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blue_bells» Title: Suckerpunch
» Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Mal/Simon
» Summary: Because Simon understands that he’s the one who keeps giving Mal reason to wonder.
» A/N: Written here for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
enmuse in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic.
Simon hunches over the bench of the infirmary as he spreads salve on his bruised knuckles.
He can hear Zoe and Mal shouting over each other in the next room.
Zoe never took it well when someone raised a hand against her commanding officer. It’s not the first time Simon's been to blame, but circumstances were different back then.
Back then, Mal and Simon were always at odds.
Back then, they weren’t sharing a bed.
The infirmary doors clang shut with a bang and Mal kicks his way through the carefully stacked crates and trays of medical supplies that stand between him and the patient’s chair. Simon can hear Zoe’s boots stomping up the metal staircase towards the bridge, reluctantly dismissed. Apprehension curls in his stomach at the dark look on Mal’s face when the man throws himself down into the recliner and scowls at the Doctor in the corner.
"Well?"
“... It doesn’t look that bad," Simon says, though he feels a stab of guilt seeing the bruise under Mal's eye already beginning to colour.
Mal stares at him for his gall and points at his chiseled profile. “I’ll tell you how bad it is! You could have chipped this cheekbone!”
“I—what? You could have gotten River killed!” Simon counters, guilt dissipating as he glowers at Mal's side, gloved hands aloft. “We’ve talked about this: she’s not ready to grift for missions, you stupid –“ Simon growls, shaking his head, and squeezes his eyes shut. He huffs a breath and tries to collect himself, to take a breath and try again. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
Mal’s face pinches sternly and he narrows his eyes. “Zoe wants to throw you in the brig and I’ve a notion to let her.”
Simon hopes Mal doesn’t see him wince because that’s the Captain talking, terse and even.
“We spar all the time and when you shove me, I shove you… it’s not reflexive for you, too?”
Mal stares at him until Simon slackens because the look is almost, well, hurt. Mal abruptly shakes his head and shrugs. “What can I say? Black eyes aren’t real attractive on you, Doc.”
Simon’s pretty sure his cheeks burn red from the flush of shame that flares in his chest and tightens his throat.
Because Mal was in the war, of course he has those impulses – but controlling them would have made the difference between a successful mission and friendly fire. So, of course Mal knows how to defend himself against Simon of all people.
And, of course, Mal would never counter.
Simon tightly grips Mal’s wrist on the arm of the chair and curses under his breath. He’s so angry at himself that he can’t even look Mal in the eye.
“God, I feel like such –“
Mal interrupts gently. “Why don’t you let me decide what my crew are ‘n ain’t ready for? I’ve been watching your sister and we been down this road before. I wouldn’t put her out there if I didn’t know she was ready for it.”
Mal peels the gloves off Simon’s hands and weaves their fingers together on the arm rest. Simon looks up when Mal pulls their hands to his chest, thumb stroking the back of Simon’s hand.
“She is,” Mal says, steady and sure and Simon realises that he believes him, although he’s staggered that Mal would actually let her interact with the clients. He doesn’t know quite what to say and smooths salve along the bruise on Mal’s cheek with his free hand instead.
Mal squeezes the hand he’s still holding to and Simon realises that Mal is searching his face with a frown, worried.
“Do you trust me?”
And belatedly, Simon understands that Mal’s not asking as a Captain anymore, because Simon struck him as a brother concerned for his sister, not a Doctor challenging his commanding officer. Simon understands because of the way Mal is gently drawing on Simon’s hand, now in both of his, warm, dry and so familiar. He understands the answer when his body immediately presses forward. He leans his forehead against Mal’s before he kisses him slowly, a soft, dry press of apology and Mal muffles a noise of relief against his lips.
Because Simon understands that he’s the one who keeps giving Mal reason to wonder.
“With our lives,” Simon promises when he pulls back.
» Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Mal/Simon
» Summary: Because Simon understands that he’s the one who keeps giving Mal reason to wonder.
» A/N: Written here for
enmuse in comment_fic. Simon hunches over the bench of the infirmary as he spreads salve on his bruised knuckles.
He can hear Zoe and Mal shouting over each other in the next room.
Zoe never took it well when someone raised a hand against her commanding officer. It’s not the first time Simon's been to blame, but circumstances were different back then.
Back then, Mal and Simon were always at odds.
Back then, they weren’t sharing a bed.
The infirmary doors clang shut with a bang and Mal kicks his way through the carefully stacked crates and trays of medical supplies that stand between him and the patient’s chair. Simon can hear Zoe’s boots stomping up the metal staircase towards the bridge, reluctantly dismissed. Apprehension curls in his stomach at the dark look on Mal’s face when the man throws himself down into the recliner and scowls at the Doctor in the corner.
"Well?"
“... It doesn’t look that bad," Simon says, though he feels a stab of guilt seeing the bruise under Mal's eye already beginning to colour.
Mal stares at him for his gall and points at his chiseled profile. “I’ll tell you how bad it is! You could have chipped this cheekbone!”
“I—what? You could have gotten River killed!” Simon counters, guilt dissipating as he glowers at Mal's side, gloved hands aloft. “We’ve talked about this: she’s not ready to grift for missions, you stupid –“ Simon growls, shaking his head, and squeezes his eyes shut. He huffs a breath and tries to collect himself, to take a breath and try again. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
Mal’s face pinches sternly and he narrows his eyes. “Zoe wants to throw you in the brig and I’ve a notion to let her.”
Simon hopes Mal doesn’t see him wince because that’s the Captain talking, terse and even.
“We spar all the time and when you shove me, I shove you… it’s not reflexive for you, too?”
Mal stares at him until Simon slackens because the look is almost, well, hurt. Mal abruptly shakes his head and shrugs. “What can I say? Black eyes aren’t real attractive on you, Doc.”
Simon’s pretty sure his cheeks burn red from the flush of shame that flares in his chest and tightens his throat.
Because Mal was in the war, of course he has those impulses – but controlling them would have made the difference between a successful mission and friendly fire. So, of course Mal knows how to defend himself against Simon of all people.
And, of course, Mal would never counter.
Simon tightly grips Mal’s wrist on the arm of the chair and curses under his breath. He’s so angry at himself that he can’t even look Mal in the eye.
“God, I feel like such –“
Mal interrupts gently. “Why don’t you let me decide what my crew are ‘n ain’t ready for? I’ve been watching your sister and we been down this road before. I wouldn’t put her out there if I didn’t know she was ready for it.”
Mal peels the gloves off Simon’s hands and weaves their fingers together on the arm rest. Simon looks up when Mal pulls their hands to his chest, thumb stroking the back of Simon’s hand.
“She is,” Mal says, steady and sure and Simon realises that he believes him, although he’s staggered that Mal would actually let her interact with the clients. He doesn’t know quite what to say and smooths salve along the bruise on Mal’s cheek with his free hand instead.
Mal squeezes the hand he’s still holding to and Simon realises that Mal is searching his face with a frown, worried.
“Do you trust me?”
And belatedly, Simon understands that Mal’s not asking as a Captain anymore, because Simon struck him as a brother concerned for his sister, not a Doctor challenging his commanding officer. Simon understands because of the way Mal is gently drawing on Simon’s hand, now in both of his, warm, dry and so familiar. He understands the answer when his body immediately presses forward. He leans his forehead against Mal’s before he kisses him slowly, a soft, dry press of apology and Mal muffles a noise of relief against his lips.
Because Simon understands that he’s the one who keeps giving Mal reason to wonder.
“With our lives,” Simon promises when he pulls back.
