Simon still hasn't left his room in time for dinner. No shock there, Mal reckons he's sleeping it off. It doesn't stop Kaylee and Book and even Wash from sending him vaguely guilt-trippy looks over over their bowls of protein fodder. He holds his own and scowls back. No letting Kaylee's doe eyes soften him up.
Zoë keeps her peace, implacable as ever.
Even so, he's not surprised when she brings it up on the bridge when they're alone.
"You really want to kick him off this boat, sir?" she asks. Mal shuts his eyes and rubs his face. Just cause he knew it was coming don't mean he was looking forward to this talk any better.
"Am mighty considering it," he mutters.
"Think that'd be a mistake, sir."
"Uh-huh," he grunts.
"You're trying to make him into something he's not. Can't pick and choose, sir."
It's a damn pretty phrase, and they both watch the stars a bit and let it settle.
He doesn't ask her to elaborate. Don't hardly need to, he knows damn well what she means. Zoë's got a knack for putting her finger on it.
The Simon who would do anything less than fight and claw his way to a hospital full of people who needed him would never have stormed Niska's skyplex for him. Would never have rescued River, never would have ended up on his boat to begin with.
And fact of the matter is, if he'd seen anyone else do what Simon did - disobey authority, risk his own neck to save people as needed him - well, he'd be damn near swooning, that's for damn sure. Hell, he'd be looking to hire him.
Entire problem is that he is the authority getting all disobeyed and all. Ain't that the irony of things.
Maybe Zoë's right there. Can't be fixing to pick and choose.
"Think you might want to consider the other reason you're angry at him, sir."
He bristles. "You got something to say, Zoë? Then say it."
She gives him another one of those looks before she keeps talking, but what comes out of her mouth ain't what he expected.
"That boy shows up where he belongs and folk know it. Reckon he could find a spot for himself easier than expected, comes to that. Might even find new people who'd have his back easy enough. 'Specially now that he ain't so green anymore when it comes to being on the run. Reckon he's starting to realise that."
"Hm."
"Don't think you actually want him to leave on his own, sir."
"Is that right."
"Could be you're looking to kick him off before he beats you to the punch."
Mal snorts, not liking how petty he looks in the image she's painting, or that she's dabbling in wordplay all of a sudden.
"And why would I do a thing like that, Zoë?"
She gives him a look.
"Don't much like being disobeyed, sir." Somewhere along the line, it seems she's discovered a way to make the 'sir' she peppers every other sentence with sound like 'idiot'.
"I sure don't."
"Real wilful about it, too."
"Someone's gotta run this ship. Can't do that with all the constant second-guessing, don't matter how much a bleeding heart he's got."
"Sure can't. Might consider finding a compromise that don't involve kicking him off the ship."
"I ain't much in the way of compromising, Zoë. Chain of command don't work like that."
"You'd need to replace him, sir. Ship need a medic."
"He ain't the only medic in the verse, Zoë."
She hums her assent, but it's not an assentive sort of hum and he's sensing she ain't done yet. Takes her a bit before she answers.
"Not sure we're looking to find ourselves a medic who don't wanna save people, is all," Zoë points out, and Mal's got nothing he can say to that.
Simon emerges back into polite society eventually, shaved and groomed and looking more like his old self. He pointedly avoids Mal except where necessary, and when they speak, it's stiff and to the point. Which suits him just fine. It does.
The anger fades, though, and he catches himself wandering past Simon's domain a handful of times too many before he sighs and reasons to himself that maybe he and the doc should have a chat as don't involve anyone's knuckles.
Simon looks at him through the open door of the infirmary and gives a curt nod before turning back to his work. If Mal had hoped their earlier scuffle would teach the boy obeisance and the proper way to address a higher-up, all it seems to have done is get the doc to stop addressing him at all.
"You busy, doc?" he asks stiffly, rocking on his heels.
Simon shakes his head without looking up from the cataloguing he appears to be doing. "No. Please come in." The words are polite, almost painfully so, and sharply he is reminded of Inara and the way she's wont to wield courtesy like a silk blade.
Mals props himself up with his hip against one of the infirmary cots and searches for something to say.
He comes up short. The silence stretches on, heavy as lead. Usually by this point in time, there'd be stitches or a bandage the doc could be checking up on to to fill the void, but he's healthy as a horse, and it don't look like they've got much to say to each other in the absence of that.
"You need me to take a look at that?" Simon asks neutrally, and Mal looks up to discover the doc is looking him right in the eye. Then Simon's gaze flicks down to Mal's hand. He glances at his knuckles, bruised and a fair bit swollen from their brief reacquaintance with the doctor's bone structure. Never hit a man with a closed fist, his momma always used to say.
He gives the doc a tetchy smile, crosses his arms, and hides the knuckles against his side.
Simon deflates faintly, like a dog that's been denied something to chew on.
"How are ya feeling, doc?" He settles for that, after a moment, and Simon blinks at him like some strange alien bird.
"I'm... fine, thank you."
"You all caught up on your sleep now after those shifts?"
"For the most part. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before, back on Osiris. Why do you ask?" he asks with the faintest bit of concern, and a week ago, he might have slipped a 'captain' or two in there as a force of habit, but seems to be pointedly avoiding that now.
Mal sighs to himself. "No reason, doc. Just checking up on my crew."
Simon's face smoothes back into that same blank mask and he gives a little nod. The quiet takes hold of them once more.
Mal sighs again, seeing it's him as going to be doing most of the talking.
"Look... doc. It ain't that I don't appreciate what you did for those people back there," he begins.
Simon raises an eyebrow, all surprised elegance, and the unbidden resemblance to Inara startles him for the second time in as many minutes.
When Mal fails to follow that up with anything else, Simon replies eventually, "You certainly have an interesting way of showing it."
"I've got a ship to run. I can't have insubordination," Mal points out. He's beginning to grow tired of repeating it.
"And I can't stand by and watch people die after I spent my whole life training to save them," Simon answers quietly, but there's no mistaking the timbre of his voice for soft.
"That what this is about? Feeling like you ain't doing enough, out here in the Black? Like you're wasting your talent?" Mal is trying to spin this into an ego thing and hates himself for it.
Simon simply tilts his head at him. "That's... complicated," he says instead. "But sometimes things are simple enough. Sometimes I'm needed. I have to go where I am needed. Don't I?"
"Can't have you running off on me like that. Might not turn out so sanguine next time. I give an order, I need to trust my crew does as I say."
"I want to," Simon says softly, surprising both of them by the look on his face. He sets his jaw. "But sometimes I can't."
"You mean you won't."
"Yes, fine. I won't. There are limits. What you asked me to do - leaving those people behind, when I could make a difference - don't ask me that again. Please." There's that please again, but this time he means it.
Mal gives him a grim look. "I don't recall asking, son. 'N fact, was doing my best to take it out of your hands entirely so as you don't need to feel guilty about it. And I may still do more than that, things get dire enough."
"Then we are at an impasse," Simon replies quietly in that infuriatingly reasonable tone of his.
Mal's got nothing he can say to that. Most problems in his life can be shot, or punched, or persuaded into obedience. He doesn't know how to make his way around an impasse, and maybe that's the whole problem.
He thought his relationship with Inara was complicated. But there's no real conflict there, not when it comes down to it. Just jabs and pigheadedness and always getting under each other's skin. Not like Simon. Not like whatever the hell is always going on with him.
He's seen that now, seen what the doctor is like in the eye of the storm. Simon's too used to leading to ever follow him without question, expects to be treated as an equal - which he ain't. Not while he's ship medic and Mal is captain.
It's both the reason Mal likes him and the reason he's still contemplatin' kicking him off the ship.
As if he's peeked straight into his brain - which he better not have, all things and his crazy sis considered - Simon sighs quietly and straightens up a little. His lips part, 'Mal' outlined on the shape they make clear as day before he stops himself with a little shake of the head. "If this happens again, given your... ultimatum," he begins, always so damn, reasonable, rational, always thinking ahead, "I would appreciate it if you'd let us choose the drop-off point. As a... courtesy." Mal's mouth twists into a grimace at that but Simon keeps talking. "I'm sure the temptation will be high to simply dump us on the next rock we encounter, but I would like to choose. I've seen enough planets by now to have a better sense of where River and I should go next compared to when we first became fugitives."
It is as Zoë said - and Mal wants to tell him he's not planning to throw him out, not really. That the whole reason he got angry enough he couldn't see straight is that Simon put himself in danger, and Simon is crew, and Mal is apparently very low on the repertoire of things he can say so as to properly impress upon him the gravity of his displeasure. He's supposed to take care of them. How the gorram hell is he supposed to take care of them if they don't listen to him?
"Where're you thinkin' of getting off?" he asks him instead.
"I haven't thought about it yet." Simon sounds tired. "I'm sure I can come up with something. I'll make a list."
"No need," Mal says, before he can stop himself, remind himself of every single good reason why a captain should not be going back on a threat like that.
Simon looks annoyed. He peers at Mal quizzically and then sighs, rubbing his eyes.
"I'll make a list," he repeats. "of suitable planets. Something not too Core, but not so far on the rim that it lacks a decent hospital." Something like Bermuda, Mal thinks bitterly. "You never know when it might come in handy and I... I'd like to get back to making a difference, rather than being on the run for the rest of my life. If I can."
"I just said you don't have to," Mal says gruffly.
"You're not hearing me, Mal," Simon says impatiently and then blinks at himself. He pauses, as if waiting for Mal to admonish him for it again, but Mal is silent. He's not sure he wants to.
"Captain," Simon corrects himself anyway, speaks the word like it's bitter and he'd just as soon have it out of his mouth. Contrarian son of a bitch. "It might be better for all of us involved. Besides, don't you think I grow tired of the intermittent threats to leave me and River stranded as soon as the two of us butt heads over something?"
"Best not be butting heads with me so often, then, son."
"I've seen your disagreements with the crew. I'm the only one who gets this special treatment," Simon continues, a little bitterly. "Which I would have less of an issue with if River's life didn't hang in the balance of my lacking diplomacy skills. Even Jayne doesn't get threatened to be kicked off the ship nearly as often."
"Almost did worse to him than that, once," Mal grunts. For what he almost done to you. "Believe me, son, you ain't special. I like having order on my boat, is all."
He only then notices that Simon's watching him with a sharp sort of curiosity, a thoughtful frown on his face.
"...Because of Ariel?" Simon chances.
It could mean something different, but his gut says it don't. Mal swallows and crosses his arms. This conversation's taking a different turn than the one he was looking for, but of course, it don't ever go smooth with the doc.
"How'd you know?" he asks curtly.
"River," Simon says simply.
"How long?" This be why he's looking to leave? If Jayne-
"A while," Simon shrugs. "Months. We talked it over. I almost forgot about it." Even as he says it, he looks tired, and a little sad, so Mal doesn't buy the forgetting part for one minute.
It sinks in, then.
Simon knew about Jayne. And didn't tell him. Which, Mal already knew of, but that's beside the point. Just another mark in the long line of him not treating him as captain.
He realises he's known all along and never considered telling Simon about it, neither. Never crossed his mind the doc and his sis had a right to know. Still thinks it was the right call not to tell them, but it bothers him that he's doubting himself at all.
He takes a deep breath. They're getting off-track here.
"Look, son," and the expectant face Simon is giving him is no match for his complete and utter lack of pretty words stored up. "You've earned your place on this boat. Even that little sis of yours has, don't imagine I'll be forgetting what she did when Wash and I were captured anytime soon. You want a place on this boat, you have it. I don't much like insubordination, to tell it to you straight. But it'll take you more than that for me to kick you off Serenity. A hell of a lot more than that. And don't you worry your pretty head none if I ever say otherwise, 'cause I don't mean it. Even if I lose my senses, got six other people in here in need of patching up as won't let me." He blinks. "Well, five. Don't reckon Jayne's changed his mind about you. Don't take it personally none."
He's backtracked on just about every single thing he's told himself he won't be backtracking on, and he feels lighter for it. He tells himself it don't supposed to work that way.
Simon watches him with that same rapt expression until propriety seems to compel him to answer.
"Thank you," he says heavily, as if Mal has made some sort of vow to him. Which he supposes he has. For a second the doc's eyes are looking a bit too shiny. Gotta be a trick of the light, is all.
Simon swallows, looking down at the floor, gaze casting about. "I'll try to..." he trails off helplessly, gestures a little, "Be less... insubordinate."
"Now that'd be a mercy," Mal says with his most cloying smile.
Simon chuckles, not quite a laugh, and fidgets with the lapels of his vest. Never took him for a fidgeter, but here he is. Then the doc gingerly rubs his jaw, doesn't even seem to notice he's doing it.
And maybe it's the infirmary - closest thing Simon has got to a damn lair, all bright and spotless - or maybe it's the fact that it's just the two of them, with no appearances to uphold as for the rest of the crew, but Mal's thought to himself more than once that if there ever was a person on this boat outside the chain of command, he'd want it to be Simon.
And maybe there should be.
Something like regret - among other things - has his hand moving of its own volition and he reaches for Simon's face, fingertips feather-light on the side of his jaw where his fist landed.
"Simon-" he mouths, before he even knows what he's saying, before he has a chance to take his own advice and remember what he said about rank.
Eye sharp, Simon goes still - coils, really.
Mal is quick to transform the motion into a friendly pat - light clap on the cheek, something he's done to countless fresh recruits to get their spirits up and ground them in the moment, and look at that chiseled jaw . With a congenial smile, he lets his hand drop. So very pretty. He steps away, and tells himself he imagined the way the doc just held his breath.
"Keep your chin up, son," he says pleasantly, backing away with some notion of gallantly fleeing the infirmary. "You done a lot of good, and we ain't never even got shot at for it. Coulda been a lot worse. Now you get some more rest, you hear me?"
"Yes, captain," Simon says warmly, and there's no sting of mockery to the word this time, but the levity has faded and Mal half-resolves to get himself shot again soon just so as the doc can feel he's putting his skills to good use. To give him back a fraction of that purpose and clarity that burned bright as day in him, when he strode up that ramp.
Been so long since he's had someone outside the chain of command, he's forgotten how to. Only Inara's ever been near enough. Him and Inara, always arguing about the same old things. Same as with Simon , he thinks with a jolt. My rules, my boat. Her shuttle, her autonomy. And then she left. Ain't that a revelation.
He is gonna chain the doc to the damn boat if it ever comes close to that.
