Fic: My heart's racing, and I'm not used to that being a good thing {Firefly-- Simon/Kaylee}
Title: My heart's racing, and I'm not used to that being a good thing
Fandom: Firefly
Characters/Pairings: Simon/Kaylee, a little bit of River
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: Nah, not really. It's set somewhere near the beginning of the series. So erm, awkward Simon? Do we need warning for that?
Word Count: A little bit less that 1400
Summary: She’s never felt more important than under the doctor’s intense stare. Even if it’s just her hand. And with his jaw clenched and hair that she can’t remember ever seeing out of place, her hand is pretty lucky. A visit to the infirmary + Simon's inability to talk to women = this fic.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: Written for zombie-boogie ^_^ And I was sat on it for ages, feeling like a failure, so I just decided to post it. Hope you like it.
Her voice is bleating, soft and wavering as she says, “I just got my hand caught in her engine, cap’n, is all.” Eyebrows knitted together she looks up into Mal’s face- he’s got that stony expression that these two won’t be used to, the one that crosses him when he’s forgetting that everyone here is on his side.
“Is all is right, I need you in that engine room as soon as possible.” And then over his shoulder, “You hear that, doc?”
Simon nods while he fills a syringe in that quiet and thoughtful way that everyone on the crew’s come to expect. No one really asks him for an opinion (or talks to him at all); unless a lick of the lips of tapping of his fingertips against a counter are the answer they want.
Mal’s heavy steps fade and he’s not gone five seconds before she mentions, “the captain’s just been real stressed--” and the last bit that seems for her (said quieter and with the accidental (but well-timed) fall of hair in front of her face), “He don’t mean it.” He doesn’t react much, not in anyway she sees. Simon’s not going to say that he didn’t ask or that she didn’t need to tell him, same way he’s not going to agree with her, or snake an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her tight.
(And he’s definitely not going to mention that him being stressed shouldn’t matter.)
Instead he just says, “Can I see your hand?”
It’s wrapped in an old engine rag- first thing she could find. He pinches it between gloved thumb and finger and peels it off to reveal her mangled hand. The blood has dried, and a swift cleanse with saline reveals that it’s one of those things that looks much worse than it is (she’s connected to Serenity in more ways than she considers).
He lifts her hand delicately to his eye-level, and she keeps her gaze fixed on her face. She’s never felt more important than under the doctor’s intense stare. Even if it’s just her hand. And with his jaw clenched and hair that she can’t remember ever seeing out of place, her hand is pretty lucky.
He twists his lips, and reaches behind him for something, her hand still in his, “How did you do it?”
“Serenity ain’t been in the best place lately. Coil’s gonna blow any day now.” With her free hand, she grips the chair, wincing and realising in the same moment that he’s trying to distract her from the needle going in and out of her skin, “So… Captain’s asking me to try…” Deep breath, “--and get by. But she ain’t happy about it.” He starts on a new stitch, “So when I tried to help her out, I got my hand caught in the blade.” She slams her eyes shut and bites down on her lip, “She don’t realise that it ain’t my fault she don’t got the new coil already. Captain says there ain’t enough money for it right now.” He looks up at her, she doesn’t realise, her eyes are still shut tightly. She looks kind of pretty, even with her nose screwed up, and a sweep of engine grease across her cheeks, very different to what he’s used to but pretty all the same, “Anyways, girl can spit when she ain’t getting her own way.” She smiles and opens up one eye, and then the other when he isn’t looking at her. She raises the arm away from him and twists so that he can see the inside of it; his eyes trace along her pale skin, peppered with scars and scrapes and burns.
He takes a deep breath, “You ever think about wearing… I don’t know, protective gear or something?”
She smiles at the uneasiness in his voice, maybe because he’s scared that that could be a criticism if you read it a certain way, or just because he doesn’t like talking that much. She shrugs, “I wore these real long gloves for ‘bout a week.” she gestures to where they came up to, way past the elbow, “But they got all caught up in it.” She lets out a little whimper, “Doc, you sure know how to sneak up on a girl with that needle.” His eyebrows come together in an ‘I’m sorry’ that’s caught in his throat, and she continues, “So I just don’t see much point in it anymore. I think Serenity likes me to be closer to her anyway.”
He nods, and finishes his stitch. There’s a soft clang as his equipment (all chrome and alien to her- even in a spaceship) lands in a pan of cleaning fluid. “You done?” she says, and they both ignore the hint of disappointment in her voice.
“Mm. It wasn’t that deep.” his tongue peeks out and runs over his top lip for a moment before he turns away and clears his throat. She looks down at his hands, even covered in her blood, they’re cleaner than hers on a good day. With a sigh, she thinks about how lovely and tidy and proper he is without trying. He takes a white strip and wraps it around her hand, around the thumb and then back around the palm until he tucks it in, “You should probably go easy on that. You might pull them out.”
She pulls her hand back in towards her, away from his, and keeps it in her lap, “Thanks, Simon.” she swings her legs around and braces herself on the chair.
He doesn’t really think about it before he says (the first on a list of very out of character traits he puts down to her, and only her), “I-I’m sure the captain didn’t mean it.” he coughs out, snapping off his gloves and throwing them away at the same time like maybe she won’t notice he spoke if he doesn’t draw attention to it. The second is that he mentioned the captain without having to- being more than a little scared of what would happen if he ever looked at him wrong.
The third is that he’s speaking to a girl like Kaylee (or… any girl). And he’s not completely hating it.
“Ya think?” she smiles and watches him nod and keep his eyes on anywhere that isn’t her. Apparently, he’s not going to talk anymore, she tilts her head and her eyelashes flutter, “Oh, so we’re back to that, huh?” and he looks up just to watch the last of her leave- a now bandaged hand over the last of the walls and then the door until it follows her into the hall.
Staring after it for just a little more than he should have, he’s awoken by the sound of two soft feed padding onto the floor. He turns to looks at River who’s watching him through brunette hair that streaks over her face. Her pensive lips come unstuck, “I think he did mean it.”. He looks down and carries on his winning streak of not speaking, taking a cloth and running it over the chair, and then looking back to find her much closer than he thought. “It’s not logical to say things like that, Simon.” she slides past him, and tucks her feet up with the rest of her onto the chair (the smell of disinfectant now comforting to her) “Like a box with nothing inside. It’s not the good kind of surprise.” A smile quivers on her mouth, “You like her.” She says it like she never even considered phrasing it as a question.
“It’s just something you say, Mei-Mei.” he turns his back to her, “To make people feel better.”
She pushes herself up the chair, now more upright (like maybe he’ll take her more seriously) “You don’t.” He looks at her, her lips are barely parted and now she’s not even looking at her. Her eyes shifted towards some hallucination or memory or maybe nothing to the side of her.
And it wasn’t a question after all, so he doesn’t have to answer; he just watches a now empty doorway and swears he can make out the shape of her hand on the wall. And still feel the warmth of hers in his palm.
Please, read and review ^_^
Fandom: Firefly
Characters/Pairings: Simon/Kaylee, a little bit of River
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: Nah, not really. It's set somewhere near the beginning of the series. So erm, awkward Simon? Do we need warning for that?
Word Count: A little bit less that 1400
Summary: She’s never felt more important than under the doctor’s intense stare. Even if it’s just her hand. And with his jaw clenched and hair that she can’t remember ever seeing out of place, her hand is pretty lucky. A visit to the infirmary + Simon's inability to talk to women = this fic.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: Written for zombie-boogie ^_^ And I was sat on it for ages, feeling like a failure, so I just decided to post it. Hope you like it.
Her voice is bleating, soft and wavering as she says, “I just got my hand caught in her engine, cap’n, is all.” Eyebrows knitted together she looks up into Mal’s face- he’s got that stony expression that these two won’t be used to, the one that crosses him when he’s forgetting that everyone here is on his side.
“Is all is right, I need you in that engine room as soon as possible.” And then over his shoulder, “You hear that, doc?”
Simon nods while he fills a syringe in that quiet and thoughtful way that everyone on the crew’s come to expect. No one really asks him for an opinion (or talks to him at all); unless a lick of the lips of tapping of his fingertips against a counter are the answer they want.
Mal’s heavy steps fade and he’s not gone five seconds before she mentions, “the captain’s just been real stressed--” and the last bit that seems for her (said quieter and with the accidental (but well-timed) fall of hair in front of her face), “He don’t mean it.” He doesn’t react much, not in anyway she sees. Simon’s not going to say that he didn’t ask or that she didn’t need to tell him, same way he’s not going to agree with her, or snake an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her tight.
(And he’s definitely not going to mention that him being stressed shouldn’t matter.)
Instead he just says, “Can I see your hand?”
It’s wrapped in an old engine rag- first thing she could find. He pinches it between gloved thumb and finger and peels it off to reveal her mangled hand. The blood has dried, and a swift cleanse with saline reveals that it’s one of those things that looks much worse than it is (she’s connected to Serenity in more ways than she considers).
He lifts her hand delicately to his eye-level, and she keeps her gaze fixed on her face. She’s never felt more important than under the doctor’s intense stare. Even if it’s just her hand. And with his jaw clenched and hair that she can’t remember ever seeing out of place, her hand is pretty lucky.
He twists his lips, and reaches behind him for something, her hand still in his, “How did you do it?”
“Serenity ain’t been in the best place lately. Coil’s gonna blow any day now.” With her free hand, she grips the chair, wincing and realising in the same moment that he’s trying to distract her from the needle going in and out of her skin, “So… Captain’s asking me to try…” Deep breath, “--and get by. But she ain’t happy about it.” He starts on a new stitch, “So when I tried to help her out, I got my hand caught in the blade.” She slams her eyes shut and bites down on her lip, “She don’t realise that it ain’t my fault she don’t got the new coil already. Captain says there ain’t enough money for it right now.” He looks up at her, she doesn’t realise, her eyes are still shut tightly. She looks kind of pretty, even with her nose screwed up, and a sweep of engine grease across her cheeks, very different to what he’s used to but pretty all the same, “Anyways, girl can spit when she ain’t getting her own way.” She smiles and opens up one eye, and then the other when he isn’t looking at her. She raises the arm away from him and twists so that he can see the inside of it; his eyes trace along her pale skin, peppered with scars and scrapes and burns.
He takes a deep breath, “You ever think about wearing… I don’t know, protective gear or something?”
She smiles at the uneasiness in his voice, maybe because he’s scared that that could be a criticism if you read it a certain way, or just because he doesn’t like talking that much. She shrugs, “I wore these real long gloves for ‘bout a week.” she gestures to where they came up to, way past the elbow, “But they got all caught up in it.” She lets out a little whimper, “Doc, you sure know how to sneak up on a girl with that needle.” His eyebrows come together in an ‘I’m sorry’ that’s caught in his throat, and she continues, “So I just don’t see much point in it anymore. I think Serenity likes me to be closer to her anyway.”
He nods, and finishes his stitch. There’s a soft clang as his equipment (all chrome and alien to her- even in a spaceship) lands in a pan of cleaning fluid. “You done?” she says, and they both ignore the hint of disappointment in her voice.
“Mm. It wasn’t that deep.” his tongue peeks out and runs over his top lip for a moment before he turns away and clears his throat. She looks down at his hands, even covered in her blood, they’re cleaner than hers on a good day. With a sigh, she thinks about how lovely and tidy and proper he is without trying. He takes a white strip and wraps it around her hand, around the thumb and then back around the palm until he tucks it in, “You should probably go easy on that. You might pull them out.”
She pulls her hand back in towards her, away from his, and keeps it in her lap, “Thanks, Simon.” she swings her legs around and braces herself on the chair.
He doesn’t really think about it before he says (the first on a list of very out of character traits he puts down to her, and only her), “I-I’m sure the captain didn’t mean it.” he coughs out, snapping off his gloves and throwing them away at the same time like maybe she won’t notice he spoke if he doesn’t draw attention to it. The second is that he mentioned the captain without having to- being more than a little scared of what would happen if he ever looked at him wrong.
The third is that he’s speaking to a girl like Kaylee (or… any girl). And he’s not completely hating it.
“Ya think?” she smiles and watches him nod and keep his eyes on anywhere that isn’t her. Apparently, he’s not going to talk anymore, she tilts her head and her eyelashes flutter, “Oh, so we’re back to that, huh?” and he looks up just to watch the last of her leave- a now bandaged hand over the last of the walls and then the door until it follows her into the hall.
Staring after it for just a little more than he should have, he’s awoken by the sound of two soft feed padding onto the floor. He turns to looks at River who’s watching him through brunette hair that streaks over her face. Her pensive lips come unstuck, “I think he did mean it.”. He looks down and carries on his winning streak of not speaking, taking a cloth and running it over the chair, and then looking back to find her much closer than he thought. “It’s not logical to say things like that, Simon.” she slides past him, and tucks her feet up with the rest of her onto the chair (the smell of disinfectant now comforting to her) “Like a box with nothing inside. It’s not the good kind of surprise.” A smile quivers on her mouth, “You like her.” She says it like she never even considered phrasing it as a question.
“It’s just something you say, Mei-Mei.” he turns his back to her, “To make people feel better.”
She pushes herself up the chair, now more upright (like maybe he’ll take her more seriously) “You don’t.” He looks at her, her lips are barely parted and now she’s not even looking at her. Her eyes shifted towards some hallucination or memory or maybe nothing to the side of her.
And it wasn’t a question after all, so he doesn’t have to answer; he just watches a now empty doorway and swears he can make out the shape of her hand on the wall. And still feel the warmth of hers in his palm.
Please, read and review ^_^