I could blow up the whole goddamn world with this thing.

Title: Feeling Better
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Rating: PG
Genre: Fluff.
Summary: Tag for Jaynestown. Mal checks up on his doctor.
Word Count: 697



Kaylee is still fussing around Simon in the infirmary when Mal shows up a few hours after their many narrow misses on Canton. She's doing little more than fluffing pillows and straightening the blanket around Simon, chasing away imaginary wrinkles. Her face is pinched like she's, understandably, still mad at the unconscious man for what had happened that morning but was doing her best to forgive him in light of his current condition. The thought made Mal smile. It wasn't easy to get Kaylee to hold a grudge, but the boy had a particular penchant for sticking a foot (or two, as was usually the case when he was around Kaylee) in his mouth. In fact, the only times he didn't get stuck on words were when he was doing his medicine and when he was arguing with Mal.

Mal sends Kaylee away because, honestly, didn't she have work to be doing? He settles down next to the counter and his eyes land on the doctor, attempting to understand the confounding puzzle of a man through sheer force of will. His gaze was caught by the sight of black thread running sloppily through the pale skin of his bare arm and he felt a tug in his stomach as it made a sort of clench and unclench movement. The contrast was startling. The stitches were a mess of curling, dark loops, emphasizing the stark, crisp lines of Simon's white shirt. Zoe had doped Simon up a little before he had managed to protest, saying that he need to be lucid to suture his cut. Zoe had raised an eyebrow at that. There probably wasn't a person on the boat save Wash and Kaylee (and who knew about the Preacher) who didn't have enough experience with field wounds to do a far sight better job than that, but Simon had been insistent, even as his hand slipped and he dropped the needle for what had to have been the fourth time. He'd fallen asleep, exhausted, as soon as he'd finished the last stitch, before he'd even tied it off, needle still hanging from the thread in his arm.

Now, the tired blue eyes blinked awake, pale throat moving as he swallowed slowly, tight-lipped frown the only indication of pain. After a few minutes of observing, Mal cleared his throat and Simon nearly jumped out of his skin.

"How you feelin', Doc?"

Simon frowned at the amused lilt of Mal's voice but answered in clinical disinterest. "As well as could be expected, considering. Maybe even better."

Mal laughed. "You don't even wanna know the kinda stuff Zoe's got runnin' through your system right now."

The frown on Simon's face deepened and his eyes drifted up as his mind began whirring with all kinds of medical concern, Mal knew. The boy was too easy to read. Mal stood and made his way over to Simon's side, hip against the metal of the bed so they were face to face, Simon's upwards facing eyes moving to meet Mal's own. Neither of them said anything for a long moment that was broken when Simon lowered his eyes to his injured arm and a comically disgusted expression came across his face.

"What happened here?"

Mal followed the path of his eyes to the mess of black thread and he let out another laugh. "That," he explained in a very matter-of-fact voice, "is what you get when you put a pian zhi de doctor, an injury and mild sedatives together."

Simon's face pinked and Mal turned his eyes back to his arm, fingers coming up to play gently with the loose thread near the end of the cut. He jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned when Simon inhaled sharply. He cast apologetic eyes up to Simon's face, only to find it even more colored and wide eyed, just lightly slack-jawed. Mal smirked and leaned in until his breath played across Simon's face.

"Zoe says you'll be fine in no time, but 'tweren't just your arm got hurt today. I think," his voice dropped to a husky exhale, "we're gonna have to keep you in bed 'till you're feeling better. Just to make sure."

Simon smirked back and closed the distance between them.



Chinese
pian zhi de - stubborn