximately--" Pause. "--Four minutes."
"Again, I care why?"
"Because you want to be in Orlando by sunset, Dr. Tam, you really do. And your car now has two flat tires."
"Where in Orlando?"
"You're wasting time, Dr. Tam. You'll be informed of the details after you secure your ride. Oh, and Dr. Tam?"
"What?" Simon snapped.
"There's a nine millimeter handgun in your glove compartment."
"River--"
"Details later. Keep the phone with you. The clock is ticking."
Simon ran through options in his mind as he walked outside. He put the strange cell phone in his pocket, checked to see that yes, he had two slashed tires, and unlocked the door. He extracted the gun from the glove compartment. He'd never used a gun before, but maybe that didn't matter as long as he looked like he knew what he was doing.
Options: he had none. River's car barely reached highway speeds. He didn't have a spare tire. He had no idea how to go about hot-wiring a car. He needed to be in Orlando in--he checked the sky--likely less than two hours.
He heard the growl of a feral engine approaching.
Simon locked the front door to his house and stepped into the middle of the road. He recognized the car from the attempted bank robbery. He held the gun out toward it in a two-handed grip. It didn't even occur to him to wonder if the car would stop until its tires screamed against the asphalt and it was rumbling in front of him, hot metal edge of the bumper nudging at his knees like a big cat.
The face behind the wheel was slack with shock. Simon didn't give it enough time to turn to anger. He wrenched the door open, got in, and pushed the muzzle of the gun against the man's temple.
"I need to go to Orlando," he said. "Please. I need to be there by sunset."
"What? What for?" Malcolm Reynolds took a look at Simon's face and shook his head sharply. "Oh, wait, forgot as how I don't give a rat's ass. Get out of my car, boy."
"You can drive, or you can get out, or I can shoot you. You have five seconds." And please don't pick the last one, Simon thought. I don't think I can. He knew what gunshot wounds looked like. The image of this man's brains drilled out of his skull and plastered over the clear glass like one's of his mother's experimental art installations was too clear in his mind.
"One," he said.
"You look pretty desperate."
"Two."
"Desperate enough to pay."
"Yes. Three."
"Ten grand."
Simon sagged in relief. "Done. Drive."