home * fandoms * firefly * bottom WARNING: If you haven't read the warning on the index page, go back and read it. If you don't, and you don't like what you find here, don't come crying to me. Title: The Widening Gyre Author: Eleanor K. Fandom: Firefly Pairing: Mal/Simon Rating: PG-13 Posted: 20 Jan 2003 Spoilers: War Stories Email: emungere@gmail.com The series: Fuzzy, Tokens, Intersections, The Widening Gyre. Disclaimer: Alas, they belong to Joss and not to me. I am not cool enough. Title stolen from "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats. Warnings: Mention of past rape. Notes: Thanks to Cabiria, fastest beta in the west. Mei mei = little sister ..___.. Simon is planning murder. Not seriously, not yet at least, but still planning. It's not the first time. At Medacad, bored to death with the introductory classes and cut off from River, sick of Homer and Ovid and Arthur Conan Doyle, he took to planning Mericet's death in excruciating detail as his version of Sherlock Holmes' seven percent solution. It was only an intellectual exercise, but it proved to be just as addictive as the great detective's cocaine. The exercise upon which he is currently embarked is somewhat less intellectual. Niska won't give up. Sooner or later, someone on Serenity will have to kill him. Simon doubts it will be him and can't really imagine taking a life, even Niska's, but at the same time he can't help thinking about it. It wouldn't be easy, of course, but that just makes the exercise more interesting. The first logical step is to gather intelligence, so he is babysitting the autopilot for Wash and searching the Cortex. There are too many Niskas, and Simon doesn't know the man's first name, so he starts by calling up pictures for all of them. Wash keeps referring to Niska as 'sort of corpsified and evil, with glasses.' Surely there can't be more than one Niska who fits that vivid description. The first is much too young. The second is a woman, despite her first name being Alex. The third is the right age, but Simon can't imagine that face belonging to a torturer. That face looks like it has grandchildren and probably bakes for them. It's not until number eighteen that he hits the jackpot. It's the eyes. The face is smiling, but the eyes are cold behind wire-rimmed glasses. He just knows. He is still staring at that picture when a hand falls gently on his shoulder. He looks up to see Inara staring at it also, her face pale and her lips parted. The hand on his shoulder is shaking. "Inara, what...?" "How did you--" She has to swallow and start over again. "How did you know? Did Mal ask you to-- But how could he know? I hardly told him anything." She looks down at him finally, and her eyes are frightened. "I don't understand. Simon, what's going on?" He has never seen her so shaken. He doesn't understand the reaction and figures he has exactly one chance to find out what's upsetting her before she withdraws behind her practiced facade. He picks through her disjointed words and makes a guess. "It's all right," he says. "Mal's not planning to do anything stupid." The grip on his shoulder eases fractionally. "Then why are you...?" She nods to the screen. "I thought someone should know something about him. Just in case." This is absolutely true. He picks his next words with care. "Mal let a few things slip, by accident I'm sure. Do you want to tell me about it?" He keeps his voice neutral, calm. No pressure here. After a second, she yields and sits beside him. "It was a bad job," she says softly, not looking at him or at the screen. "You hear about them, but you never think it will happen to you. You'll be more careful. You'll make better choices." She shakes her head slowly, hair cascading around her face. "I made a mistake. I didn't check him out well enough. There was so much money... It was my fault, really." There was a time when Simon couldn't understand the capacity for violence that some people carry within them all the time. He'd never had anything to be that angry about. That was before River was taken. These days, it seems his anger just builds and builds on itself. He wonders if eventually it will be too much for him and he will--snap. In some way. "Was it very bad?" he asks. He would like to tell her it certainly wasn't her fault, but now is not the time for that. Better to keep her talking. Inara is looking at the picture again and doesn't answer. "Inara?" "Niska," she says, finger tracing the name printed at the bottom of the screen. "That wasn't his name. That wasn't the name he gave." She looks at Simon. "This is *that* Niska. You didn't know anything about..." "No," he says quietly. "But it might help to talk about it." She hesitates, and he thinks she will just get up and leave, but in the end she stays, tense on the edge of her seat, back stiff. Her face is turned away, hidden by her hair. "It wasn't like it was for Mal and Wash. He was just...rough. And he wouldn't stop." The soft catch of breath suggests tears. "It hurt. He hurt me." "I know," he soothes. She looks over at him. "You believe me." "Of course I believe you." "You say 'of course' like... It's not 'of course,' Simon. No one else ever did." A single tear slips down her cheek, and she brushes it away smoothly, mindful of her make-up. She stands, not quite looking at him as she speaks. "I'd rather this didn't get around. You understand." "I understand." She falters for a second, her sudden calm deserting her again. "Please don't tell Mal," she pleads. "He knows enough as it is. He'll be-- You know how he'll be." "I won't tell anyone. You have my word." She thanks him quickly and is gone before he can say anything else. Simon turns back to the Cortex. His exercise is getting less intellectual all the time. *** "Not like that. Gorramit, Doc, are you even paying attention here?" Jayne rearranges Simon's hands on the gun with surprising patience, considering the exasperation in his voice. "Sorry." Simon is paying attention, but he has other things on his mind. The major other thing on his mind is standing a few paces back, leaning against the side of the ship and watching. The other thing on his mind these days is almost always Mal. He doesn't need the man standing there impinging on his consciousness in the way that Mal always does, distracting him just by being there. Making him think about what will never be. He's sure of that now. He floated along on a soap bubble of hope until Mal issued his declaration. No. N-O, no. Get-out-of-my-bunk no. Simon sees no room for hope now. Once Mal decides something, it stays decided. Simon is afraid that if he keeps trying, the answer might turn into get-off-my-ship no. He can't have that. So he will ignore Mal lurking behind him and damn well learn to shoot straight. He takes aim once again. The cans Jayne has set up on a dune are just visible in the haze of the desert sunset. It was too hot during the day, and the sun is sinking quickly. He's going to hit one of those cans before it goes down. Jayne is talking him through it again, and Simon knows the words--squeeze the trigger, don't pull it, don't hold too tight, don't hold too loose, wherever you're looking that's where you should be aiming--but they're not part of him yet. He has to think about every movement, and he is more impressed with Jayne's skill right now than he ever expected to be. He fires. Misses. "Squeeze, don't pull. You're jerking up at the last second." Simon mumbles an acknowledgement and takes aim again. Arms come around him from behind, startling him so much that another shot flies off wildly into the growing dark. Not Jayne, he knows without looking. Mal's voice is quiet in his ear. "You're just trying too hard, that's all." Hands slide down his arms to cover his hands, guiding them. Mal's hair brushes against his cheek, tickling. "That one," Mal says. He points out the can on the far left. "Jayne's right. It's a slow squeeze." His finger curls over Simon's on the trigger. "Nice and easy." They take the shot together. The can goes flying, and the recoil pushes Simon gently against Mal's body. Mal's hands fall away, resting on Simon's hips for a second. "Nice shot," Mal says. Then he is gone, walking quickly back toward the ship and not stopping at the ramp. Simon watches him go, breathing hard and wondering just what about that little display was supposed to say 'no' in any way at all. "We still got some light left, Doc," Jayne says in a neutral voice. "Try it again." Simon tries it again and misses again, worse this time. His hands are shaking. He takes a deep breath and waits a second until they steady. Jayne points out the can next to the one Mal shot. Simon aims, fires, and watches the can bounce off across the sand. The next moment he is nearly knocked off his feet by Jayne's hearty backslap, which, though no doubt well-intentioned, could probably qualify as assault in a court of law. "Finally! Took you long enough," Jayne says. Simon hands Jayne the gun. His wrists ache from the recoil, and he rubs them. "I think I'm done for tonight," he says. "Whatever. Let me know when you want to go again." There is a pause. Jayne sounds like he has something on his mind. "That wasn't a bad plan you came up with on Ariel," Jayne says. "Thank you," Simon replies warily. He has a feeling he doesn't want to know where this is going. Jayne is looking out across the dunes. "Mal ain't gonna go after Niska. And Niska ain't ever gonna leave us alone now. There won't be no buying anyone back next time. Next time, I figure it'll be all of us." "What are saying, Jayne?" he asks, half against his will. "Reckon you know what I'm saying. If not--well, you're supposed to be smart, right? Figure it out." Jayne saunters up the ramp and disappears inside. Simon walks out into the desert, climbing the nearest dune and walking along its crest beside the line of cans he failed to hit. He sees the one he did get lying in the valley between this dune and the next. He skids down the loose sand and picks it up. The bullet hole neatly pierces a picture of a tomato and comes out the other side, obliterating most of the nutritional information. The sand is warm from being baked all day under the sun, and the can has soaked up some of that warmth. "Simon?" He turns. Kaylee stands on the ridge behind him, her body outlined by the light from Serenity's cargo bay. She climbs down to him, nearly falling as the sand slips beneath her feet. He catches her arm, holding on until she is steady. "Whew, thanks. Last thing I want is sand in my coveralls. It gets all sorts of places you wouldn't think it could." She smiles at him. "Captain said your lesson went pretty good." It is a question, and he nods and holds up the can for inspection. "Clean through," she says, smiling sweetly up at him. "There anything you can't do, Doc?" He can't do this. No matter how much she wants him to, no matter how much easier it would be, he can't. It wouldn't be fair to her. Anger is boiling up inside him again. Mal sent her out here, knowing how she feels. There is an element of cruelty there of which Simon would have liked to believe Mal wasn't capable. No, he chides himself. That's not fair. It's not cruelty, only thoughtlessness. If Simon played along, took advantage of her feelings, now that would be cruel. "Well, I certainly can't cook," he says lightly. "And it's my turn. Maybe you could help me out? I think if Jayne has to put up with my cooking after an hour of trying to drum the rudiments of marksmanship into me, we might have a homicide on our hands." She agrees cheerfully and starts up the dune, calling back, "Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg!" He tosses the can away and, after a second, tosses his dignity as well and races after her. Grinning and breathless and feeling only slightly like a fool, he runs through the cargo bay and takes the steps by the infirmary two at a time. Kaylee disappears around the corner at the top. Simon puts on an extra burst of speed, determined at least to draw even with her-- --and slams into Mal, nearly knocking both of them over. For a second he just tries to get his breath back, holding on tightly to Mal's arms as hands grip his shoulders. Then he looks up and sees the expression on the other man's face. He was going to apologize, but he can't even form words with Mal looking at him like that. His mouth goes dry, and he wets his lips. He is sure that Mal is going to kiss him, but neither of them moves. The hold on Simon's shoulders tightens painfully. Simon bears it, unwilling to step away, feeling his own fingers digging into Mal's arms and tightening beyond his control. Mal opens his mouth, but can't seem to get any words out. Simon looks in his eyes and sees...longing. Want. Desire. Everything he has wanted to see there for so long. It is too much, and Simon pulls him close, bringing their mouths together, hard. Clash of teeth, and he tastes blood from Mal's split lip, and then strong arms come around him and Mal is moaning quietly into his mouth. Wet hot brush of tongue, and Mal's lips are like velvet against his. He has Mal backed up against the wall before he realizes they've moved at all. A hand comes up to grip his hair as Mal closes teeth over his lip, so gentle, and sucks. Lets go only to enter his mouth again. There is no warning when Mal breaks away. He wrenches free of Simon's hands and slides away, still leaning against the wall for a moment and blinking, leaving Simon cold. Then he shuts his mouth with an audible click, does an about-face and marches off down the hall. Simon watches until he is out of sight. Then he runs his hands through his hair and wipes at his mouth. Just in time. As he rounds the corner, Kaylee pops her head out of the kitchen. "Hey there. Get lost or something?" "Mal waylaid me in the hall. I want a rematch." He produces a smile for her and is happy to hear his voice sounding perfectly normal, impossible as that seems. "Oh, no," she says, laughter in her eyes. "I don't think so. You got to plan ahead for captain-interference on this boat. You ought to know that by now." "Yes," he says, hearing his words come out just a shade less than bitter. "He is unexpected, isn't he?" "He's never boring, our captain. That's why we love him. Come on, let's see what we've got for tonight." He lets her lead him off to explore the unexciting possibilities of protein, protein, and protein, but his mind is elsewhere, stuck on two thoughts. The first is that he must have caused Mal some serious pain, slamming into him like that, and Mal won't take painkillers without being nagged nearly to death. The second... Mal is never boring. Never predictable. He isn't like anyone else Simon has ever known. And yes, that is one reason Simon loves him. But it's hardly the only one. *** The next morning, when Inara takes her shuttle to return the dermal mender, Simon asks to accompany her. "You sure that's a good idea, Doc?" Mal butts in. "We don't know much about the Alliance presence in Newstar." "There isn't one," Inara says. "The council has pointedly rejected offers of assistance and all but outright refused to have soldiers stationed there." Mal frowns. "I don't remember this planet siding with the Independents." "They didn't." Inara smiles. "They sided with themselves. Newstar used to be a vacation spot for the wealthy, but since the terraforming started to fail they've been working hard to make it a tax haven. The councilor has been a driving force behind the change. Either way, a military presence would only be a hindrance. The rich don't like their money or their privacy disturbed by the government." "Thanks for the history lesson," Mal says. "It don't mean there's nobody there who'd recognize Dr. Tam here and be happy to turn him in." Simon wordlessly hands Mal the print out of his arrest warrant, complete with photo--his graduation picture. Then he dons the sunglasses and coat that he last wore on Persephone. Mal looks at the picture and back up at him. "You wouldn't think it'd make such a difference. You look downright sinister, Doc." He folds the warrant and hands it back. "All right, get going. Try not to get yourself picked up or set on fire this time." The trip is mostly silent. Inara is uncomfortable with him now, and Simon can't blame her. He is uncomfortable with himself. He doesn't want to know what Niska did to her, doesn't want to know what Niska did to Mal, doesn't want to know that now Jayne is apparently counting on him to come up with a plan to kill Niska--he doesn't know how he got so embroiled in this, and he wants out. He also knows it is too late, especially considering what he is going into Newstar to purchase. Inara drops him off at the edge of the city and goes on to see the councilor. Simon has four hours to find what he is looking for. He hopes it will be enough. After more than half a year of restocking Serenity's infirmary with whatever money Mal can spare after buying food and necessary replacement parts, Simon has a fair grasp of back alley deals and where to buy things you won't find in the local shopping district. By the time he finds a hint of what he needs, three hours have passed and he has bought so many drinks for so many people in so many bars that he feels he should be drunk himself, though he has had only mineral water. The man in front of him is drinking something clear and bubbling, but it is not, Simon is relatively sure, mineral water. The man offered him some when he sat down and the smile that went with the offer would have been enough to make Simon decline even if it had been mineral water. "So," the man says, drawing the word out. "I hear you're looking for something." "And I hear you can help me find it." "An auspicious meeting, then, assuming you heard right." The man twists one of his rings around a sausage-like finger. "Did I hear right?" Simon knows he shouldn't be this direct, but he is running out of time. The man shrugs massive shoulders. His chins wobble. "Maybe so, maybe no. Cost you a lot of credits, something like that. There could be consequences for something like that." "There is always the possibility of consequences in whatever we do." Simon puts on a hard face and looks at his watch. "My time grows short. Can we do business or not?" There is a moment of thick silence, and then the man nods shortly. "I've got what you need. If you can back up that attitude with cash, we won't have a problem." Half an hour later Simon walks out with a package under his arm and a considerably lighter wallet. He makes the meeting with Inara just in time and sinks into the seat beside her, relieved when she asks no questions. Back on Serenity he heads for his room and stuffs the plastic tube under his bed. As much as he wants to, he has no time to examine his purchase. The desert heat is lessening with evening, and he has to find Jayne. Time to shoot more cans. And then dinner. And then he promised River he would play a game with her, though the thought occurs that he should have asked what the game was first. He sighs. It will be hours yet before he gets to open that tube. *** Simon takes two aspirin and leans against the exam table in the infirmary, rubbing his wrists. Jayne switched guns on him tonight, telling him he needed more 'stopping power.' Simon suspects Jayne was just trying to get him to fall on his ass, which he very nearly did at the first shot. The recoil was five times what it was for the other--much smaller--gun, and his wrists feel floppy and boneless. He closes his eyes and then snaps them open again as a hand closes over his arm. "River." He smiles, relaxing. "Is it time for our game?" She takes his hand in both of hers, studying it. Light fingers trace the lines of his palm and then the veins in his wrist. She looks up at him. "We're already playing," she says. "But it's not a game." He tries to read the meaning from her eyes, but fails. Again. He sighs. "I'm sorry, mei mei. I don't know what you mean." Her mouth tightens with frustration. "All's fair," she says. "All's fair, but you can't be Patroklos. He wouldn't ask you to do that. He doesn't know how it ends, Simon. You didn't read him the ending." "River--" She lets go of his hand and backs up to the door, looking around as if she is just now aware of her surroundings, of the cold steel and harsh light. "You should have told him how it ends," she says. Once last glance around the room and she steps out backward, turns and disappears up the stairs. He sighs and lets her go. No game tonight, apparently. An hour later, with a much calmer River tucked into bed in the room next to his, Simon locks his door. He retrieves the plastic tube and pops off the cap. Turns it upside down and shakes. A sheaf of papers falls out. Simon spreads out the blueprints to Niska's skyplex on the floor and starts to make notes. ------- ..end.. Continue to The Empty Sky home * fandoms * firefly * top