Security Blanket
Rated: PG
Category: Gen, Mal/Zoë Friendship, Pre-Series.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sometimes A Pillow Is Just A Pillow. Other Times, It's A Whole Lot More.
Note: Written in response to the LJ prompt of 'Pillow' on ff_friday.
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There were no sharp rocks sticking into his ears.
No buttons pressed into his face.
Nothing at all bothered Malcolm Reynolds.
That's why he woke up.
The surface under his head was too smooth, too comfortable, too unfamiliar.
He moved only his eyes at first, trying to suss out what was going on.
They didn't help.
The darkness around him was complete.
His ears were no good, either.
They heard only distant crickets and leaves in the wind; the barest hints of sound.
Nothing unusual.
His nose, however, finally put things together.
Leather and sweat and a hint of gunpowder identified his pillow.
Zoë.
She'd been next to him when he'd dozed, and somehow he'd moved in his sleep to put his head in her lap. His cheek rested atop her thigh as he lay on the ground beside her, curled in a fetal position. Zoë was sitting with her back against the sandbag wall of their fortifications, pistol in one hand and eyes wide open.
Mal shifted immediately when he realized where he was, mortified at being in such a position.
No sooner had he begun to move than a strong hand stilled his head. It was none too gentle and could not be argued. Mal froze instantly.
Half a second later, he was practically deaf.
The blast from Zoë's pistol echoed in Mal's skull a thousand times. The hand on his head disappeared and he sat bolt upright, struggling to ready his own weapon as the soft thud of a body hitting dirt sounded nearby.
Zoë smiled in an oddly serene way.
"He was alone, sir. No need to fret."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"Wakin you up ain't exactly the quietest action in the 'verse, sir, and he didn't know we were here. Fortunately for us, the same can't be said of me in regards to his location."
"Still, woman… best be wakin me in the future when our space is crawlin with purple bellies."
Zoë nodded seriously, but her voice was almost amused. "Absolutely, sir. Won't let you sleep ever again."
Mal suddenly squirmed. "Yeah, well… best be movin along. That stiff's buddies are bound to have heard your shot."
"I suppose that's so, sir."
Mal nodded. "I know so."
"Want to meet up with Riley's patrol down east of here?"
"Suppose that's as good a plan as any."
"Yes, sir."
Mal and Zoë stood and gathered their few belongings. Mal regarded his second for a moment as they set out to join the rest of their platoon. Zoë noticed.
"Sir?"
Mal squirmed again. "Nothin. Just… sorry bout that."
"Bout what, sir?"
"Ah, well, you know… the sleepin and all."
"It wasn't your watch."
"I meant more the, uh… the where I was sleepin."
Zoë grinned.
"Ain't nothin wrong with usin what's available, sir. In case you hadn't noticed, we're fightin a war. Things ain't always so plentiful in times of war. Got to make do with what's handy, sir."
Mal's mind flashed back to the image of Zoë's left hand on his head while her right blasted their enemy from this life, and he was grateful beyond measure that fate had thrown Zoë his way. They were indeed fighting a war, but there was no making do where Zoë was concerned. Mal knew there was no safer place in the 'verse than next to her, and he aimed to stay there as long as humanly possible.
"I noticed that my own self," said Mal. "Guess that's alright, then?" he added with a sheepish grin.
"Yes, sir."
"Good to know. Oh, and Zoë?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Remind me never to piss you off."