(no subject)
Dear Raynedanser,
Happy Christmas.
I didn’t realise you had posted a note on your LJ until after I had written this. I hope you enjoy it regardless.
Space santa
Title: Elusion
Genre: slash
Pairings: Simon/Jayne, Mal/Simon
Rating: NC17ish
Word count: 5378
Betaed by: Santa’s elf
Warnings: angst
Mandarin translations courtesy of the Firefly Chinese Pinyinary. All errors are mine alone!
Bizui - shut up
Meiyong - useless
Ben erzi de - son of a
Pigu - butt
Zao gao - crap
Feiwu - junk
Tama de - motherhumping
Gui - hell
Niushi - cow shit
Fengle - loopy
ELUSION
Simon leans against a tree trunk, breath wheezing in strained gasps. Bark flies a scant few inches from his hand and Mal curses as they both jolt forwards again, startled. Mal shoves Simon ahead of him and they stumble further up the hill, dodging branches and crashing through bushes. They are past trying to be surreptitious in their flight. Mal no longer looks back to fire off a harrying bullet or two - he has too few left to spare.
The dark shadow amongst tumbled rocks wouldn’t register, except that Simon loses his footing and drops his medical bag for the third time. Mal doesn’t bother growling at him to leave it. He knows the doctor will ignore his threats to shoot him his own self, and Mal’s almost glad of the excuse to heave in breath for a few seconds, staring ahead, willing his brain to devise some sort of plan. Anything other than this panicked scrabble for survival.
They reach shelter with seconds to spare - bits of displaced rock stinging their heels as bullets miss their targets.
“What are we doing Captain?” Simon pants, as Mal pushes him back from the narrow opening.
“Hiding,” Mal snaps.
“I think they’ve found us.”
He sounds calm, if winded, and Mal would marvel at his capacity for drollness, if it didn’t make his fingers feel all twitchy on the trigger.
“Bizui. See how far back this goes. Might be another way out.”
Mal crouches to edge back to the entrance, scanning the incline for any movement. About 30 meters of open scree separate them from the nearest vegetation. Could have picked a worse place for a last stand. He checks over his weapons without looking at them. Yep. Only the pistol has ammo left. Four bullets. He’ll have to wait until they are close.
A soft scuff and warm breath against Mal’s neck signals Simon’s return.
“Stay back,” Mal warns gruffly. “Whadja find?”
“About ten meters by ten meters, but the roof drops down pretty quickly. The air smells fresh, but there’s no light. It’s pitch black once you get a meter or two inside. So I think this is probably the only way in.” Simon’s voice is low, his breathing even. If he’s frightened, he’s doing a good job of hiding it.
A flicker amongst the trees quietens them both. Not long now. Just as soon as Mal has a clear shot.
“Make yourself scarce,” Mal orders. Squinting along his gun barrel.
“Still just the two of them?” Simon asks, much closer than he has any right to be.
“Meiyong ben erzi de-” Mal growls in frustration, brought up short by another glimpse of material. Nearer this time. “Do as I say afore you get us both killed.”
“I’d hate to invade your turf, Captain,” Simon mutters, sliding away. A momentary shiver crawls across Mal’s skin as cool air washes against his back.
Gravel spatters down as a few bullets thud into the overhang. Mal listens carefully in the silence that follows. Their pursuers seem to be in no hurry. There is no indication that they’re on the move.
“Surrender Reynolds, you ain’t got nowhere to go.”
“Pretty comfy where I am, thanks all the same,” Mal yells back. “Got the kettle on if you boys wanna wander up an’ pay us a visit though.”
“Get your leathered-up missus to bring back that shiny spaceship, an’ we’ll let yers all go. Won’t kink a hair on your heads.”
Mal’s got the location locked in now. He squeezes the trigger lovingly, disappointed when he hears a pained curse emanate from the brush. Only wounded then.
A series of scuffles and indistinct words follow. Mal waits patiently for another chance as the minutes tick by.
Finally, a ragged voice, sounding a little further away.
“We’re done playing nice Reynolds. Enjoy your tomb.”
Shit, distraction tactics - Mal’s bullet is too slow to hit the second man, already ducking back behind cover as Mal whips his weapon around. The barely glimpsed motion is familiar, and Mal is scrambling backwards on hands and knees when the sickening sound of metal skittering against rock confirms his gut instinct.
Too dark. Which way did it go?
“Doc!” Mal bellows, throwing himself with complete commitment, even as the air vibrates and hell rains down upon them.
~
Simon’s not weak. Both Kaylee and the Captain have told him so. But he knows his strength isn’t the kind that matters out here on the Rim. Didn’t stop the Feds on Ariel. Didn’t keep him from being shot.
He stares gloomily down into the cargo bay, rubbing away the ache in his thigh. That’s what counts. The bulk on display as Jayne moves into yet another set of lifts, sweat glistening on his skin.
“You gonna just stand there and watch?” Jayne yells. Simon starts, but Jayne’s looking elsewhere.
“Not watching, I’m working!” Mal strides into view, smirk evident in the set of his shoulders.
“Spot me for a spell an’ then I’ll give you a hand,” Jayne offers.
“You’re goin’ to have to give these muscles names, they get any bigger. You been exposed to some mutant radiation I oughta know about?”
“Just gettin’ ready in case we have any more uninvited guests,” Jayne grunts.
Simon walks away before he can hear any more.
~
Grit trickles down the back of Mal’s collar and stings his eyes as he peers into the unyielding darkness. His landing place is suspiciously warm against his cheek.
“Doc?” Mal chokes out around lungfuls of dust. More particles shower down. Mal lies as still as he can, praying that the whole roof of this gorram rat hole don’t cave in. Gradually the sound of earth shifting subsides and Mal becomes aware of an intermittent soft sighing noise.
Mal wiggles one hand free and slides it along the body beneath him until he encounters thick, smooth hair beneath a layer of brittle dirt. He guesses wrong the first time, finding only more hair, until he reverses direction. Fingers snag briefly in a matted, sticky tangle. Mal clamps down on the feeling of dread that floods his belly. One thing at a time. He finds Simon’s face at last. Touches closed eyelids, feels breath, warm and moist against his palm. Mal lets his hand drop to the ground. Feels his whole body sag before he gathers himself for the next hurdle.
A few minutes of awkward digging, body contorted to avoid resting on the unconscious doctor, and Mal has his legs free of rubble. He crawls around for a bit, figuring out the limits of their sanctuary - kept them alive so far hasn’t it? - until he scrapes his head on the lower part of the ceiling and remembers their one source of light. The com screen glows a sickly green when he depresses the button, but no reassuring static drifts from the speaker.
Where Mal figures the entrance used to be is a solid pile of rock. Don’t look like it’s going to be easy to shift. On the positive side, that means no-ones going to shoot them any time soon…
Simon looks dead when Mal directs the glow onto his face. Trick of the light, Mal tells himself, feeling for his pulse just to be sure. Steady, if a little slow. There’s a swelling over his temple now - a volcano that has erupted in a viscous, dark flow onto Simon’s pallid cheek. He pats down Simon’s body but there are no other obvious injuries. Mal debates a bit, before deciding it’s better to shift Simon onto his side, so he can breathe better.
A faint, pained groan escapes Simon when Mal turns him. A groan that morphs into a string of vitriolic Mandarin when Mal tries to bend Simon’s right leg to stabilise his position. Mal’s still wondering where Simon came in contact with such a coarse dialect, when pain explodes across his cheekbone. Boy has a mean backhand.
“Whoa there Doc!” Mal soothes, catching hold of Simon’s flailing arms as he thrashes around onto his back. Mal keeps talking, low and reassuring and Simon subsides, mumbling drowsily.
“Still with me Doc? Tell me where it hurts,” Mal coaxes.
“Head. Bad.”
“How about your leg?” Mal prompts, but Simon seems to have drifted off again.
Mal feels along the limb in question cautiously. Nothing but solid muscle. The Doc must work out somehow that Mal ain’t noticed yet. No broken bones anyway. He runs his hand back down, just to be sure, and both Mal and Simon jerk when Mal’s hand reaches Simon’s knee. Simon utters a specific, detailed threat, involving intimate parts of Mal’s anatomy, but Mal is too disturbed to take it in properly. That just felt wrong.
“Doc? I think you knocked your kneecap off somehow.” Mal’s voice is surprisingly steady.
“Leaveitbe, lemme sleep,” Simon slurs irritably.
Great. The Doc don’t mind misplacing a body part. Guess he has a point though, not like they don’t have bigger problems.
“Doc, I need you to wake up now. You have to tell me what to do,” Mal orders.
“Go back to sleep.” Simon sounds really pissed now. And probably delusional, if he thinks Mal would normally be sleeping anywhere in Simon’s vicinity. Musta really knocked his brains loose.
Mal thinks for a minute before fixing on another approach. He shakes Simon’s shoulder gently.
“Doc, we got injured. Need you to wake up and do your job.”
“Captain?” Simon responds, voice less slurred.
“That’s right. Work to do. Injured to tend,” Mal says crisply.
“Of course,” Simon replies, “I’ll just need my bag.”
~
“I ain’t having no shot in the pigu with her in the room,” Jayne growls.
“Afraid,” River singsongs, smiling sweetly at an infuriated Jayne as she dances out of the infirmary.
“Gorram ruttin’ moonbrain!”
“Jayne.”
“Sorry Doc,” Jayne mumbles. Pulse visible in his throat, hands clutching his waistband.
“Relax Jayne, this won’t hurt nearly as much as getting stabbed.”
~
Zao gao, the medical bag. Mal don’t recall stumbling over it on his hands and knees jaunt before. Must be under the pile of feiwu trapping them here. Mal shines the pathetic light of the com screen over there again, feeling around blindly with his free hand.
“Miracle!” Mal exclaims when his hand snags what is undeniably a handle. He had been thinking ‘haystack’ and ‘needle’ up until then. Nothing seems broken on cursory inspection.
“Doc, here’s your bag, time to fix people now.” Mal pushes the handles against Simon’s palm for good measure and holds the light aloft. Simon squints at him in the weak glare, but manages a surprisingly professional tone.
“What have we got Captain?” He is grasping the bag firmly. If not for his recumbent position, he’d be most convincing.
“Uhh, head injury and a missing kneecap?” Mal summarises.
“Don’t be ridiculous Captain. Kneecaps don’t stroll off on their own. Shotgun blast or a dislocated patella?”
“The second one.” Mal grits. Amazing how the doctor can be so irritating when he’s half dead.
“Well show me the head injury first, it sounds more serious,” Simon tsks.
Mal grabs Simon’s free hand and quickly moves it up to the lump decorating his skull. Simon winces and touches the area gingerly before looking at Mal again.
“How long was I out?” His voice is subdued.
“’Bout half an hour,” Mal hazards.
“Oh.” Simon reaches up again and presses firmly this time. Face grimacing so painfully that Mal almost grabs his arm to stop him. Abruptly he seems satisfied and lies there panting for a couple of minutes, colour gradually returning to what passes for normal in the unnatural light.
“What was that all about?” Mal asks uneasily.
“No depressed skull fracture,” Simon answers matter of factly. “Are you injured Captain?”
“Nah, just a coupla scratches. Had a soft landing.”
“Then the pain in my leg is the aforementioned kneecap trouble?”
“Surely is.”
“Can you feel the kneecap on the outside of the knee?” Simon asks briskly.
Ahhh. That’s what that…
“Yep.”
“Good. You’re going to have to push it back into position. Probably easier to do if you take my pants off first.”
“Uhh, Doc?”
“Just cut the pants’ leg off. You do have a knife don’t you?” Simon clarifies.
“Course I got a knife!” Mal reaches into his boot.
Would probably make sense to slit up along the outside of Simon’s pantleg, but that funny bit of bone sticking out in the wrong place makes Mal’s stomach a bit queasy. So he cuts along the inner seam instead. Feeling his way cautiously, since he can’t depress the com switch for light while using both hands.
“I think you can stop there Captain. No need to endanger the Tam family genes,” Simon jokes. When Mal lifts the light he can see a sheen of sweat on Simon’s face.
Stop procrastinating, Mal tells himself sternly. Seen plenty worse in the war and since. But seeing a man’s insides ain’t never sent a quiver down Mal’s spine.
“OK Doc, what next?” Mal asks after he has made himself take a good, long look.
“Put both your thumbs under the bottom edge of the bone, and use the rest of your fingers to grip my leg, for stability. Then push up as hard as you can and hope like hell it pops back into place.”
“Say all that again?” Mal requests, trying to picture it and quell his intestines at the same time.
“Lift the light up again,” Simon instructs. He mimes the action for Mal a couple of times, until Mal seems a bit more certain.
“You can do this Captain,” Simon says steadily. “All you need is strong thumbs.”
“Right,” Mal answers, flexing the digits in question. Strong.
Simon’s breathing sounds ragged when Mal gets his hands into position. The muscles of his thigh twitch beneath Mal’s hand.
“Wait!” Simon gasps. “Sorry,” he adds when Mal whips his hands back. “Might be better if I had something to bite down on.”
“Sure thing Doc.” Mal’s heart is hammering so loudly he can barely hear Simon’s words. He fishes in the pocket of his jacket. “Here. It’s clean.”
Simon takes the proffered handkerchief and twists it into a thick rope that he puts between his teeth, gripping the ends tightly with both hands.
“Mmm hmm,” Simon mumbles when he’s ready.
Mal puts the com down and cautiously traces the outline of the displaced bone again. Gets his hands into position. Braces himself mentally.
Simon screams. High pitched and eerie and it lasts forever. The muscles in his thigh are spasming, rock hard, beneath Mal’s fingers, and the currents of air to his left suggest that Simon’s entire upper body is arched off the ground.
Sweat trickles into Mal’s eyes and he feel his hands slip, just as Simon collapses with a dull thud, body limp.
~
Jayne’s merc buddies used to joke that his tombstone should read; “He slept like the dead”, because that was how he’d end up that way. They weren’t really buddies. Jayne don’t have buddies. And it wasn’t really funny. But Jayne laughed anyway, because how else could he pretend that habit weren’t a weakness.
Jayne’s not laughing now. He’s reaching for the light switch, heart pounding, every muscle and sinew taut. He’s just discovered how effective the sound of a blade being unsheathed is as a wake-up call.
Last thing he expects to see is the doctor. Dressed up even prissier than usual, in the middle of the gorram night. Sitting as pretty as you please on Jayne’s chair. Using Jayne’s knife to clean his tama de nails.
~
“Simon? Doc?” Mal scrabbles for the com, fingers sliding across the button at his first attempt to restore light. How hard did he hit his head this time?
Simon’s face bears pain lines, radiating from eyes and mouth, but he’s breathing easily and there are no new lumps anywhere on his skull that Mal can find. He’s already stirring as Mal finishes his inspection.
“Did you get it back?” Simon asks hoarsely.
“No, you passed out.” The words sound inappropriately carefree, but Mal can’t help but be relieved that Simon woke up again.
“Did it not occur to you, Captain,” Simon asks bitterly, “that while I was unconscious, you had the perfect opportunity?”
Huh.
“Never mind,” Simon sighs. “Often this has to be done with a full anaesthetic, so it isn’t your fault. Hold the light for me for a minute.”
Simon rummages through the medical bag, discarding several vials before finding the one he wants, holding it up to the com screen to check the name and strength. He tries to load it into the injector but his hands are clumsy so Mal takes it from him.
Thiolaxine.
“Doc, isn’t that…” Mal can’t quite recall where he last came across that name.
“It’s a muscle relaxant. Give me the whole dose.”
“Is that a good idea? What with the crack to the noggin. Not supposed to give drugs to someone with a concussion.” Mal finishes solidly. Everyone knows that.
“Do you know how to drill a burr hole, Captain?” Simon responds wearily.
“Not as such,” Mal demurs.
“Do we, in actual fact, have a drill, should my skull be fractured and blood be accumulating in the epidural space?”
“No need to get pissy with me Doc,” Mal growls.
“I’m sorry. But if we’re going to die of thirst in this forsaken mausoleum, I think I’d rather do it with my kneecaps in place.”
“We ain’t gonna die Simon,” Mal replies, genuinely shocked.
“Oh? We were hopelessly outnumbered in that ambush. The others were lucky to get Serenity off the ground. They have no idea where we are, no way of finding out and this isn’t exactly the Osiris Ritz.”
Mal shakes himself. Simon sounds so accepting.
“Come on Doc. Your sis is a reader after all. And I’ve a notion that Jayne wouldn’t be none to happy to lose you.”
Mal can just see Simon’s eyebrows raise in the dimness.
“Jayne knows that I’d gladly die to protect River. I hope he knows that I’d kill him, painfully and slowly, if he was stupid enough to let her come back here.”
“Well, be that as it may, Zoe’s never goin’ to leave me stranded, so you’ll just have to put up with bein’ rescued as well.” Mal snorts. “Let’s get you patched up. Full dose?”
“All of it,” Simon confirms. “It’ll take a few minutes to work.”
~
“What in gui do you think you’re doin’?” Jayne explodes, getting to his feet. He’s ready to do some serious violence.
Simon looks at him briefly. The kind of look you give to somethin’ you find squashed on the bottom of your shoe. Somehow, it makes Jayne think he was speakin’ too loud. In his own gorram bunk.
“You’ve been watching me,” Simon asserts calmly, regarding his nails critically.
“You’re as moonbrained as your sister,” Jayne growls. But it comes out higher pitched than usual.
“You think you know what you want,” Simon continues, as if Jayne hadn’t spoken.
Simon gets up, looking at the knife flipping back and forth in his hands, as he casually saunters in a circle around Jayne. Whatever this niushi is, Jayne ain’t gonna fall for it. He plants his legs firmly, don’t turn so much as a hair as the doctor stops behind him.
‘Look here-”
“Bizui.” Simon’s voice crackles with authority and Jayne’s mouth snaps shut automatically. He breathes hard through his nose as he feels cool metal scrape up his back, tank top whispering along his skin as it is lifted by the blade.
“You’re wrong. You don’t know anything,” Simon whispers hoarsely.
Three quick slices and the material flutters to the ground. Jayne moans, low and needy. He doesn’t resist at all as Simon pushes him forward until he braces his arms on the wall. Can only pant as his feet are kicked wider. Shiver as the knife sings again and cool air washes around Jayne’s aching flesh.
It’s been a long time. Jayne had forgotten how good this could burn. He bites his lip as Simon pounds into him hard. Fingers bruising his hips. Pressure building inside with each thrust, until Jayne groans past the taste of blood flooding his mouth.
“Jerk yourself off,” Simon orders. The words alone are almost enough. The words plus the image of Simon, in his three-piece suit, rutting like an animal…
Jayne shudders, his knees sag. The blood rings so hard in his ears, he can’t tell if he imagined it - “You did good Jayne.”
When he finally turns around, his knife lies in the middle of his bunk, glinting in the harsh overhead light.
~
A low giggle interrupts Mal’s reverie.
“Something funny Doc?”
“Not especially,” Simon answers. But laughter peals out of him again, sounding uncannily distant in the dark. Mal reaches out to reassure himself that Simon is still right beside him.
“Guess it’s time to try again, huh?” Mal wipes his hands dry on his trouser legs and positions them by feel alone.
“Dose seems ‘ffishint.” Simon’s agreeable chuckle quickly turns into a sustained moan, punctuated by the sound of his hands flopping bonelessly against the ground. Mal counts to five before he feels the blessed release of bone and muscle sliding back to where it belongs. He lets out a shaky breath and rocks back on his heels.
“It’s done. What now?”
“So much better,” Simon purrs. “You’re a star.”
“Do I bandage it now Doc? Or what?”
“Beautiful, bright bandages. Yesss.”
He’s totally smashed. Mal suddenly has an inkling of where he’s come across that drug before.
“Hey Doc?” Mal asks casually as he unrolls the bandage he found among Simon’s supplies around his knee.
“Hmm?” Simon replies dreamily.
“Ain’t that drug I just shot you full of used as a truth serum?”
“Misnomer!” Simon crows. “Nossuch thing.”
“There ain’t?”
“Nooooo, there ain’t. Isn’t.”
“Why did we call it that during the war, then?”
“Have to wanna tell the truth. Is jus’ a … disinhibula- … a discombobble… Jus’ makes you say things you might not.”
“Like bein’ drunk?”
“’Xactly. But strong.”
“So. You wanna tell the truth?”
“Course! Never lie.” Simon is outraged.
“Omission counts as lying, Doc,” Mal answers gently. For some reason Simon giggles hysterically at that. When he finally stops, Mal decides not to waste any more time.
“Why’d you hook up with Jayne?”
Simon laughs again. “Doesn’t count. No kissin’. Not on the mouth anyway.”
Mal shudders. He thought he wanted to know.
“How’dyou fin’ out? Wassa secret,” Simon asks suspiciously.
Mal flicks the light on again. Simon blinks at him earnestly.
“Saw somethin’. Figured it out. Just not sure why.”
“Seen ‘is muscles?” Simon hoots again. “Course you have. Used to drive me crazy…” Simon trails off drowsily.
“His muscles? So it’s a… lust thing?”
‘No’ muscles, you.” Simon flaps a hand vaguely in Mal’s direction.
“Me what?”
Simon doesn’t respond. His lids have fallen closed and his breathing is deepening. Mal reaches out to shake him. Not supposed to let concussed people sleep after all. Whatever rutting Doctor Tam might have to say about that.
“Me what, Simon?”
“Huh?”
“What made you crazy?”
“Crazy? Whass crazy?”
“I am, obviously,” Mal sighs, defeated. “Try an’ stay awake now, Doc. Stay with me.”
“Mal?” Simon sounds serious.
“Yeah Doc?”
“S’ok. Won’die if you lemme sleep.”
“Alright then Doc. You’d better not.”
Simon’s soft snores are reassuring in the darkness. After a couple of minutes Mal takes his coat off and drapes it over him. Time to see about shifting that pile.
~
Jayne’s head thumps in a way that tells him only something truly greasy will stay in his stomach. Nothing they have on board ship. But Mal’s probably already made coffee, and Jayne’s going to need something to get him through unloading the iron ore in Serenity’s belly.
Laughter drifts out of the dining room as Jayne approaches. Sounds like the Doc is in there… with the Captain. Who’s handing him a mug. Simon’s smiling in thanks. One of those smiles he keeps for his sister -
“Jayne.”
Simon’s tone is like a bucket of ice water. Jayne jumps. He didn’t realise he was standing so close. By the time his guts have stopped twisting about, Simon’s gone and Mal is leaning back in his chair, sipping quietly.
~
“Tama de!”
Mal drags his fingers out from beneath the rock he’s been trying to shift for a small eternity. He sucks on his forefinger and middle finger until the pain ebbs to a dull throb. Then tries to work up enough spit to get the grit off his tongue.
He doesn’t bother flicking the light on again. It’s too dim now. Might as well save it for something more important. Not like it was making a difference to this impossible task.
He’s not sure which is worst at this point. The thirst, or the bone cracking cold. At least he can do something about the second one. Mal staggers back to Simon. He locates him easily in the dark - his teeth have been chattering for quite a while now.
“Got room for one more under there, Doc?”
“The more the merrier.”
Positioning Simon’s leg is awkward, but they manage. Huddling as close together as they can. Simon’s head tucked onto Mal’s chest. Mal’s not sure what the polite thing to do with his arms is. He feels self-conscious with them folded back behind his head, as if he were sunbathing on some fancy beach. Polite is the Doctor’s territory anyhow. And it’s gorram ball-freezingly cold.
It oughta feel all manner of strange, sliding his arms around the doctor. One of his hands seems to have a mind of its own, making a cosy nest for his aching fingers in the soft hair at the nape of the Doc’s neck. Should be awkward, and embarrassing, and wrong. Mal ain’t been this close to another person since Nandi. And there’s nothing in that thought to bring comfort. So why does this feel all peaceful?
They both sleep. Drifting in and out. Grateful for the warmth. Careful of each other.
When Simon finally speaks, it’s in a whisper. As if the still darkness is fragile.
“Do you think Zoe will take care of her?”
“Always.”
~
Humping heavy crates for hours usually leaves Jayne feeling good. Relaxed. But his head hasn’t let up and he’s still on edge as he starts to strip off his sweat-drenched clothes.
Jayne’s not exactly surprised when the door to his bunk clangs open. But he’s not sure if this is the right time. Right now he wants… he wants something he can’t name.
Simon eyes Jayne’s chest until Jayne reaches out for him with a frustrated growl. Simon looks up at him then. Face unreadable. Puts his hands on Jayne’s shoulders and exerts just the tiniest bit of downwards pressure, gaze steady.
Jayne almost laughs. He could squish Simon like the ittiest bug if he wanted to. But he mustn’t want to, because his knees are giving way, even as he wonders what the hell he’s doing.
Mouth full of cock an’ all Jayne can think about is how to wring a noise out of Simon. He barely notices the harsh grip in his hair. He’s trying to read every small twitch of Simon’s hips. Sucking harder and swirling his tongue and adding teeth…
The spurt of bitter fluid takes Jayne by surprise. He swallows anyway. Swallows and swallows until he collapses, heart pounding as if he’s the one who just exploded.
Simon makes short work of his belt and zipper, shoving his pants down just low enough. His grip is rough and he jerks Jayne off in a broken, teasing rhythm that has Jayne writhing and moaning in under a minute.
Jayne can’t move afterwards. Just lies there, feeling the cool patch of skin where Simon wiped his hand dry on Jayne’s chest.
Simon always leaves him wanting more.
~
Mal dreams of rock shifting beneath his hands, rolling back to clear a pathway. He hauls himself through and finds the night sky, brilliant with stars. They shine so brightly he can hardly bear to look, but he drinks his fill anyway. High on freedom. When he looks down, he can’t find the cave again, the entrance is gone. He whirls around, heart accelerating, mouth too dry to yell for Simon…
“Right here Captain, I’m right here.” Simon is shaking him urgently. “Wake up, I think someone’s found us.”
In the end there’s no rush. Takes Jayne and Zoe hours to dig a big enough tunnel. They lose some time when Mal makes Jayne go back to the shuttle for blankets and extra water. Takes quite a bit to slake their thirst.
The cave looks smaller in the harsh glare of the light Zoe pushes through for them. The blood on the Doc’s cheek contrasts sharply with his bleached pallor.
Finally Mal log rolls Simon onto a blanket and tells him to cross his arms and grip the edges firmly so he won’t slide off when Mal drags him to the entrance.
“Ready to blow this joint Doc?”
“I don’t know, I was just thinking of redecorating.”
Jayne is waiting, wedged halfway along the new passageway, arms stretched out to grab one end of the makeshift stretcher.
“On my count,” Mal orders.
Simon watches him steadily through to three; doesn’t break eye contact until Jayne hauls him out of sight.
~
Jayne’s on top of the ‘verse. Don’t even mind sharing the Doc with his fengle sister. Not every week Jayne gets to feel like a hero - rescuin’ the Captain and the Doc, and makin’ sure they got the pay owin’ to them to boot. Sure, Zoe helped… Hey, looks like River’s leaving after all. Sliding off the edge of Simon’s bed after pecking him on the cheek.
“Time to pay the piper,” she says, giving Jayne one of those creepy looks.
Simon winces. His head must still hurt like hell.
“Only way to free Sisyphus,” River admonishes, twisting lightly past Jayne and out the door.
“Anythin’ I can get for ya Doc?” Jayne asks, settling in to the room’s only chair.
“No, thank you Jayne,” Simon answers warily.
Well, Jayne’s never really offered to go out of his way before. Might take some gettin’ used to.
“How’s the headache?” Jane asks, reaching out to brush Simon’s hair back. The flinch takes him by surprise. His hand hovers for a moment before Jayne thinks to snatch it back.
“Jayne-” Simon begins, the look of dread on his face an echo of the heavy weight in Jayne’s gut.
“Don’t,” Jayne interrupts. “I got it. You don’t hafta draw me a picture.”
Simon stares at the ceiling for a long time. He keeps seeing Jayne, sliding the door carefully closed on his way out.
~
Mal waits almost two days before he finds the doctor miraculously unattended. Kaylee’s run out of chocolatey protein treats for once and River has stopped hovering. Jayne, well, he’s busy on septic vat duty. Because the Doc surely don’t need yet another rendition of how chatty the bad guys were by the time Binky was through with them.
“How’s the head?” Mal asks casually.
“Much better, thank you Captain.”
Mal crosses to the chair at Simon’s bedside, perching uncomfortably on the edge.
“You got a bit of colour back.”
“I have?” Simon raises an enquiring brow.
Mal nods then finds something of interest to stare at in the far corner of the room.
“Well, that’s good,” Simon adds after a while.
“Yeah. Good to see.”
Mal fidgets with the passing seconds, regular as a metronome. Finally he launches himself upright.
“Well, guess I’d better go be Captainy.”
“Mal?”
The Captain turns back from the door, face carefully blank.
“Yes Doc?”
“Did you ever hear the saying, ‘Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’?”
“Can’t say that I have. Ain’t that kind of backwards?”
“It seemed to make sense,” Simon says slowly. “But then, a certain ship’s Captain was driving me crazy at the time.”
“He was?” Mal’s lips twitch into a grin. “How crazy?”
Simon’s smile illuminates the room.
“Certifiable.”