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Boundaries

By Rach

SUMMARY: Sometimes boundaries get broken.
PAIRING: Mal/Simon
RATING: PG-13.
TIMELINE: Post Out of Gas. No movie spoilers.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Really, I do. Nothing what-so-ever.
DISTRIBUTION: Uhh … if you want it, ask! I’ll say yes. I don’t remotely bite :D

Simon dropped his hand gently onto Mal’s leg. It was as much a gesture of reassurance for Mal as it was to assert his authority over the situation.

“All right. I have to insist. The captain needs his rest.”

“Yeah.” Mal’s eyes were already closing. “Think the doc might not be wrong about that one.” He was almost asleep when a thought struck him and he forced his eyes open. “You all gonna be here when I wake up?”

Simon shot him an amused glance as he checked the IV that was connected to Wash. He could probably be unhooked soon enough.

“We’ll be here.” Book was the one to reply, though clearly none of them planned to go anywhere. Kaylee was nodding enthusiastically, and Simon realised he was going to have to physically throw them from the room if Mal was to have any chance of sleeping properly.

“’Kay,” Mal murmured, eyes closed again. “That’s good.”

He was out like a light. Book and Jayne did as he asked and left, while River skipped back to their quarters without even having to be told. Inara and Kaylee were the tough ones, having whispered arguments with Simon as they insisted that they wanted to stay and watch over Mal. Eventually they did as he asked and headed upstairs, but only after he promised to call them back down the second Mal woke up.

Silence fell over the infirmary as Mal dozed, only broken by the occasional murmur from Wash or Zoe. Simon had detached Wash from the IV, but couldn’t bring himself to ask him to leave, even though Zoe could have used the chance to rest, too. After an hour or so, he agreed that they could go back to their bunk, provided that Wash made sure that Zoe actually took it easy. He knew that the pilot was still shaken by what had happened to his wife and would follow his instructions to the letter.

Simon worked around Mal, quietly cleaning up what he’d used and setting everything back where it should be. He checked Mal’s vitals every few minutes, and was pleased to see the captain was now sleeping properly and showed no signs of falling back into unconsciousness.

He’d given Mal a large amount of painkillers and sedatives that should keep him out for a good long while, but he knew that when he did come to, he’d be in a lot of pain again. He didn’t want him waking to that alone.

Pulling the stool that Wash had been sitting on closer to the bed, he settled himself for the night. Folding his arms close to his chest, he shivered a little. Clearly the ship hadn’t had chance to warm through, despite Mal having fitted the new catalyzer hours previously.

He’d been running on adrenaline since they arrived back on the ship, and didn’t even realise he’d been tired until he woke to the sound of someone coughing.

“River?” His eyes were still closed. It felt like he’d only been asleep five minutes and wasn’t keen on waking up yet.

The cough came again, and it suddenly sounded more like the cough of someone in pain than someone trying to draw attention to themselves. His eyes flew open. Mal was pushing himself up on his elbows as best he could, staring at Simon in amusement when he wasn’t coughing. And he was sideways.

“I know you like me an’ all, Doc, and I really appreciate the medical help, but …” he laughed, which just served to make him cough again. “When I’m up and about, remind me we need to have a chat about boundaries.”

Simon blinked, thinking that surely he must still be dreaming. He wasn’t. His eyes widened as he realised he’d fallen asleep with his head on Mal’s thigh. “Also, think you could see your way clear to giving me something to help with the pain from the gaping hole in my side? Which I’m assuming is the reason you’re here.”

Blushing, Simon jumped up from his seat, scrambling around for painkillers in the furthest drawer from Mal that he could.

“I’m sorry, I just, uh…” He was fumbling for words as much as he was fumbling to get the needle from the packet, and neither one was being particularly forthcoming.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mal’s voice was gentler now, and he was still smiling through the pain, which made Simon relax. “Yesterday was rough for everyone. Can’t blame you for being tired.”

Simon nodded as he finally finished prepping the injection, and came back over to Mal. “This’ll knock you back out for a few hours. You could still use the rest.”

Mal started to feel woozy almost immediately, and closed his eyes before saying anything. “So could you.” He patted Simon’s hand where it lay, eyes still shut. “In a bed. I’ll be fine here. ‘Sides, I wake up in pain, you’ll hear me screaming wherever you might be.”

He was only half joking.

----

It was a week later when Mal came to his door, still heavily bandaged but off the medication, barring a pill here or there when it just got too bad.

He was reading a book at the time, one of a few medical journals he’d managed to procure on various moons. Mal watched for a minute, smiling at the man’s dedication to his profession and to his sister.

Didn’t mean he didn’t deserve a break like everyone else, though.

He knocked, and Simon looked up, concerned.

“Mal?” He frowned, thinking he knew what was coming next and preparing to repeat his lecture on taking it easy. “Did you pop another stitch?”

Mal shook his head, laughing, and lifted his arm to show the bottle he had clutched in his hand. “Had this sitting around since … don’t even remember when. Been waiting for a chance to drink it.” Simon frowned again, and Mal knew what he was thinking. Why now, then? Why with me? He shrugged, as if that answered it all, though he knew it didn’t. “It was your birthday.”

Simon looked away. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, though Mal could see a sparkle in his eyes to hear that somebody might care that much.

“It does,” came the reply, and Mal sat himself beside Simon on the bed without waiting to be asked. “It mattered then, and just ‘cause the cake ended up splattered all over the walls don’t mean you deserve to celebrate any less.”

He watched as Mal unscrewed the cap and took a sip from the bottle. A gulp, Simon might even have called it. He scrunched up his face and closed his eyes as the aftertaste hit, and then turned to Simon with a grin as it faded into a sickly sweet coating around his mouth. He held out the bottle and Simon stared at it dubiously.

“Go on, doc. It won’t kill you.”

Wrapping his hands around the bottle and still staring at it as though it might spit up at him at any second, he took a sip. An actual sip. He wasn’t brave enough to gulp.

It wasn’t too bad. He raised the bottle to his lips again, daring to drink more this time, and ignored Mal as he raised an eyebrow.

The liquid burned a path down his throat this time, and he screwed his eyes up tight, not able to rationalize what good that would do, but unable to stop himself. When he opened his eyes, he saw Mal laughing at him. “That’s more like it.”

He handed the bottle back to Mal, who didn’t take a drink. Instead he put it on the floor ... and was now staring at him strangely. In fact, from the way Mal was staring and the look in his eyes, Simon was willing to bet money that Mal had already had his fair share from that bottle when he turned up at the door.

It wasn’t until they were kissing that Simon had those suspicions confirmed. The sweet aftertaste was everywhere in Mal’s mouth, and it just served to make him wonder what Mal would have tasted like without the alcohol. He wondered if he would be able to clean it all away if they kissed for long enough. He wanted to strip it down so that just Mal was left behind.

Mal pushed him back on the bed and he felt his foot connect with the bottle. He tried to sit up and set it straight, but Mal kept him pressed down into the mattress. “Leave it,” he muttered, between kisses.

Simon knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t ordinarily complain about any of this, but apparently the part of his brain that stopped him from doing and saying stupid things - a part that worked sporadically at the best of times - had shut down with the shock of it all.

“Mal, are you drunk?”

And as quickly as Mal had been on him, he was standing up, making sure his shirt was tucked in and reaching for the bottle. He was suddenly unable to look Simon in the eye and instead tried to rub the puddle of the spilled liquid into the carpet with his boot.

“Nobody ever teach you about Dutch courage, doctor?”

Simon didn’t think Mal had even finished his sentence before he’d reached out and taken a handful of the captain’s shirt, pulling him back down onto the bed. Just the look of Mal right there, almost vulnerable for a change, was making Simon not care whether he was drunk or not.

He ran his fingers through Mal’s hair whilst the captain kissed his neck, and vaguely wondered how strong that drink must have been that one sip could give him the confidence to do what he’d just done. He also realised he’d probably regret it a great deal in the morning, but just then Mal slipped his hand under Simon’s shirt, and Simon stopped thinking about much at all.

The bottle dropped onto the floor with a clang as Mal unclenched the hand that was still gripping it, and this time neither of them noticed. Or cared.

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