Inevitable
Author's Note: The following may, in fact, contain non-graphic Character Death. Stop here if that notion unsettles you to an undue degree. Also, it's only fair to note that this is more an exercise in attempting vaguely Jossian dialect while musing about plot armor from an abstract perspective than much of an actual story.
Disclaimer: Don't own it - not making money from it - just having fun.
Simon put it off some. That top three percent, it weren't worth nothing when it came down to it. Having a bona fide Core-trained doctor on board down-rated the seriousness of all manner o' messes the crew managed to get themselves into. Yet for all the disasters averted, the human body was a fragile thing of skin and bone, sinew and organs, and it could only take so much abuse. Even the best doctor in the 'verse could only fix so much.
Wash and Zoe helped, too. In part they did so through being the consummate professionals they were in their capacities aboard Serenity, just as preciously important as Simon's contributions. Weren't a person in the verse he'd trust more than Zoe to watch his back and had plenty of good reason over the years to feel justified about it, too. Even if Wash got on his nerves more'n a time or three, the man was a bona fide artist in the pilot's seat. That weren't all, though. They also helped through the way they loved one another. Sure, the thought of the two of them as a couple struck him as more than a mite weird whenever he paused to think about it. Still, it proved every day that people could move beyond all manner of terrible things and make a present worth livin' in if they had enough love and just kept working through it.
The pull of the love and duty to the crew as a whole were their own weights against the current. Little Kaylee's pure sunshine disposition what kept her always pointing out the bright side was a powerful pull on the spirit of a man. The obligation to keep her safe enough to stay that way was a weight of responsibility to be borne proudly. One had to also take into account things like River's playful smiles on a particularly coherent day, and hell, even some o' Jayne's stories were worth sticking around for. As for the preacher, well, he couldn't hold with God no more, but the man was a fair sounding board that he could respect. And it was just possible that a small part o' him could admit to being glad someone could've seen as much of the 'verse as Book had and still manage to keep his faith. In the end, though, none of these things was enough.
Permaybehaps it wasn't fair to say so, but Inara brought it closer. Not fair, but certain true. It weren't just the leavin' alone that done it, nor the purely obvious nature of her doin' so being him an' his awkward near-confession after the mess with poor Nandi. It was just as much her lack of being there and Kaylee's not-near-as-subtle-as-she-thought jibes when the girl was feelin' lonely enough with her jie-jie gone to be ornery about it.
Not even to mention as much as keeping the crew and the ship together were reasons for getting up the will to face each day, they were just as clearly a burden to bear. Some days the weight of keeping them all from straying past the raggedy edge into full-on starving was just as heavy as all the ghosts he still carried from the war. And those ghosts? Well, those weren't any kind of shiny either, but the less they were cogitated on, the better.
Thing was, Mal Reynolds had always been possessed of a streak of reckless a mile and a half wide on a good day. Never quite got him corpsified in the war, but not for lack of what looked mighty close like tryin' on his part some days. It didn't hurt he was younger, faster, and sufferin' from the aftereffects of far less old wounds then – not to mention in possession of more luck and lives than a crazy spinster's pack o' cats - but those were edges he lost as time passed, while the recklessness never did.
Only so many times a man could get shot or stabbed in just the least damaging place before someone finally managed to tear up something necessary beyond even Simon's considerable abilities of fixing. Not that Simon even got the chance to attempt to negate the effects of those last, best-placed holes. Man was dead before Jayne took out the gun that did it and long before he and Zoe drove the mule back to the ship, both pretending not to be thinkin' too hard on the bloody mess in the back seat.
It weren't no one's fault in particular.
If it hadn't happened that day, it would've some other.
It was just inevitable.