He's Got a Secret
Day 1 – Damage
Disclaimer: Firefly, the Serenity, and all characters included herein (with one exception) are properties of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, Fox Television and/or Nathan Fillion (not sure where ownership lies at present). I'm not getting any money for writing this; I'm just happy Whedon, Fillion and friends gave me such a nice toy box to play with. So please, no lawyers – I don't want to deal with them any more than Mal Reynolds would. (As for the one exception … he is available for other fanfics, if you need a pilot with a nearly incomprehensible accent.)
Author's notes: this takes place after the BDM and the comics ... say, six months to a year after the last one. It has no connection whatsoever to my previous Firefly story, "The Wisdom of Kaylee."
"Soymon, thurr's a call fer ya from yer lassie," sounded the speaker in the galley.
Simon smiled. Oliver Quine, the new pilot of Serenity (replacing the late and much lamented Hoban Washburne), had an Irish – specifically, Ulster – accent that was as thick as oxtail soup. Simon could make out what he was saying, though … most of the time. "I'm on my way." He put away the bowl of various proteins he was mixing in an attempt to make something that would taste like potato salad, and headed for the bridge.
As he walked through the corridors, he reflected on the strange turns his life had taken. Three years ago, he'd been starting off in medical practice, much to the beaming pride of his parents, prepared to make a ridiculous amount of credits and wondering how his sister was doing in the special Alliance school (he thought) she was attending. Now … now he and River were fugitives from "justice" after he broke her out of the military hospital where they were trying to turn her into a super-soldier (and maybe succeeded). He'd basically been disowned by his father. And he was serving as sawbones to as ragtag a bunch of fly-by-night traders/smugglers/semi-outlaws as ever romped around the Outer Planets, on a ship that always seemed like it was one bad malfunction away from falling right out of orbit.
And, when he was honest with himself, he'd admit he was having the time of his life. His new compatriots were smart and fun-loving, in an earthy, sometimes brutal sort of way. There was plenty of adventure, enough that the crew always had need of his skills. He was learning about life in a way he'd never could've before, sheltered in the protective cocoon of his upper-caste Alliance upbringing. River was in a (comparatively) safe place, learning to use all the gifts that had been nefariously given her. And he'd met Kaylee – Serenity's shade-tree mechanic, and a woman who put all those pampered, powdered Alliance girls he grew up around to shame.
All in all, his personal ledger was in the black. If only the food on the old tub was better, he might never want to leave …
He entered the bridge. Oliver, a squat fellow with bright red hair cut down to a burr, nodded in greeting and turned back to the console. "Kaylee lass, yer man's here. Foire away."
"Simon?" Kaylee's voice crackled over the speaker.
"Right here, darling." Kaylee liked being called "darling" – along with "honey," "sweetie" and every other endearment he could come up with. They always felt artificial to him, but if she enjoyed them, that was reason enough ...
"Heading back to the ship on the mule. You need to get the sick bay ready – we got work for ya."
"Oh no, what happened? Did the robbers catch any of you?" Serenity had been contacted the previous day with an unusual job. It seemed the little bank in New Topeka, on New Kansas (snappy nomenclature there) had been robbed twice in the last three months by a group of heavily armed toughs, and the local sheriff's miniscule force had been outgunned both times. There was reason to believe the thugs would make another strike this afternoon (it was a major market day), so the sheriff – having heard that a vessel of resourceful traders, also well-armed, was in the area – hired Mal and whoever Mal could bring to supplement the forces on his side. They'd agreed on a percentage of the stolen goods if such could be recovered, and a flat fee if it couldn't. The upshot was that Mal, Zoe, Jayne, Inara and Kaylee had staked out the bank in various disguises, while Oliver held down the fort and Simon and River (still wanted by the authorities) stayed out of sight.
"Oh, no – we caught them! All of them as showed up, anyway. Didn't take five minutes from when they arrived, and they were all in chains. Captain and Zoe are helping the sheriff interrogate 'em right now to find out where they hid the loot."
Simon let out a breath. "I'm glad you're all right!" Meaning "you" in the singular – Kaylee – as much as in the plural.
"Well … most of us are …" Kaylee trailed off – and then started giggling.
Simon's brow furrowed. "Kaylee, what's going on? What do you mean?"
He could hear someone – Jayne, maybe – grumbling in the background as Kaylee tried to compose herself. "See … one of the bad guys tried to run for it … and Inara tripped him, and his rifle … but Jayne was looking the other way, dealing with another one of 'em, and …" She began to giggle again.
"Kaylee – what happened?"
"Jayne … Jayne got a butt full of buckshot!" Then Simon heard her collapse in laughter, and Jayne roar, "JUST GET ME BACK TO THE GORRAM SHIP!"
Five minutes later, the mule skidded up the gangway of Serenity – Inara driving, Kaylee riding shotgun, and Jayne flat on his stomach across the back seats. Simon, having dispatched River to get the sick bay in order (among her many other skills, she was becoming a passable nurse), was waiting for them as they stopped, a bolus of anesthetic at the ready. Before anything else, he injected the solution directly into Jayne's exposed – and perforated – right bum.
Jayne was less than grateful. "Liu-mang! You could at least warn a guy first!"
Over the previous months, Simon had figured out how to deal with Jayne when he was like this. "You're welcome. Can you walk?"
"Hrrrmm … think so," Jayne grunted as Inara helped him down from the mule. He took a few tentative steps, and while his limp was pronounced, he could still get around.
Simon, in the meantime, had gotten a good look at the two women. Kaylee was always a sight for sore eyes – especially in that pink dress, the one she'd bought on Persephone a couple of years ago. Inara, however – judging by her skin and clothes – looked like she'd been dragged through a mud wallow by a particularly energetic pack animal. "Inara, are you all right?"
"Me? I'm fine – it's just Jayne who …" Suddenly she caught on. "Oh, you mean this? I was just impersonating a beggar."
The thought amused Simon, for obvious reasons. "You were pretending to be a beggar?"
Inara smiled. "I know, I know. But we needed someone outside acting as lookout, someone who could look inconspicuous and handle a gun. Zoe didn't want to, and Kaylee …"
"You know I ain't so good with weapons," Kaylee finished with a shrug.
"So Mal and Kaylee pretended to be a local couple, Zoe was a rich planter from out of town, Jayne was a sleeping bank guard, and I –" Inara gestured at her clothes. "– got to play against type. But I am very much looking forward to a nice hot bath. And Jayne, I am truly sorry …"
"It was an accident, I know," Jayne grumbled, still limping around. "Ain't the worst wound I've had."
"But still, we need to get all that metal out of …" Simon almost mentioned the location, but caught himself; he didn't want to send Kaylee into another giggling fit. Not right now, anyway. "… of there. Let's go down to the sick bay."
"Right behind ya … oh, bizui, woman!" Jayne finished, as apparently the word "behind" – coupled with his current exposure of the same – had been enough to set Kaylee off again.
Sure enough, River had taken care of setting up the sick bay with everything Simon could possibly need to remove (by his visual estimate) about forty balls of buckshot from Jayne's keister: gloves, topical anesthetic, antiseptic, forceps, a pan to hold the removed shot, a scalpel, skin-suturing gel, a metal-detection scanner, plenty of sponges and gauze, medical adhesive, and a hypo of lead-poisoning antidote. If anything, it was overkill; in a pinch Simon could probably have done the job with just the antiseptic, the gauze and a potato knife. But nurses-in-training tended to take the "better safe than sorry" route, he knew … "Okay, Jayne, just drop your trousers, bend over the bed and we'll see about getting all that lead out."
If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought Jayne had suddenly become nervous. "Um … bend … over?"
"Yes. Come on – the more time you waste, the more risk there is of lead seeping into your bloodstream."
"But … can, uh …" No doubt about it, he was definitely nervous. "… can'tcha just take 'em out while I'm … y'know, standin' up?"
"No, Jayne, I can't. Now don't worry – I'm a doctor, and I've seen lots of pi-gu in my time. Yours won't shock me, I promise."
Jayne mumbled something that Simon couldn't make out. He took a deep breath, glanced warily back at Simon, then in a single movement undid his belt, whipped down what was left of his pants and boxers and bent over the bed. He stared at the floor, his whole body tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the other side. River picked up the disposal pan and stood on the opposite side of the bed from Simon.
Simon went to work, spraying antiseptic on the wounds and making sure everything else was safely within his reach but not Jayne's – the patient, he'd learned from previous operations, had a tendency to lash out. "If anything, if you're going to get shot, that is the best place to be hit. Lots of muscle in the area, and no major organs."
"I can think of some major organs not too far away," Jayne replied, the sarcasm still clear despite his gritted teeth.
"They're not on this side, though," Simon riposted. He removed the first piece of lead, and dropped it into the pan River was holding with a clank. "Look, you can relax …," he added as he got a hold of the next piece.
There was a strange quaver in Jayne's voice that Simon hadn't heard before. "Yeah, yeah, just get it done, all right?"
So that's what Simon did for the next few minutes. Pretty soon there was a collection of about twenty pellets in the pan, and Simon was having to pause here and there to mop up the blood that was weeping from the small punctures. Yes, he'd definitely need to use the anti-lead-poisoning medication. He reached for the hypo. "Okay, this might sting a little …"
"It already stings a little – what's the diffAAAIYAAA, TIAN XIAO-DE! THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"
Simon was just thankful that Jayne was still gripping the bed, as it had kept him from flinging his arms around and accidentally hitting something – or someone. But the way the man's voice had risen over an octave was alarming enough.
"Jayne, it's okay." River was bending down near Jayne, almost whispering in his ear.
"Hell it's okay!" Jayne's voice was high and tight with … panic? He sounded, Simon realized, like he was about to burst into tears. But what was the likelihood of that …
River was still talking softly. "He's not going to hurt you. You're safe here. What happened then isn't going to happen now …"
Jayne bolted upright, almost knocking the forceps from Simon's hand. He roared, then began yelling at River. "WITCH-GIRL, GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I DON'T WANT YOU MESSING AROUND IN MY MIND, YOU … YOU EMO-FU!"
"Jayne …"
"WHAT?" he bellowed – and then suddenly realized that the doctor was holding a scalpel at his neck.
"I'm trying to do the best I can to patch you up. I think the least you could do is to not refer to my sister as a demon." Simon's voice was as cold as the point of the steel blade against his carotid artery. "Do you think you can manage that?"
Jayne glanced at River (who, surprisingly, hadn't moved an inch or changed her expression during the whole outburst), then down again. When he spoke, his voice sounded weary, but otherwise normal. "Yeah. Yeah, I can. Let's just … get this over with." He waited until Simon had removed the blade, then bent over the bed again and resumed his death grip on the opposite edge.
Simon shrugged. It was probably as close to an apology as he was likely to hear. He put the scalpel down and picked up the forceps again. "Believe me, Jayne, I want that as much as you do." A flick of the forceps, and another pellet clattered into the bowl. Clank!