The stumble back to the ship was entirely Simon's fault. But he didn't mind so much. He wasn't sure about Mal, though.
Every time he tripped, or swayed, or slowed, Mal tucked his arm low around Simon's middle and righted his pace. Simon didn't realize he had two fistfuls of Mal's shirt and suspenders until he nearly landed flat on his own face. Once more, Mal planted his palm on Simon's chest, and they carried on.
Mal was so solid, and warm...
Simon was surprised when the Captain finally led them onto the ship, that his first stop was the infirmary. In his current state, he was fairly certain he would have rather been anywhere else. Mal left the drunk leaning on the doorframe while he rifled through a cabinet. Simon was tired, but not too tired to try to keep his infirmary in order.
"Please...just...what are you looking for?" Simon slurred as he made his way to lean on the counter, but thought better of it. The ship spun around him in spite of the fact that it sat upon solid ground.
Mal tossed a smile over his shoulder and continued his search before he finally shook a bottle of pills in triumph. "Your best friend in the mornin', Doc."
Simon felt his brows gather as he realized how true the statement was, and pocketed the painkillers when Mal handed them over. They loitered there, maybe too long – standing in the doorway facing one another, one slumped and one rigid. Simon felt a different kind of knot in his stomach.
The Captain was so strong...and broad...and-
And slinging the smaller man over his shoulder.
"What-what the hell are you-" Simon fought, briefly, pushing his hands at the other man's back until he finally settled on clutching the Captain's belt and pushing himself up. Mal let him fight, and continued on his way up to Simon's room.
Simon landed on his bed when Mal slung him down like a sack of potatoes, arms splayed out and hair messed up as he stared wide-eyed.
He couldn't be alone. Not now.
"Do you know what I told her?" he asked, and in that moment he was certain that he would have said absolutely anything to make the Captain stay.
"Reckoned you'd tell me if the mood struck," Mal said as he made quick work of the laces on Simon's combat boots. Something he never would have worn before...
Was he uninterested? Or was he just being Mal, maintaining boundaries and being selectively respectful of the ones he felt in most danger of collapsing?
"I'll tell you," Simon struggled to prop himself up on his elbows as Mal tossed his boots to the floor. He didn't fully register that Mal had moved on to the laces of his own boots.
"But promise you won't tell anyone."
Mal looked hesitant. Like he knew it was something he didn't want to be trusted with. But Simon had never felt so alone, so desperate to pull someone into his orbit. And whether he liked it or not, the Captain was a good man. Trustworthy. At least with this. Maybe he'd even picked up some oddly worldly wisdom, as he seemed to with most things...
"Go on then." Mal sat on the end of the bed and removed his boots, the swirl of motion momentarily distracting the drunk. The promise was implied.
"I led her on," Simon finally choked out. Ground his teeth together. Grit them against the chilly air, the man that wouldn't meet his eye. He opened his mouth to continue, but-
"'Cause you're sly," Mal supplied easily. Like it wasn't something that had been eating at the younger man, destroying him on the inside since he was old enough to figure out exactly why he'd been so jealous of his childhood best friend's girlfriend. Like it wasn't a deviation from the norm, like his parents wouldn't have been heartbroken to know he couldn't carry on the family legacy. Like he wouldn't have been disowned for that alone, if not for everything else. Like his only experiences hadn't been secretive, shadowy, shameful.
Simon only knew his tears were falling again because of the look in Mal's eyes. Finally upon him. He didn't look away.
"She made things feel normal."
It was feeble. It was selfish. It was all he'd been holding onto, aside from River.
He wondered where that left him.
Mal sighed.
"Weren't your finest moment, Doc," Mal said as he hauled a chair to the corner of the room. Simon blinked at him.
"No," he agreed as he picked at a hole in his sweater, "I suspect I've used all of those up."
Mal tried to hide a smile behind the blanket he was shaking out. He didn't disagree. The bed felt cold, felt empty.
The blanket drifted down over Simon's rumpled form. "Just say it."
"What's that?" the Captain asked, busied with tucking the blanket in and shoving old flattened pillows behind Simon's head. He could smell the alcohol on his own breath as it bounced off the other man's chest. He still wasn't close enough.
"Tell me I'm a terrible person," Simon quietly obeyed as Mal tugged him to lay on his side, a small trash bin within reach. "Tell me I deserve every ounce of suffering I get."
All good humor left the Captain's demeanor, and he withdrew enough to stare down at the drunken Doctor, hands propped along his head. Simon's throat felt dry. But he still didn't look away.
"Ain't a soul that deserves it less." His tone was firm, left no room for argument. Simon looked for something in his eyes that he desperately wanted to see. Mal smoothed Simon's hair away from his face and he felt like he was on fire.
"Get some rest," it was an order. Mal retreated, too soon, to the chair in the corner. Crossed his ankles, crossed his arms, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes – lead by example.
But he didn't leave.