Fic: Therapy (Wash/Simon, River/Simon)
Title: Therapy
Author: wildannuette
Rating: R going onto NC-17
Pairing: Wash/Simon, one sided River/Simon (csi warning-one sided)
Summary: Simon’s so focused on how uncomfortable he is, on the pain in his foot and the awkward embarrassment of the situation that he missed the concern on Wash’s face earlier. The way the pilot rushed to grasp for him, taking care to hold Simon in a way that didn’t aggravate his foot, but in a way that accidentally gave him a shuai view of the man all naked and wet. A view he had to avert his own eyes from to offer the injured man help, rather than be tempted to flirt.
Thanks to tresa_cho for the beta :)
Disclaimer: Joss owns.
Third part of the Broken Series, the prompt is broken bone.
Simon's well-aware just how clumsy he can be in every-day life. And of just how ironic that is given there's no clumsiness to his touch when he wields a scalpel and deftly cuts and repairs. His hand doesn't shake when he doctors, fingers don't tremble and he doesn't stumble when moving from patient to patient. He does, however, quite easily trip over his own feet from time-to-time when moving around his infirmary, when cleaning and tidying and left alone with thoughts that so easily take him over that Simon wonders if they aren't the cause of his clumsiness. If his musings don't drag him so deeply into thought that his feet forget how to properly move.
He often reflects like this, often takes time to think over and imagine. Time he knows could well be spent on other endeavors. He's sure the infirmary could always do with a thorough clean, despite how often he scrubs it and River, he could spend the time racking his brain and trying to come up with another way, another combination of drugs, that could be successful in keeping her lucid. But he doesn't, he spends it thinking over things, conjuring up ideas and fantasies in his mind that have nothing to do with healing and everything to do with how he feels. And who he feels for. It should just be River, should just be the Alliance and how they are constantly sought and chased, should even be worrying on what would happen if they are caught. He does think on those things, the last being a constant worry at the back of his mind that he tries to avoid but they aren't what comes most of the time.
River, yes, she's always there. His sister, his patient, his...there are so much more she is to him. So much that she wants to be and shows in both words and actions. But he has to push thoughts on her away a lot, so close do they lean towards what she wants when he feels uncertain or worried, so close they could almost cross over a line if he didn't drag himself back. And if he wasn't stopped by another, larger leaning. Towards Wash. A person he is always clumsy around despite his best attempts, clumsy in words rather than motion, stumbling over them especially when they become flirtatious and suggestive and he has to speak over them quickly in case Wash notices.
It's been three months. Of touching, of confusion, of wondering if he's actually being touched back, Wash always seeming to be around when Simon needs help, or grasping to hold him upright when he's unsteady. Which he is a lot around Wash. Simon's never sure if Wash's flirting or just being friendly, his talks to Simon border on both. One moment the man's quiet, letting Simon talk on River, rant on just what atrocity has been done to her. The next he's saying words that have Simon speechless, like offering to help tuck Simon in when he'd been shot and attempting to coax Zoe into removing his pants when she was working removing the bullet.
A sudden, sharp cramp shoots up Simon's leg and he curses, twisting to lean against the wall and peer down at it. He doesn't bend over, knowing he'll easily lose his balance. River's the expect at dancing around things, at holding herself tall and careful, unswayed even on the tiniest of perches. His foot smarts and he looks down at it, his polished shoe already removed, his lips pressing together in distaste as he eyes the purple coloration of his bare foot. Clumsiness again, not the cause of his pain now, but the cause of his injury which brings about the pain.
Hopping isn't the most dignified of motions and doing it makes Simon uncomfortable and flares up the pain. Gingerly, he limps along the Serenity's corridor, his lips pressed all the tighter as he moves. He could have called for help, his voice is sure to travel far enough for one of the few remaining people on board the ship to hear. He could have even commed up to the cockpit, or engine room and asked for help. Having just left Kaylee, Simon knows she is sure to still be there, just as Wash is sure to be in the cockpit. Not flying, because they were grounded at the moment-Mal and the others out on a job-but probably working out some flight plan or keeping an eye out for the others.
Simon just doesn't want to be a burden, especially now when they finally planet-side and Kaylee's got all the parts she needs that bring a smile to her face and have her crooning softly to Serenity as she works. It's good to see her smiling again, to hear and see her laughing without that tense look on her face interrupting it midway, interrupted by a fear that has her shaken still, weeks later. Trying to put on a brave face, a stiff mask that keeps on smiling, only giving herself away to someone who takes the time to look, and is stubborn enough to keep pressing the issue. And Simon had looked. Looked and felt guilt for it, too. Irrational guilt born out of an action he'd had no control over. An action Early had taken great pleasure in promising to torment Kaylee with.
She'd been so shaken, much as she tried to hide it and had come close to sleeping with a iron bit she'd taken from her toolbox under her pillow. Simon had noticed quickly how easily she switched to her bunk, refusing to sleep in the engine room as was normal for her. He'd let her yell at him, let her rage when she needed too just happy she was showing someone the real her and somewhere in the middle of it all her attentions had shifted. He'd become friend and confidant, enough so that he'd been confident enough to approach Mal, the captain having become more concerned and questioning with her. Almost to the point of panicking her into revealing what the rest of the crew didn't know, just what Early had threatened her with.
It had been easy enough to get Mal's attention, to talk to him quietly and convince the captain of how subtle was the best approach to use with Kaylee, and show him the difference between his own ‘subtle‘, and Simon's much more appeasing approach. Which involved Mal using his own ideas, but Simon's wording; mentioning the idea of using money to patch up on security which had, as a side-effect, prompted Jayne to offer to be 'guarding her bunk'. The mercenary promising violence towards anyone wanting to hurt her. Bizarrely enough she'd found the latter more endearing, something Simon just couldn't fathom, especially when he'd noticed Jayne looking at him a lot during some of the more graphic and painful descriptions.
Shameful as it is, Simon can't bring himself to care that Early had ended up dead, not after what he'd threatened Kaylee with, what he could have done to River if she'd been his bounty. Simon grimaces at the word. Not to mention the wound that had only recently healed on his leg. He feels it's ironic; that he's just lost the limp when he walks on that leg and now he's gained one in the other. Early's trip on board has left them better off coin-wise, disturbingly enough. Selling off the parts and the man's ship itself gave them quite substantial credit and Mal had known just the right people to go to-the ones who wouldn't ask.
He definitely doesn't want to be a burden. Doesn't want Kaylee fussing around him and worrying again, feeling guilty that it is the toolbox she dropped on his foot that's made it swell so much and ache. He'd managed to avoid cursing when she'd dropped it, had swallowed the noise in a strangled cry and controlled himself enough to limp out. He wouldn't deny the action had made his vision swim, made sickness curl in his stomach as he doubled over. But luckily he'd been bent over, cradling his foot so closely that she hadn't seen that. And when she'd started to worry and insisted on calling Wash, he'd managed a weak pained smile and convinced her all he needed was to soak his foot. If she'd kept him any longer he may not have kept up the act, but thankfully the promise of more items arriving for Serenity had pushed her to keep working. Keep smiling and lose the worry from her face.
Which is why he struggles with the door to the shower room instead, why he almost overbalances as he shrugs off his clothes, feeling the need to take advantage of the abundance of water they have access to now they are docked. He's had enough of thinking and his foot is starting to pulse painfully now. All Simon wants is to enjoy the hot flow of water from the shower, to feel it wash over him and drown away the thoughts.
Except nothing's ever quite that simple, as Simon finds when he almost slips over, arms splayed against the side of the wall, teeth clenched to avoid the whimper of pain spilling out when he knocks his foot. Certainly not so simple when he feels hands steady him and tries to twist around to look at whose helping, him holding him. Who's seen his embarrassingly weak moment.
Certainly not so simple when the man looking at him with a concerned frown on his face, is the who shouldn't be coming close to him whilst he's naked.
Go se
“Can I help you?” The words come out more sarcastic than Simon would have liked, fueled both by pain and the automatic defensiveness that came with being seen like this. With Wash seeing him like this. Hurting and in need of help.
He’s relieved to see that Wash doesn’t flinch away, though his mouth tightens for a moment, displeasure shown in a frown that quickly fades. And Simon’s blushing, both because of the man’s proximity and because of his own bad manners.
“I’m sorry, Wash. Thank you.”
“Always here to help.” Wash’s grinning, making an awkward moment for Simon so obviously-not one for him and Simon’s heart sinks a little at it.
“I’ll be fine, honestly.” Simon bites back the, ‘I’m quite capable of doing this myself’ that wants to come out. That wants to push Wash away and not see that friendship. It’s ludicrous that he wants Wash’s friendship, has sworn a promise to have only that in fact, but can’t face it when he knows that’s all he’ll have.
Simon’s so focused on how uncomfortable he is, on the pain in his foot and the awkward embarrassment of the situation that he missed the concern on Wash’s face earlier. The way the pilot rushed to grasp for him, taking care to hold Simon in a way that didn’t aggravate his foot, but in a way that accidentally gave him a shuai view of the man all naked and wet. A view he had to avert his own eyes from to offer the injured man help, rather than be tempted to flirt.
“Don’t be so prissy, Simon.” Wash is still smiling and he’s not letting go of Simon, instead he’s guiding him against the shower wall, where Simon can find a handhold to steady himself as Wash fiddles with the water tap. “Kaylee said you’d hurt your foot, looks like…pretty in need of looking at, really. Kinda purple and fat. You sure you shouldn’t be in the infirmary? I can play doctor ‘til Zoe gets back to help you. I can mop your brow and everything.”
Wash is still smiling, that infuriatingly attractive smile that has Simon wanting to kiss him, that feeds most of Simon’s more wanton fantasies. But he shifts away from him a little, setting his feet further apart to keep balanced and gingerly moving the toes of his sore foot. He manages the barest wiggle, which makes a sharp band of pain encircle his foot and grits his teeth. It might well be broken, much as he’d like to just ignore it. He’s ready to concede that perhaps, after he’s showered alone, Wash might help him back to the infirmary. The idea of Wash helping him bathe, which Simon suspects Wash has in mind when he looks over his shoulder and sees the man with his own washcloth in hand, is non-negotiable.
The pain should certainly be enough to keep him from getting hard, despite the interest his has in Wash, but Simon isn’t willing to put himself through it just in case. He’s not masochistic enough to allow Wash to start touching and stroking and feeding into his own fantasies.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Wash doesn’t answer him, just gives him a look that Simon can’t decipher as he mutely hands over the cloth and turns the tap full on.
The first shower of warm water is soothing, takes away the coldness that he’s started to feel in his body. But as it runs down his leg onto his already hot and sore foot, he yelps in pain, instinctively bending his knee and stepping out from the spray. Stepping down hard onto the metal floor. Agony shoots up his leg, makes his whole body vibrate and his vision go hazy. The white-hot pain sears through him and Simon feels sick to his stomach, doubles over as if he’s about to empty it, smashing his fingers against the wall as he gropes. And slips.
He could have added a concussion to his injuries if Wash hadn’t moved so quickly.
The Pilot drops to his own knees, sliding as he does, to keep Simon steadied. To let Simon lean on him, face pressed to his shoulder and body trembling as the pain fades down to a throbbing ache. Simon can’t speak, can’t form any kind of noise save a choked splutter as his breathes. In, out, in and out. Deepening and steadying the breath as the tremors stop.
“I’m gonna overrule you this time, Simon. I’m taking you to the infirmary, like it or not, and Zoe’s taking a look at that foot. Ah-” Wash shakes his head and Simon’s not about to argue, but he doesn’t voice it, as Wash continues. “Don’t even. You’re always so damn stubborn. Pig-headed and stubborn.” He nods emphatically at that, but it doesn’t bring a smile to Simon’s face. “Di yu, Simon, you’re a doctor, you should know better. Why can‘t you just let anyone help you?”
There’s no answer to that one, not one Simon can give anyway. How can he explain how much he needs to keep his distance. How badly betrayed and hurt he and River both were by their own family, by their parents, only to find that Serenity offered them another chance. Friendships, civilities in some cases, but friendship with some of the crew. Something River calls family and Simon deeply wishes he could. Something he knows deep down that if he lets them come closer, lets them see him, and maybe even what his sister was meant to be, they’ll be no chance of it. Especially if he lets Wash close. He can barely toe the line of friendship and that’s when he pulls back. He has no desire to ruin a marriage and more than one friendship as well as a home, by letting people close.
“You can be hard work sometimes, you know?“ Wash is sighing now, drawing Simon’s attention to him.
Gripping Wash tightly, he bites pack a pained groan as the man helps him to his feet, helps him stagger to lean against a wall and dress. His clothes are damp, but Simon’s not complaining, glad Wash isn’t patting him dry, isn’t pushing him further into his depressive want. He can’t respond to Wash’s words, hasn’t got answers the man could hear and that won’t break his promise if he gives them. He can’t look the other man in the eyes, despite the reassuring murmurs Wash gives as they painstakingly make their way along Serenity.
But he does let himself lean on Wash as he’s helped to the infirmary.
Author: wildannuette
Rating: R going onto NC-17
Pairing: Wash/Simon, one sided River/Simon (csi warning-one sided)
Summary: Simon’s so focused on how uncomfortable he is, on the pain in his foot and the awkward embarrassment of the situation that he missed the concern on Wash’s face earlier. The way the pilot rushed to grasp for him, taking care to hold Simon in a way that didn’t aggravate his foot, but in a way that accidentally gave him a shuai view of the man all naked and wet. A view he had to avert his own eyes from to offer the injured man help, rather than be tempted to flirt.
Thanks to tresa_cho for the beta :)
Disclaimer: Joss owns.
Third part of the Broken Series, the prompt is broken bone.
Simon's well-aware just how clumsy he can be in every-day life. And of just how ironic that is given there's no clumsiness to his touch when he wields a scalpel and deftly cuts and repairs. His hand doesn't shake when he doctors, fingers don't tremble and he doesn't stumble when moving from patient to patient. He does, however, quite easily trip over his own feet from time-to-time when moving around his infirmary, when cleaning and tidying and left alone with thoughts that so easily take him over that Simon wonders if they aren't the cause of his clumsiness. If his musings don't drag him so deeply into thought that his feet forget how to properly move.
He often reflects like this, often takes time to think over and imagine. Time he knows could well be spent on other endeavors. He's sure the infirmary could always do with a thorough clean, despite how often he scrubs it and River, he could spend the time racking his brain and trying to come up with another way, another combination of drugs, that could be successful in keeping her lucid. But he doesn't, he spends it thinking over things, conjuring up ideas and fantasies in his mind that have nothing to do with healing and everything to do with how he feels. And who he feels for. It should just be River, should just be the Alliance and how they are constantly sought and chased, should even be worrying on what would happen if they are caught. He does think on those things, the last being a constant worry at the back of his mind that he tries to avoid but they aren't what comes most of the time.
River, yes, she's always there. His sister, his patient, his...there are so much more she is to him. So much that she wants to be and shows in both words and actions. But he has to push thoughts on her away a lot, so close do they lean towards what she wants when he feels uncertain or worried, so close they could almost cross over a line if he didn't drag himself back. And if he wasn't stopped by another, larger leaning. Towards Wash. A person he is always clumsy around despite his best attempts, clumsy in words rather than motion, stumbling over them especially when they become flirtatious and suggestive and he has to speak over them quickly in case Wash notices.
It's been three months. Of touching, of confusion, of wondering if he's actually being touched back, Wash always seeming to be around when Simon needs help, or grasping to hold him upright when he's unsteady. Which he is a lot around Wash. Simon's never sure if Wash's flirting or just being friendly, his talks to Simon border on both. One moment the man's quiet, letting Simon talk on River, rant on just what atrocity has been done to her. The next he's saying words that have Simon speechless, like offering to help tuck Simon in when he'd been shot and attempting to coax Zoe into removing his pants when she was working removing the bullet.
A sudden, sharp cramp shoots up Simon's leg and he curses, twisting to lean against the wall and peer down at it. He doesn't bend over, knowing he'll easily lose his balance. River's the expect at dancing around things, at holding herself tall and careful, unswayed even on the tiniest of perches. His foot smarts and he looks down at it, his polished shoe already removed, his lips pressing together in distaste as he eyes the purple coloration of his bare foot. Clumsiness again, not the cause of his pain now, but the cause of his injury which brings about the pain.
Hopping isn't the most dignified of motions and doing it makes Simon uncomfortable and flares up the pain. Gingerly, he limps along the Serenity's corridor, his lips pressed all the tighter as he moves. He could have called for help, his voice is sure to travel far enough for one of the few remaining people on board the ship to hear. He could have even commed up to the cockpit, or engine room and asked for help. Having just left Kaylee, Simon knows she is sure to still be there, just as Wash is sure to be in the cockpit. Not flying, because they were grounded at the moment-Mal and the others out on a job-but probably working out some flight plan or keeping an eye out for the others.
Simon just doesn't want to be a burden, especially now when they finally planet-side and Kaylee's got all the parts she needs that bring a smile to her face and have her crooning softly to Serenity as she works. It's good to see her smiling again, to hear and see her laughing without that tense look on her face interrupting it midway, interrupted by a fear that has her shaken still, weeks later. Trying to put on a brave face, a stiff mask that keeps on smiling, only giving herself away to someone who takes the time to look, and is stubborn enough to keep pressing the issue. And Simon had looked. Looked and felt guilt for it, too. Irrational guilt born out of an action he'd had no control over. An action Early had taken great pleasure in promising to torment Kaylee with.
She'd been so shaken, much as she tried to hide it and had come close to sleeping with a iron bit she'd taken from her toolbox under her pillow. Simon had noticed quickly how easily she switched to her bunk, refusing to sleep in the engine room as was normal for her. He'd let her yell at him, let her rage when she needed too just happy she was showing someone the real her and somewhere in the middle of it all her attentions had shifted. He'd become friend and confidant, enough so that he'd been confident enough to approach Mal, the captain having become more concerned and questioning with her. Almost to the point of panicking her into revealing what the rest of the crew didn't know, just what Early had threatened her with.
It had been easy enough to get Mal's attention, to talk to him quietly and convince the captain of how subtle was the best approach to use with Kaylee, and show him the difference between his own ‘subtle‘, and Simon's much more appeasing approach. Which involved Mal using his own ideas, but Simon's wording; mentioning the idea of using money to patch up on security which had, as a side-effect, prompted Jayne to offer to be 'guarding her bunk'. The mercenary promising violence towards anyone wanting to hurt her. Bizarrely enough she'd found the latter more endearing, something Simon just couldn't fathom, especially when he'd noticed Jayne looking at him a lot during some of the more graphic and painful descriptions.
Shameful as it is, Simon can't bring himself to care that Early had ended up dead, not after what he'd threatened Kaylee with, what he could have done to River if she'd been his bounty. Simon grimaces at the word. Not to mention the wound that had only recently healed on his leg. He feels it's ironic; that he's just lost the limp when he walks on that leg and now he's gained one in the other. Early's trip on board has left them better off coin-wise, disturbingly enough. Selling off the parts and the man's ship itself gave them quite substantial credit and Mal had known just the right people to go to-the ones who wouldn't ask.
He definitely doesn't want to be a burden. Doesn't want Kaylee fussing around him and worrying again, feeling guilty that it is the toolbox she dropped on his foot that's made it swell so much and ache. He'd managed to avoid cursing when she'd dropped it, had swallowed the noise in a strangled cry and controlled himself enough to limp out. He wouldn't deny the action had made his vision swim, made sickness curl in his stomach as he doubled over. But luckily he'd been bent over, cradling his foot so closely that she hadn't seen that. And when she'd started to worry and insisted on calling Wash, he'd managed a weak pained smile and convinced her all he needed was to soak his foot. If she'd kept him any longer he may not have kept up the act, but thankfully the promise of more items arriving for Serenity had pushed her to keep working. Keep smiling and lose the worry from her face.
Which is why he struggles with the door to the shower room instead, why he almost overbalances as he shrugs off his clothes, feeling the need to take advantage of the abundance of water they have access to now they are docked. He's had enough of thinking and his foot is starting to pulse painfully now. All Simon wants is to enjoy the hot flow of water from the shower, to feel it wash over him and drown away the thoughts.
Except nothing's ever quite that simple, as Simon finds when he almost slips over, arms splayed against the side of the wall, teeth clenched to avoid the whimper of pain spilling out when he knocks his foot. Certainly not so simple when he feels hands steady him and tries to twist around to look at whose helping, him holding him. Who's seen his embarrassingly weak moment.
Certainly not so simple when the man looking at him with a concerned frown on his face, is the who shouldn't be coming close to him whilst he's naked.
Go se
“Can I help you?” The words come out more sarcastic than Simon would have liked, fueled both by pain and the automatic defensiveness that came with being seen like this. With Wash seeing him like this. Hurting and in need of help.
He’s relieved to see that Wash doesn’t flinch away, though his mouth tightens for a moment, displeasure shown in a frown that quickly fades. And Simon’s blushing, both because of the man’s proximity and because of his own bad manners.
“I’m sorry, Wash. Thank you.”
“Always here to help.” Wash’s grinning, making an awkward moment for Simon so obviously-not one for him and Simon’s heart sinks a little at it.
“I’ll be fine, honestly.” Simon bites back the, ‘I’m quite capable of doing this myself’ that wants to come out. That wants to push Wash away and not see that friendship. It’s ludicrous that he wants Wash’s friendship, has sworn a promise to have only that in fact, but can’t face it when he knows that’s all he’ll have.
Simon’s so focused on how uncomfortable he is, on the pain in his foot and the awkward embarrassment of the situation that he missed the concern on Wash’s face earlier. The way the pilot rushed to grasp for him, taking care to hold Simon in a way that didn’t aggravate his foot, but in a way that accidentally gave him a shuai view of the man all naked and wet. A view he had to avert his own eyes from to offer the injured man help, rather than be tempted to flirt.
“Don’t be so prissy, Simon.” Wash is still smiling and he’s not letting go of Simon, instead he’s guiding him against the shower wall, where Simon can find a handhold to steady himself as Wash fiddles with the water tap. “Kaylee said you’d hurt your foot, looks like…pretty in need of looking at, really. Kinda purple and fat. You sure you shouldn’t be in the infirmary? I can play doctor ‘til Zoe gets back to help you. I can mop your brow and everything.”
Wash is still smiling, that infuriatingly attractive smile that has Simon wanting to kiss him, that feeds most of Simon’s more wanton fantasies. But he shifts away from him a little, setting his feet further apart to keep balanced and gingerly moving the toes of his sore foot. He manages the barest wiggle, which makes a sharp band of pain encircle his foot and grits his teeth. It might well be broken, much as he’d like to just ignore it. He’s ready to concede that perhaps, after he’s showered alone, Wash might help him back to the infirmary. The idea of Wash helping him bathe, which Simon suspects Wash has in mind when he looks over his shoulder and sees the man with his own washcloth in hand, is non-negotiable.
The pain should certainly be enough to keep him from getting hard, despite the interest his has in Wash, but Simon isn’t willing to put himself through it just in case. He’s not masochistic enough to allow Wash to start touching and stroking and feeding into his own fantasies.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Wash doesn’t answer him, just gives him a look that Simon can’t decipher as he mutely hands over the cloth and turns the tap full on.
The first shower of warm water is soothing, takes away the coldness that he’s started to feel in his body. But as it runs down his leg onto his already hot and sore foot, he yelps in pain, instinctively bending his knee and stepping out from the spray. Stepping down hard onto the metal floor. Agony shoots up his leg, makes his whole body vibrate and his vision go hazy. The white-hot pain sears through him and Simon feels sick to his stomach, doubles over as if he’s about to empty it, smashing his fingers against the wall as he gropes. And slips.
He could have added a concussion to his injuries if Wash hadn’t moved so quickly.
The Pilot drops to his own knees, sliding as he does, to keep Simon steadied. To let Simon lean on him, face pressed to his shoulder and body trembling as the pain fades down to a throbbing ache. Simon can’t speak, can’t form any kind of noise save a choked splutter as his breathes. In, out, in and out. Deepening and steadying the breath as the tremors stop.
“I’m gonna overrule you this time, Simon. I’m taking you to the infirmary, like it or not, and Zoe’s taking a look at that foot. Ah-” Wash shakes his head and Simon’s not about to argue, but he doesn’t voice it, as Wash continues. “Don’t even. You’re always so damn stubborn. Pig-headed and stubborn.” He nods emphatically at that, but it doesn’t bring a smile to Simon’s face. “Di yu, Simon, you’re a doctor, you should know better. Why can‘t you just let anyone help you?”
There’s no answer to that one, not one Simon can give anyway. How can he explain how much he needs to keep his distance. How badly betrayed and hurt he and River both were by their own family, by their parents, only to find that Serenity offered them another chance. Friendships, civilities in some cases, but friendship with some of the crew. Something River calls family and Simon deeply wishes he could. Something he knows deep down that if he lets them come closer, lets them see him, and maybe even what his sister was meant to be, they’ll be no chance of it. Especially if he lets Wash close. He can barely toe the line of friendship and that’s when he pulls back. He has no desire to ruin a marriage and more than one friendship as well as a home, by letting people close.
“You can be hard work sometimes, you know?“ Wash is sighing now, drawing Simon’s attention to him.
Gripping Wash tightly, he bites pack a pained groan as the man helps him to his feet, helps him stagger to lean against a wall and dress. His clothes are damp, but Simon’s not complaining, glad Wash isn’t patting him dry, isn’t pushing him further into his depressive want. He can’t respond to Wash’s words, hasn’t got answers the man could hear and that won’t break his promise if he gives them. He can’t look the other man in the eyes, despite the reassuring murmurs Wash gives as they painstakingly make their way along Serenity.
But he does let himself lean on Wash as he’s helped to the infirmary.