He only means to look in. Just take a quick glance through the infirmary window to make sure nothing's gonna
awry. He's got other things to tend to--Jayne's gonna have a powerfully jumbled mess of thinking going on, a
mess best to be lanced before it festers, and there ain't nobody to do the pokin' and proddin' but himself.
Besides, if he knows anything about his crew, Kaylee's gonna be racing down here to try her very best to kiss
away Simon's boo-boos once she's done setting the engine to rights.
So Mal's plan is to just walk on by. And that's what he's doing, right up until Simon's head snaps up. "Son of
a bitch!" he swears, loud enough for the words to carry halfway into the hold and bounce back again. His eyes
close tight, his jaw clenches and jumps, before he finally takes a few deep breaths and looks back down at his
arm.
"You need some help with that?" Mal asks. Jayne can wait a few, and Kaylee ain't here yet, and he's the captain,
after all. He knows from experience how difficult it can be to patch yourself up one-handed.
"Thank you, I'm fine," Simon says, all proper like, even though he's obviously not. A tidy row of tape sutures
marches up the fleshy middle of his forearm, halting right before the deeper slice that Simon's trying to sew up.
"There was just a small section of muscle that was effected, and I need to make sure it's taken care of so there's
no loss of fine motor function."
Mal nods. "Well, if you don't trust my stitching, Zoe's got a steady hand with a needle."
"I'm almost done."
He's not sure whether the face Simon makes is a grimace or a smile. Whatever emotion is going on in that brain
of his, it don't distract him from his task this time. Mal takes in the blood and impossibly tiny stitches
before looking back to the more interesting sight. Simon's not quite biting his lip in concentration, but his
lips are puckered tight. His brow is furrowed, and the cut on his cheek has split open again.
"I was thinking about what went on earlier," Mal says once Simon clips the thread. "With you and Kaylee."
Simon looks up, eyes wide. "Nothing happened! I already told you that I'd never--"
"Yeah, I think we already established that you didn't do anything." Mal's a little sorry that he knows that
Simon is just defending Kaylee's honor. But that's neither here nor there. "But here's the thing. Kaylee's
pretty much got her heart set on you. Now I ain't saying one thing or another, but I think you know how much
Kaylee means to me."
Simon laughs, and Mal must truly be mellowing in his old age, because it used to be that rich-boy snootiness
would have both his gut and fists curling up tight. "I'm sorry? Are you trying to warn me off of her, or force
me into her arms? It's been a long, strange day, and I'm just not up to whatever passes for logic on this ship."
Mal snorts. Shakes his head. "Reckon I don't rightly know, my own self."
Simon doesn't say anything. He's busy taping his skin together, finishing off the last stretch. The cut's
going to leave a scar, no doubt, and Mal finds himself meanly glad of that fact. Nobody out on the Rim goes
unmarked for long. Nobody, except Alliance.
"I'd never hurt her," Simon says softly. "Not on purpose, anyway."
"No, you'd just let her bleed out to get your own way."
Simon flinches, but doesn't try to defend himself. Mal rubs at the back of his neck, trying to push down his
sudden anger. There ain't no reason for it, not now. Especially when he's glad that Simon didn't come out
worse than he did, being on the wrong end of Stitch Hessian's un-tender mercies.
Simon begins cleaning the cut on his face. It looks red, a little swollen, like a touch of infection has set in.
The antiseptic has to sting as Simon scrubs it into his soft, tender skin, but he never even blinks. Doesn't
even get close to swearing, and Mal thinks maybe it was frustration rather than pain that made him do so earlier.
When Simon sets aside the final antibiotic swab and reaches for the roll of tape, Mal steps in closer and takes
it out of his hand. Just because he's a mean son of a bitch isn't a good enough reason for Simon to end up with
a scar on his pretty face, not when he can prevent it. He avoids Simon's eyes as he peels a strip free, but he
can't help catching a glimpse of that too-smart gaze as he figures out where he needs to start.
"I imagine Kaylee's gonna do what she wants with her heart, no matter what you or I do," Mal says. He stretches
the back half of the tape across the cut, smoothing his thumb across it to make sure it won't bubble up over
Simon's skin. "I suppose the question is, what do you really want?"
The muscles under Mal's fingers jerk and bunch, right before Simon laughs. It's a sound so bitter Mal's
surprised it didn't come from his own self.
"What I want," Simon says, and even if Mal couldn't hear the anguish in his voice, he'd be able to feel it travel
across his face. "What I want is for River to be healthy, and happy, and safe. I can't think of anything beyond
that."
He looks up, then, and Mal's not sure if he means to be that open, but Mal can't look away. There's a world of
hurt in those big brown eyes, and a world of want. A world of hunger for things he's so damn sure he can't have.
Mal's mouth goes dry. He forces his gaze away, worried about what he himself is showing, and sets about finishing
the task he's assigned himself. It takes him two tries to pull off a piece of tape, but his fingers are steady
again by the time he applies it to the cut.
"There," he says, though his voice is too raspy for his own liking, "you'll be pretty again before you know it."
"Thank you," Simon murmurs. Mal can feel his gaze still on him, asking too many questions.
"Ain't a thing," he says, then slaps Simon on the shoulder. "Now go on with you. Kaylee's gonna want to know
you're okay."
Mal leaves without looking back. It's been a long, crazy day, and he's still got Jayne to see to.