Seven months and fifteen days after they lost Wash, Inara packed up every last scrap of silk and satin, scoured
the shuttle clean of even the slightest wisp of incense and fancy tea dust, and took off for parts unknown.
Mal can forgive her for leaving. They were pretty much through two months after they started, anyways. Still,
he'd kind of thought they'd keep on going forever, two grinding stones perpetually rubbing against each other,
turning everything good between them to dust. So he has to concede that she maybe did the right thing by leaving
him, and Serenity.
But he's never going to forgive her for taking Kaylee with her.
"They're safer out there," Simon says, staring up and out of the cockpit one month and three weeks into the
single life. Mal isn't sure if he's the one being spoken to, or if he's just the only one with ears to hear it.
"Away from me, and River."
"Reckon that's so," Mal says, and that's the truth. He reckons they're safer away from his ownself, as well,
but he's not moved to say that out loud. He just checks their heading one more time, then settles his hands
behind his head so he can take in the stars, too. Simon sighs, and Mal wonders if he sees the same thing Mal
sees, or if he's still blinded by his Core-raised beliefs.
Wonders if he sees freedom.
"I keep telling myself that," Simon says. He turns his head just enough that Mal can see his wry smile. "In
some misguided hope that it will make a difference."
"It will," Mal says, and that's the lie.
The day after River's birthday party, Simon finds him on the bridge, like he does most nights.
"I didn't get a chance to say thank you earlier," he says, hand resting on Mal's shoulder for a brief second
before he moves on. "It meant a lot to River. And to-- Thank you."
Mal nods. "It's good to see her smiling and happy-like. Good for the peace of the ship."
"I wish Kaylee had been there," Simon says, but he's not staring out at the stars. "River misses her."
Mal doesn't say anything at all.
It's a pale strip of skin that finally gets to him, some three months after Mal fires their second post-Kaylee
mechanic.
River handles most of the repairs now, but she's taught them all how to pitch in. Simon's still better with
flesh than metal, but he tries his best. The tools get away from him every now and then; maybe they're too big,
too heavy for his delicate hands. If Mal was a nice man, he'd use his longer reach to pick up the wrench that's
slipped into the engine hollow. But since he's not been nice for a very long time, he just watches as Simon
stretches forward. His head is turned to the side, his eyes closed, his fingers doing the seeing.
Mal's not sure how close Simon is to success, because he can't look away from the strip of skin that's exposed
by the maneuver. Simon's shirt has rucked up, and the narrow waistband of his pants has slid down, dipping
towards the rise of his hip. It's skin that's rarely seen sunlight, paler than his once lily-white shirt, and
he can tell even without touching that it's soft and smooth. Mal's fingers twitch from wanting to reach out,
pull the cloth down, protect that delicate flesh from all the ills of the 'verse.
Mal tears his gaze away, fishes the wrench out of its hidey-hole, and stomps out of the engine room.
He's to the bridge before it occurs to him that Simon was staring back.
"Took you long enough," Simon whispers two days later, mouth pressed close to Mal's ear. His skin is as soft as
Inara's, his lips nearly as talented, but the only things unyielding about him are the strength in his muscles
and the hardness of his cock.
"Did it?" Mal asks, twisting so that they're side by side in his bunk. He curls his hand around the back of
Simon's neck, running his thumb through the silken hair at Simon's temple. He smiles, and Simon smiles back.
"Wasn't paying much attention to the time."