I Am My Own
Simon wandered through the streets of Clearwater, missing his sister terribly, and absently twisting the ring on his finger just to remind himself that he still had Mal. The streets weren't too busy, but enough people were brushing past him that he compulsively checked for his wallet every few minutes. He barely even saw the man who knocked him over.
Falling hard on the dirt road, Simon sat stunned as the crowds stepped around him. He turned and froze, his eyes locking on the seedy man who had knocked him down. Ghost white skin lined with years of anger, face shrouded by fire red hair, and an unforgettably chiseled jaw. He was dressed properly, like Simon, but ignored any bit of breeding telling him to help Simon up. Simon didn't want his help. Just seeing him made his blood run cold. He couldn't even speak the name of the man who had abused him so many years ago. Heart pounding, Simon forced his eyes closed, knowing he must be hallucinating – the man who had hurt him was dead. Dead!
Taking a deep breath, Simon opened his eyes and gasped. The man had taken two steps closer and now towered over him. Grabbing Simon's arm, he pulled him roughly to standing. The touch burned right through to his skin, and Simon whimpered at first, but then ripped himself free.
"Very bold, boy," the man hissed in that same arrogant snake-like voice he'd always used. The words dripped from his tongue like venom. Simon's jaw clenched, unwilling to be a slave to this man again. Unwilling. Unable! The burn of the man's touch on his skin ignited a rebellious, hate-filled fire inside. Fists clenched, he whispered assuredly to himself, "I am my own."
"Are you?" the man mocked snidely.
Burning with anger, Simon launched forward, his fist connecting squarely with the man's iron jaw. He swung back and struck again, but this time the man blocked, laughing tauntingly. Simon managed a few more punches before the man caught his arm and twisted it behind Simon's back. He could feel the pressure in his wrist as his bones struggled not to break. Simon didn't care about such trivial injuries. Grunting at the strain on his arm, he kicked and butted against his attacker until he was free. The man lunged again, but Simon side-stepped, looking for an out. He hadn't run two steps before he slammed into Jayne's chest and nearly toppled again. Jayne caught him easily, holding him up with a fist on his shirt, and spinning him to face the attacker again while keeping one hand protectively over Simon's chest.
"This man bothering you, Doc?"
Simon looked uncertainly from his sinister attacker to Jayne, worlds colliding. The bruises on his fist told him he'd fought with a real man, but his mind spun around the knowledge that it must be a stranger. The man who had hurt him was dead! When Simon looked up again, the crowds were moving and his attacker fled. With a satisfied grunt, Jayne placed a hand on Simon's shoulder and led him back through the streets toward the rendezvous.
#
Simon forced himself to stop shaking, banishing the image of his abuser from his mind. He twisted the ring on his finger, thinking of Serenity, and found his composure. When he saw the mule across the square, Mal, Zoë, and Kaylee loading it with fresh supplies, he shrugged Jayne's hand off his shoulder and his breathing soothed.
Nodding courteously to the others, Simon quickly clasped his hands behind his back to conceal his bruised knuckles. Zoë noticed immediately and shot him a questioning look, so he rolled his eyes and smiled apologetically. Since pairing up with Mal, Simon had waffled his way into and out of trouble on more than one occasion. Kaylee accused Mal of being a bad influence, but Simon figured he could shrug off the fight as nothing serious if only he could keep calm and not picture that face.
"Simon," Kaylee admonished, catching the non-verbal exchange between him and Zoë. "What did you get up to?"
"Tussle," Jayne answered for him. Simon unclasped his hands to swat Jayne, since there was no need to hide anymore. "Real vicious one too. Looked fun."
"Oh, yes, fun," Simon agreed sardonically, avoiding Mal's eye. It didn't matter. Mal saw right through him. With a quiet wave, he motioned Simon toward him and wrapped him in a one armed hug, intentionally keeping things casual. It was a litmus test of sorts that he used to check just how rattled Simon was by something. Simon smiled gratefully, leaning his forehead on Mal's, and then without thinking, his hand wandered up Mal's back and hooked over his shoulder. With a shudder, he pressed his eyes shut, knowing he'd just failed the test.
Wrapping both arms around Simon, Mal guided him to the far side of the mule for a more private conversation and Simon couldn't help it. Now both his hands were hooked over Mal's shoulders, like he didn't trust Mal (or anyone) to hold him up when his knees buckled. Despite being perfectly aware of this stress response, Simon had never successfully repressed it when he was shaken and terrified and confronted with his past.
"You alright?" Mal breathed quietly in his ear, one hand pressed against Simon's back, the other in his hair. He was being careful, trying to make it look like their normal good-bye, so that Simon wouldn't be embarrassed in front of the others.
"Just hold me a moment," Simon answered, clinging to Mal, burying himself in the scent and feel of the present. Mal obliged with a gentle smile, holding on until Simon's grip relaxed and his arms fell easily around Mal's waist.
"He's going for half an hour not half a decade!" Kaylee teased, peeking over the top of the mule. "No need to get all dramatic."
Mal looked up at her with a soft smile while Simon's face stayed pressed against his chest. With a gentle kiss, they said good-bye. Then Simon climbed onto the mule with Kaylee and Zoë and their supplies to go back to the ship and Mal and Jayne went to meet the client. Jayne punched Mal in the shoulder, trying to knock that plastered grin off Mal's face. Simon watched them walk away, biting his lip wistfully, until Kaylee swatted his arm – the one that man had nearly broken. He covered his wince with laughter and swatted back. As far as she and everyone else knew, it was a normal day.
#
Simon had been brooding since River left, but his nightmares were getting more and more intense. He said it was because Mal had gotten shot that day in Clearwater, and though it wasn't more than a graze, Mal had no way to argue against that. It was the third night, they'd finished the job, and Simon had had a fairly easy day, so Mal hoped things were getting close to normal. But now they were lying in bed, and Simon was sleeping more fully on top of him than usual and Mal was sure his left arm would be asleep in ten minutes if they didn't adjust some. Still he figured he'd wait it out, because once asleep, Simon was fairly pliable.
Simon's cheek rested on Mal's shoulder blade, leaving humid moisture on his skin with every breath. He could feel Simon twisting the ring on his finger, blinking in concentration, forcing his eyes open despite the tug of sleep. At Simon's motions, Mal couldn't help but thumb across the textured ring on his left hand, smiling at the deep engraving. It was exactly what he would've chosen for himself had he been standing next to Simon in the shop when he got it. With his arm pinned, Mal couldn't do much more than feel, so Mal turned the ring again and Simon wriggled.
"Stop that," Simon murmured into his skin.
Startled, Mal lifted his head to look back at Simon, but got no reaction. He curled his fingers again and only then realized how close they were pinned to Simon's nethers. With a devious smile, he intentionally pinched Simon between his first two fingers and Simon wriggled again, stifling a laugh, rolling and pulling Mal with him. They turned just far enough for Simon to get a good grip on Mal, but then whatever wrestle-instinct that initiated the move fell out of the both of them and Simon just stroked Mal lazily and kissed across the skin of his back. Mixing a pleasured groan with laughter, Mal pulled Simon's leg over his and began rocking backwards. Simon stilled the motion by tightening his leg around Mal's hips, but he continued rubbing against Mal in a slower rhythm matching that of his hand. The strokes were gentle enough to get Mal happy, but not enough to make him hard. Just as a check, Mal reached for the jar of lube on the bedside table, but Simon shook his head, nose rubbing against the back of Mal's neck.
"Not tonight," he sighed softly.
Disappointed, but not surprised, Mal pulled Simon's hand off his cock and set it serenely onto his stomach. Simon nestled against his back, spooning their bodies together. Comfortable. Pleasant. Weird. He and Simon never slept like this. He waited, feeling the tickle of Simon's lashes as he finally lost the battle against his drooping eyelids and surrendered to sleep. As their breathing fell into rhythm, Mal considered sleep too, but his lungs never seemed to work right when lying on his side. Mal started rolling onto his stomach again, pulling Simon over him like a blanket, but the motion made Simon stiffen. And then it happened. Simon's hand snaked up and hooked around Mal's shoulder
"Simon?" Mal queried, placing a hand over Simon's as he tried to turn and face him. Simon's arm constricted forcefully around him, stealing his breath. His hands were slick, and Mal could feel the drops of perspiration forming on Simon's face.
"Please, no," Simon whimpered, pressing his face against Mal's skin. "No," Simon begged again as Mal wriggled and turned. His body went so stiff, Mal couldn't even sit him up, so he just stayed lying down, both arms wrapped tightly around Simon.
"Snap out of it, Simon," Mal whispered soothingly, shaking him gently. The move only made Simon tenser, his face purple from holding his breath. "Wake up, please. Wake up, I'm here."
Simon gasped loudly, his eyes flying open. His body trembled for want of oxygen, and all Mal could do was hold on. He looked into those wild eyes, fear striking in his heart. Simon's clothes were drenched with sweat, his parched mouth flapping but unable to talk, his body contracting.
"Simon," Mal cried out, curling Simon against his chest.
"His touch," Simon choked, burrowing against Mal. "It burns." Simon's body withered before him, collapsing and dying at once.
"No, Simon, look at me," Mal ordered. When he saw the blood on Simon's shirt, he panicked. The seizing, the writhing – it reminded him of a soldier bleeding out painfully.
"No!" Mal demanded, ripping the clothes from Simon's body, seeking the source of the blood. Everywhere! It seeped right through his skin, and where it didn't he was purple with bruises. Heart racing, Mal ripped the top sheet from the bed and wrapped it around Simon, running through the halls of Serenity and straight to the shower. He thought of using a cold shower to snap Simon out of the nightmare, but worried that might be worse torture, so he ran it lukewarm and carried Simon inside. The sheet pooled on the floor of the shower, covering the drain, causing the running water to flood, turning red with blood. Mal cradled Simon tenderly in his lap, cleansing Simon's skin, rocking as much to soothe himself as his lover.
After ten minutes, the water ran cold, but Mal stayed on the floor with Simon, rocking gently. When he stopped to pull the sheet off the drain, he felt Simon continuing the motion on his own and his heart snapped in two. Simon muttered softly to the rhythm of the rocking, his teeth chattering from the cold water. The blood had washed away, but his body was still splotched and bruised. Not since the war had Mal witnessed such an intense stress reaction. Mal turned off the water and smoothed Simon's wet hair away from his face.
"Simon?"
Simon moaned softly, sinking against Mal, the tension draining from his body. Mal cupped the water from the floor of the shower and drizzled it against Simon's skin.
"Gorram drain!"
Mal nearly jumped out of his skin as Kaylee entered, kicking the pooled water, thinking the plumbing had failed.
"Kaylee, I need towels" Mal hollered, hoping to distract her with a task.
Kaylee peeked around the corner and yelped when she saw the pair of them. She fell to her knees in the pooled water, crying out Simon's name. Mal didn't remind her of the order. He just stayed there on the floor, looking helplessly at the man curled achingly against his chest. Having little idea of what else to do, he opened his grip, letting Kaylee fuss against Simon, as she called his name. After an eternity, Simon's eyes fluttered open as he pulled his face out of Kaylee's hands and nuzzled against Mal's chest.
"Tried to take me from you," Simon murmured. "I am my own."
Finally his body shifted and he scooted up Mal's body wrapping his arms around Mal's neck. Mal hugged him tight, determined not to cry in front of Kaylee, but finding the goal pointless.
"You okay," Kaylee asked weakly as she sat in the cold water next to Mal and stroked Simon's back.
Mal shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
"You want help dressing him?"
Mal looked at the sopping wet sheet on the floor. Simon was stripped to his shorts, Mal's pants were soaked, and Kaylee's coveralls were wet from the waist down. He wasn't sure it was worth drying off just yet. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head again.
"Kaylee," Simon murmured, seeing her for the first time and reaching out. Simon caressed Kaylee's cheek, then hooked his hand behind her neck and pulled her into a hug. It was an awkward kind of group hug for Mal, but Kaylee entered it so gratefully that he couldn't push her away.
"I saw him," Simon continued. "I can't unsee him."
It concerned Mal how much Simon was starting to sound like his sister. Kaylee kissed Simon's forehead and pulled away, but Simon's grip on her neck tightened.
"Please," Simon hissed as Kaylee yelped. His hands tangled in her hair.
"Simon, you're hurting me," Kaylee whispered respectfully. Mal could tell she wasn't hurt, but rather was using the phrase to provoke a response, and it worked. Immediately, Simon's hand dropped and he clung to Mal again, his eyes wide and bewildered. Kaylee stood up calmly. "I'll get you two some towels."
As Kaylee left, Simon looked at Mal again, his eyes intense. "I saw him. He doesn't think I'm stronger, but I am. I can beat him this time."
"Beat who?" Mal asked.
Simon's face crinkled, perturbed by the question, and he just rested his cheek against Mal's chest. "I can beat him," he kept repeating. "I can."
#
Despite Simon's protests that he could walk just fine, Mal carried him from the shower. They'd dried off, he'd wrapped the towel lightly around Simon's waist, and then picked him up. Simon stopped muttering as a show of sanity, but surrendered to Mal's will and let himself be carried to the Infirmary. Mal set him on the table, looking at the red splotches all over his body, and having no idea where to start. Simon's head bowed in shame and he pointed to a drawer. Mal opened it and inside were needles already pre-prepped with sedatives of different strengths. Mal closed his eyes, his heart heavy with grief.
"Simon, what set this off?"
"What do you mean?" His shoulders were hunched and he looked only vaguely aware of where he was.
"These nightmares. At first, you were brooding over River, and then… something's snapped in you. Do you want to go back to River?"
"Please, no," Simon whispered. Then, squaring his shoulders, Simon found his composure. Adopting his high-browed doctor tone, he explained, "I saw him in Clearwater. He's the one I fought."
"Someone you knew?" Mal asked, confused.
"I know it doesn't make sense," Simon acknowledged, looking down at his knees. "I know he's dead. But that's who I saw."
Mal shuddered. Simon would never say his name.
With a deep breath, Mal pulled three needles from the drawer Simon had indicated and held them up. Simon pointed to the middle one.
"It's strong," Simon warned. "I'll be out in a few minutes. It may be best to administer it in our quarters."
Shaking his head, Mal turned Simon's arm in his hands and cleaned off a spot to stick him. "I ain't good at sticking needles, but I'm good at carrying you. Best I do this part in the light."
Simon grimaced, failing to swallow emotion and looked at Mal with the biggest puppy eyes he'd ever seen. The tables finally turned, Mal figured that Simon suddenly empathized and understood the helpless look River had given him so many times. Mal paused, trying to keep his heart from melting into a puddle and leaking out his toes.
"You want me to call Kaylee back to hold your hand?" Mal joked.
Simon rolled his eyes, a small smile creeping in.
"You know the way you were grabbing at her in the shower seemed like you wanted a threesome."
Mal needed to make jokes. It was the only way he could stay focused and distracted enough to shove the needle into Simon's arm.
"You see this?" Simon asserted, grabbing Mal's left hand and pointing to the ring on his finger. "It means I don't share."
Mal smiled back, suddenly feeling special despite everything. "Neither do I."
#
Back in their bunk, Mal paced agitatedly, his hands gliding through his wet hair, tugging at the roots, his mind screaming at the walls. Simon slept numbly on the bed mouth hanging open. Not knowing what to do and not caring about the hour, Mal waved River.
"Cap- um, Mal," she greeted, perplexed, but bright-eyed. "Is something wrong?"
"Yeah, I just sedated your brother," Mal answered, not wasting time with pleasantries. He was exhausted, confused, and if he was truly honest with himself, scared out of his wits.
"Oh no," River intoned, her voice deep, like she'd expected the news but had hoped against it. "Clearwater?"
Mal nodded. "Any light you want to shed on why he's seeing dead people."
River swallowed uncertainly, choking on the words, unwilling to speak them to truth. "Derek … isn't… dead."
"Derek?" Mal repeated. He'd never heard the name, but had only one guess as to who it was. "This is the man that…"
"The same," River confirmed. "I told Simon he was dead so he wouldn't go back there."
Mal bristled all over, casting a sidelong glance at the sleeping Simon.
"I had him arrested. He was banished on the core worlds," River explained quickly, tears coming to her eyes. "I never thought we'd leave the core. Please forgive me. I can go now. I can kill him for real this time. I'm not afraid to –"
Mal held up a hand to silence her. River watched him pacing over the vid, her eyes pleading. "You did what's right," Mal finally told her. "No sense getting fresh blood on your hands, Little Albatross. You got a life you're trying to start."
"Please don't tell Simon that I lied to him."
"Don't got much choice in the matter. He'll drive himself crazy thinking he hallucinated the whole thing."
"Then tell him I'm sorry."
Mal looked from Simon to River, a plan forming in his mind. "You can tell him yourself. We're picking you up on the way back to Clearwater. We got a score to settle."
#
The next morning, Mal woke up on his stomach, his left hand resting on Simon's chest as Simon lay next to him numbed by medication. It was as far as he'd slept from Simon in forever and a day, but it just didn't seem right molding Simon elsewise while he was drugged and unawares. There were spots of blood on the bottom sheet and Mal thought vaguely of retrieving the soiled top sheet from the laundry before the rest of the crew started talking.
Nothing made sense. He had never seen Simon so out of control and wasn't sure if it was from seeing his tormenter or from thinking he'd hallucinated it all and beaten a stranger. Mal scooted close enough to Simon to nuzzle his shoulder. The splotches and bruises on Simon's skin were torture to look at and Mal wondered how tender it was.
"Mal?" Simon gurgled, then coughed. Mal checked compulsively – no blood.
"I'm here."
Simon's hand fell limply over his chest and found Mal's hand. "Always thought that was a myth – people sweating blood."
Mal had seen it in the war, but didn't feel like saying so. Simon spoke with quiet rhythm, thoughtful, trying not to feel – trying not to set off another reaction.
"You hurting at all?" Mal asked, lifting his head from the pillow, desperate to see light in Simon's eyes but finding none.
Simon took a moment, flexing muscles, testing his body, and not hardly moving. Finally he shook his head.
"You need any drugs?"
"Only if you're not staying." The request in those simple words made Mal shiver. Barely able to move his limbs for the drugs still in his system, Simon just lay still as Mal cuddled against him. At Simon's behest, Mal started telling stories, shooting the breeze as though they were taking a leisurely morning together. It was difficult to keep the tone light, but he did it for Simon's sake. They were still recovering from the night before and could talk serious about it another time. The topic fell across marshmallows and Simon's whole body pulsed.
"I am so zhen de shi hungry," he said. His exhausted eyes finally fell on Mal's and they stared at each other a moment before bursting out laughing. It was short-lived because it wasn't really funny, but the normalcy of the request delighted them both. Kissing the nearest bit of skin (just above Simon's collar), Mal rolled out of bed and went to find his secret stash of Fruity Oaty Bars. Mal always kept a box hidden away in his bunk since the crew was completely incapable of rationing the treats. He'd even taken to rotating the location so that Simon wouldn't hand them all out in a fit of compassion… again.
They exchanged sly smiles as Simon sat up against the headboard, weak but determined. He accepted the snack that Mal offered and nibbled slowly, absorbing the calmness of the present to shield him from the past. Mal lay down on the bed, nestling against Simon's thigh, but Simon pulled Mal's head into his lap and massaged Mal's earlobe tenderly while he chewed on the food.
Mal grazed his fingers against the fabric of Simon's pants, wondering if Simon wanted him to talk again or if just the sight and feel was enough. He needed to tell Simon what River said. He dreaded –
Two raps sounded on the hatch above.
"Come in, Zoë," Mal called automatically, recognizing the terse knock. As an afterthought, Mal checked both himself and Simon to make sure they were appropriately
covered. He propped himself on his elbows as Zoë slid down the ladder in a single move and turned to face them.
"Sir, did you –"
Zoë stopped short on seeing Simon sitting there calm as a cucumber eating a Fruity Oaty Bar, with his skin splotched purple and yellow, looking like he'd taken the beating of a lifetime. Mal rolled out of bed, knowing she would accept no explanation unless it came from Simon and came without Mal lording over the room.
"I'll go make you a real breakfast," Mal told Simon, finding his slippers and exchanging a look with Zoë that carried the full declaration of innocence that he would have spoken aloud if such things were still necessary between them. Zoë's look said she believed him, but it was her duty to look out for Simon.
"Mal, wait," Simon called after him, and Mal turned at the ladder.
"Won't be long," he promised, then climbed out. He did not envy Simon the conversation he was about to have with Zoë. He wondered how much Simon would tell her, and cringed at how much he'd keep hidden. Walking slowly to the galley, he found Jayne already frying up the protein scrambled-eggs style, and set to preparing a plate. He didn't bother with small talk, because Jayne wasn't the type to appreciate such trifles. He found a mug for tea, then a tall glass of water. After the night Simon had, he was probably dehydrated. Why hadn't Mal thought of that before?
The hatch to his bunk opened again, and Mal took that as his cue to return.
"Got blood on your clothes," Jayne called after him. Mal twisted, saw the smears, and cringed at the memory, but kept moving.
When he climbed into the bunk, Simon sat stoically staring at a spot on the wall, determined not to fidget. Mal set the food tray across Simon's lap and ran his fingers through Simon's hair, which at least awarded him eye contact. Simon drank the entire glass of water in one go, then held the cup out to Mal for a refill. When Mal went to the sink, he noticed that Simon's blood-stained clothes were now soaking. Zoë must have gotten the drawn-out clinical description and a part of Mal was glad he'd missed that.
"What did you need, Zo?" Mal asked, getting back to the business at hand.
"You initiated a course change, sir?"
"I did. We're picking up River on –"
"Mal, no," Simon interjected. "I told you –"
Mal held up a hand to silence Simon, choosing his word carefully. "I spoke with her on the matter. River wants to come on this run."
Simon started to protest again, but Zoë spoke first.
"A new job, sir?"
"In a manner," he agreed, looking square at Simon as he spoke. "Simon has unfinished business on Clearwater."
"No, Mal, he's dead –"
"He's not," Mal countered and Simon's body went rigid, his knuckles going white as he clutched his tea cup.
"He's not?"
"So says River, so we're going back to settle this once and for all."
Simon's eyes were wide with surprise, but not fear. It was a subtle distinction Mal had learned over the years. Mal took it as a good sign.
Zoë shifted, not privy to the details, but not caring so long as she knew enough to keep them safe. "What's the plan, sir?"
"Nothing that concerns you just yet. Keep course set for Kerry and the crew in the dark for now."
Zoë nodded curtly and turned to leave.
"Zoë, thank you," Simon called after her and she paused on the ladder to look at him. "For your concern."
She nodded again and left them in peace. As soon as the door shut, Mal slumped against the ladder, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He risked a glance at Simon and saw the millions of thoughts running through his eyes at the speed of light, the food on his tray all but forgotten.
"You okay with this plan?" Mal asked. "If you ask me, I'll stop."
"I won't ask."
"But you're not okay," Mal finished for him, cocking his head, trying to cipher Simon's racing mind. "You don't look okay –"
"That's because you're way the hell over there!" Simon interrupted sharply. "Dammit, Mal, if I trusted myself to walk, I'd be in your arms right now!"
"No need to get tetchy," Mal admonished teasingly, crossing the room and sinking next to Simon on the bed and placing an arm around his shoulders. Simon's arm snaked around Mal's waist, and he tipped his head sideways on Mal's shoulder, looking casually relaxed as he started poking again at his breakfast.
"Not scared at all?" Mal checked, wondering if Simon had finally mastered the art of masking his fears.
"Quaking in my boots," Simon confessed, looking at Mal thoughtfully, but not nearly as distant as he could've. "It's almost over."
Mal agreed with a smile, practically tasting sweet victory in those words. "It's almost over."
#
The night before they reached Kerry, Mal lay awake in bed, brooding over the plan. He wasn't the vengeful type. Never killed a man he didn't have to… or wasn't getting paid to. As much as he told himself he was just protecting River at this point, he knew it was a lie. Sure, if he weren't going, she might just make her own crusade, but not likely. She was like him – she didn't go about killing folk she didn't have to. Now here Mal was dragging both Simon and River into some rash quest of vengeance that he'd conjured in the middle of the night while Simon was bleeding through his skin. Although Zoë was in the dark about the true mission, she suspected, and her words spoke a thousand warnings to him. He'd lost many things in the war, but he had not become this man, nor did he want to be.
Simon seemed so confident these past few days – so hopeful that this chapter of his life might finally close. But Mal had been through Serenity Valley and he knew it wasn't a place you just left. His heart twisted in confusion, but he couldn't back out on Simon now. He couldn't.
Simon slid down the ladder, more chipper than he had any right to be given the circumstances. Mal watched him silently as he stripped off every last shred of his clothing, crawled head first under the covers and rested his mouth right over Mal's clothed crotch.
"Odd mood to be in," Mal commented, pulling the sheet away. Simon looked up without smiling, rested his head on Mal's stomach looking downwards, and reached a hand into Mal's pants.
"I need a distraction."
"May not be much help, night before a fight."
"Anything's better than watching you sulk."
Mal folded his arms behind his head and went back to brooding, letting Simon play. Simon's hand grazed through the short and curlies, then stroked him nice and easy. It was almost considerate in that his motions were pleasant but not commanding or distracting. Mal's fingers fell in Simon's hair and stroked with the same gentle rhythm.
"Having second thoughts?" Simon asked him.
"Mmm," Mal assented.
"I'm not surprised. When you said we were coming back here, I couldn't believe it. I knew you'd kill him if you ever ran across him, but I never thought you'd go looking for him."
Even after Mal told him he knew it, Simon had not said the name of his abuser.
"I'm not that man."
"So don't kill him," Simon said simply. "Don't become that man because of me."
Mal's hand froze in Simon's hair and Simon turned to look at him, sure and confident as ever. Then Simon shimmied around in the bed until his face was close to Mal's.
"Mal, I know you look out for your own and no one else, and as long as he's not a direct threat, you have no interest in killing him. But I've seen you speak for those who have no voice, and I've seen you fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I can fight for myself now, but as sure as I'm breathing I know he's had others. He may even have someone now. Someone who doesn't have a little sister calling after him and dragging him home. He had others…" Simon swallowed thickly and forced himself to continue. "Even as he had me. I knew of two others."
Simon looked down at his hand on Mal's chest and Mal clasped it firmly. Simon was trembling.
"Maybe we don't kill him," Simon continued. "Maybe we castrate him. Maybe we threaten him and warn him off. Maybe we go frolic about town for a day, turn rudder, and never look back."
Mal puffed lightly, not daring to look in Simon's eyes.
"What happens tomorrow is not the turning point," Simon assured. "Derek." Simon shuddered as he said the name, but forced it out anyway. "He's already lost. He doesn't own me. I am my own."
Mal inhaled sharply, looking deep into those fervent blue eyes, seeing strength he never had before. Simon held up his hand, pointing to the ring on his finger. Only the light glinting off the ring belied the tremor in his limbs.
"And I gave myself to you."
Cupping Simon's chin, Mal leaned forward and kissed the young man before him. He'd never seen Simon's eyes so bright and present at the same time. Mal tasted sweet victory on those lips.
Sweet victory and terrible mischief. His speech finished, Simon pulled back onto his knees, then straddled Mal's hips, pondering impishly.
"Now you gave yourself to me, too, and I want a little distraction."
Simon wriggled a bit trying to peal off Mal's clothes and Mal laughed heartily, reaching up and tickling his naked lover. Just fun and games tonight, maybe jerk each other off. Every time Simon flaunted that ring, it made Mal feel so gorram special he couldn't stop his heart beaming. Having his skin peppered with love and kisses was icing on the cake.
#
The next day, Simon sat at the dining room table across from Kaylee, but they weren't looking at each other. The ship was empty, save for them – everyone having gone off to various tasks, not knowing that Mal and River were on a quest for vengeance on Simon's behalf.
Kaylee knew. After finding him and Mal in the shower the other day, Simon figured she deserved to know. And when they'd landed just outside of town and Simon started shaking so bad he couldn't breathe, and Mal had no choice but to sedate him, Kaylee volunteered to sit with him while Mal and River went out. Now here they were. In the dining room. Simon had a blanket over his shoulders and a cup of very strong whiskey in his hands (he'd have to owe Jayne for that) and a very sweet, concerned mechanic watching out for him. He hadn't actually swallowed any of the whiskey, because the smell alone seemed sufficient to burn his throat. Kaylee didn't know, but he'd swiped a pistol from Jayne's bunk at the same time as the whiskey, and he could feel the cold metal tucked into his belt, pressing against his stomach. This was his battle. His. He had to end it.
Not one to be deterred once he made a decision, Simon shrugged off the blanket, stood swiftly, and strode to the back door. Kaylee shouted a string of protests after him, which eventually turned to pleas that he wait up so she could tie her shoes on proper.
"Stay here, Kaylee," Simon told her. "This is something I have to do."
She looked at him firmly, hooking his elbow so he didn't get away while she locked up the ship behind them. "Not alone, you don't."
#
Mal had expected a seedy, manipulative lowlife who spoke haughtily and disrespectfully of his victims. He'd expected to exchange insults and fists. He hadn't expected a modest, well-kept estate with manicured lawns and a fish pond in the front yard. He hadn't expected the tangible presence of demons, and soul-sucking darkness as if evil spirits were perched on the sculpted shrubbery. He hadn't expected River to tense up and grab hold of his hand.
"We can leave," Mal offered as her grip tightened and he feared his bones would break. River shook her head.
"Then ease up a little. That's my gun hand you're crushing."
River let go and strode more fervently to the front door, but before she could knock, the double-wide oak door swung open revealing a tall red-headed man, dressed to the nines in pretty fits to match his estate.
"Meddling sibling, I never expected to see your face again," he spat and Mal bristled. "Your brother is not here."
The door slammed in their faces and Mal looked over at River in surprise. He was about to knock, but River took a step forward and kicked the door in. The first shot fired out almost immediately, and Mal tackled River sideways, using the walls of the house as cover.
The next shot hit the railing supporting the porch canopy and wood splintered every which way. River drew her weapon, rolled across the entrance again and shot twice into the house. Mal peeked through the window, but the curtains were drawn, and he was rewarded with a glass shattering bullet that grazed his cheek. His skin burned and he fell back in surprise. Any doubts he had about killing this man were gone.
Rolling off the side of the porch, Mal looked to River, trying to speak with their eyes enough to regroup. Why, oh why had they not brought Jayne and Zoë with them? Not like everyone wouldn't find out about Simon anyhow!
Movement flickered across the doorway, and Mal let off a shot. He saw blood spatter through the threshold, and heard a cry of pain. He'd gotten someone. But Simon had mentioned others… They needed to get inside!
Reading his thoughts, River let off a string of bullets that knocked the curtains off the front windows. Sunlight streamed in and hoards of demons fleeted into the shadows.
"Enough child!" that snake-like voice shouted from inside. "Have you come to kill me?"
Mal looked at River, but before either could answer, Simon stalked past them and into the house, pistol by his side. Derek raised his weapon and Mal jumped onto the porch, covering Simon's back, stepping in through the window.
"The boy returns," Derek crooned, cocking his weapon. Simon shot first, but the gun was aimed low and the bullet hit Derek's ankle. Had he been aiming for the knee or some place compassionate? Mal swore under his breath, sidling up to Simon's shoulder as side guard.
Derek took quick aim and fired, but Simon sidestepped. The bullet took a chunk out of Simon's arm, enough to make him bleed, but not enough to deter him.
"Simon!" Kaylee squealed from behind. Mal looked just outside the house, seeing Kaylee crouched next to River.
"Stay back!" Mal ordered, his protective instincts screaming.
"And look," Derek mocked. "The slave has traded one master for another."
Mal had some choice retorts that never made it past his lips. Simon shot Derek's wrist and the gun went flying away. The precision mark made Mal double-take. Simon's next shot went straight through Derek's gut, snapping his belt in two, sending the buckle skidding across the floor. The symbolism was not lost on Mal. Simon was not taking wild shots; he knew exactly what he was aiming for.
With Derek immobilized, Simon took two more bold steps forward and shot his former abuser in the crotch. Next, he found the clock on the wall and shot that too. As he looked down at Derek, his eyes burned with anger.
"I still win," Derek seethed as he bled out on the floor. Simon shook his head pitifully.
"I am my own," he declared fiercely, then shot Derek in the heart. His bullets spent, Simon turned to face his stunned lover, the anger on his face melting to strength. Tucking the gun in his belt, he walked straight into Mal's arms, embracing him gently and all Mal could feel was the surge of victory. Not only was Simon's tormentor killed, but Simon was… okay. River and Kaylee fell into the hug too, sandwiching Simon between them, and relief flooded the room.
"I am my own," Simon repeated surely.
"Good," Mal said, kissing Simon's nose, a twinkle in his eye. "Because I don't share."
Simon's blue eyes met his, holding a mischievous twinkle of their own. "Neither do I."
#