Fic: Meeting Zeke
Meeting Zeke by 
foolish_mortal
Fandom: Firefly
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Malcolm Reynolds/Simon Tam
Characters: Malcolm Reynolds, Simon Tam Summary:
Summary: Simon knows about the Goodnight Kiss first-hand. Pre-series.
It wasn't the sort of bar Simon would have chosen, but he was supposed to meet a smuggler named Zeke here in two hours. One of his contacts in this blackout zone (and when had he started knowing people like that?) had given him Zeke's name, and it had only taken a little digging to find his information and arrange a meeting. Zeke was his best option if he wanted to break into the Alliance facility and get River out. God, River. He wondered what she was doing right now. They had always shared a mental connect, an instinct that had let them share feelings and sometimes speak in unison. River always felt whenever Simon was frustrated with his father, and Simon always knew where River hid herself when she was feeling lonely. But then he had gone off to medical school, and she had gone to the Academy, and something between them had broken.
Simon knuckled his eyes. He and some of the other surgeons had just finished double-shifts, so he knew he looked like hell. The other bar patrons were eyeing him. He knew he looked too clean and respectable to belong here, and they probably thought he was a plainclothes Fed. He discreetly checked his wallet to make sure it was still in the inside pocket of his jacket; money up front, Zeke had said, but Simon was no fool.
A man sat next to him and gestured. "Baijiu."
"Reynolds," the barkeep growled. "You got some nerve showing your face round here again." He grabbed the man's head in his huge meaty hands and shook him like a dog with a bone. Simon tensed, ready to get away if a fight broke out, but then the two men were laughing and punching each other amicably.
"Haven't seen you in an age, Garth," the man said.
"Same," the barkeep replied. "Where's Corporal Alleyne?"
"Well you see." The man ran a hand across the stubble on his jaw and looked apprehensive. "We got into a…disagreement with one of Osiris's fine upstanding folk. Zoe's keeping them busy while I get the rest of their money."
"How's that?" the barkeep asked and placed a small metal cup of baijiu on the table.
The man took a deep swallow and smacked his lips in appreciation. "Still figuring that out."
Simon tried to move away without looking obvious. This man was a troublemaker. He smelled like gunpowder and engine exhaust. He glanced sidelong at the brown leather duster on the back of the man's chair. Yes, definitely a troublemaker. But from the way the women at the bar were watching him, he supposed they had a weakness for the type, which he didn't understand at all. Simon had learned long before to avoid such people; they just dragged you down with them.
"Got a problem, kid?" the man asked, and it took Simon a moment to realise he was talking to him.
"What?" he said. His eyes flashed to the man's face. His expression was dangerous. "N-No. No trouble. I'm waiting for…are you Zeke?"
"No." The man didn't seem willing to say any more, but the barkeep put a massive forearm on the table and leaned in.
"Zeke? Zeke Wallace? What do you want him for?"
"That's private," Simon replied.
"Well then keep it to yourself and let folk drink in peace," the man interrupted. He turned on his bar stool and eyed Simon up and down. "Fancy hundan like you shouldn't be in a blackout zone anyhow."
"Don't you start picking fights in my bar, Reynolds," the barkeep growled. "I like you, but I'll still kick you out on your ass if you start making trouble with the Alliance."
"Damn the Alliance," Simon muttered.
The man's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" he drawled in a tone that made Simon's hackles rise. "Isn't that interesting, Garth? Reckon we've got a genuine rebel here." He crowded closer. Simon's hand curled into a fist. "What did they do to you? Raised your taxes? Shut down your favourite country club?"
"They took my sister!" Simon spat. The man and the barkeep went silent. Simon took a deep breath and let it out. He felt very small. "They took my sister," he said. "They're keeping her somewhere, and I'm getting her back."
"And that's why you're talking to Zeke," the man said. His voice was softer now. "You are some kind of stupid, boy."
"I don't care," Simon said. "She's my sister."
The man shook his head. "Sometimes you got to cut your losses. Do what you can to survive."
"You don't just leave people," Simon said angrily.
A shadow passed over the man's face. "No," he said. "I reckon you don't." He finished his liquor in one gulp and held out a hand. After some hesitation, Simon took it, and they shook hands. "Name's Malcolm Reynolds."
"Mr. Reynolds," Simon began.
"Folk I like call me Mal," the man said. "You can call me Malcolm." He turned and waved an arm. "Another round. Let's have one for the xiao ya, too."
"Don't call me that," Simon snapped.
Malcolm just grinned, and for the first time Simon noticed that he was handsome. "Go on, Garth." Malcolm waved a hand. "Put it on my tab."
"Your tab is the size of my leg," the barkeep grumbled but slid another metal cup in front of Simon. It was full of baijiu so cheap that the smell of it burned Simon's nostrils. He touched the liquor to his lips and shuddered.
Malcolm found that amusing. "Drink up," he said. "Bet a soft thing like you hasn't tasted real rice liquor. You people drink too much of that fancy gou shi."
Simon stared down at the cup. Residency seemed very far away now. He felt so much older, even though it had only been three years. The boy that had climbed on the statue of Hippocrates and belted out the national anthem seemed like he had never existed at all. Simon put the cup to his lips and drank down the liquor in one stinging gulp. All around him, he felt the others at the bar relax, and he wondered what sort of initiation he had just passed.
Malcolm just whistled low and called for another. Simon couldn't meet his eyes, and he could feel himself turning pink. It felt odd drinking with a man like Malcolm Reynolds who did everything with the single-minded intensity of a man expecting any day to be his last. He wondered what had made a man like that.
They didn't talk very much. Malcolm kept him silent company once in a while, and other times he left to speak to someone that had shown up at the bar. He knew a lot of people in the blackout zones, and it seemed as if he was asking all of them to trade favours for credits.
"Remember that one time we fenced those microchips for you, Freddy?" Simon heard him saying as he and another man came by for drinks. "Come on."
"No can do, Mal," Freddy replied. "Wish I could help you, but I don't have the credits."
Mal waited till Freddy had left and then hit the table with his fist with a curse. He caught Simon watching, glared at him as if Simon were the one refusing to give him a loan, and then left to charm someone else. He was surly and coarse and everything Simon had been brought up to shun, and Simon couldn't take his eyes off him. He almost forgot about his meeting with Zeke till Malcolm came back to the bar later and sat down. Simon bought a round out of courtesy, and Malcolm swigged it.
"You're still here," he said.
"Of course I'm still here," Simon replied. He wondered if Malcolm had really expected him to back down and run.
"Thought you'd be meeting with Zeke by now."
Surprised, Simon checked his watch. "Oh. He's late."
"Yeah, that's Zeke." Malcolm sighed and pulled a hand down his face. It looked like the drinks were catching up with him now. "Listen, I think it's damn admirable what you're doing for your sister, but is what she did-"
"What she did?" Simon repeated. "You think she's in prison? She didn't do a thing-"
"I don't give a damn," Malcolm interrupted. Simon bristled. "It's best I don't know." He glanced around and then lowered his voice. "How are you paying Zeke?"
"Untraceable credits," Simon replied. "I'm not a complete idiot."
Malcolm grunted. "Didn't say you were. But if you want to back out, now's your chance. I know Zeke. He's a mean sonovabitch."
"You know Zeke?" Simon asked. "When were you going to tell me?"
"Wasn't," Malcolm said with a shrug. "Gotta look after me and mine first."
Simon stiffened. "Well then. I don't see how my welfare is any of your concern, Malcolm."
Malcolm grunted. "That's right, it ain't. So if you want to go and get your fool head blown off, it's all the same to me."
Simon regretted his words immediately. Malcolm had warned him in the end, after all. "I'll keep what you said in mind," he mumbled. "Thank you."
Malcolm shrugged and looked straight ahead. "Just some friendly advice is all." Then the corner of his mouth twitched. "Don't take much to get your feathers ruffled, does it, xiao ya?"
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. God, he shouldn’t have drunk so much. He was getting a headache. "No. That is…I'm not usually like this."
"That's a damn shame," Malcolm said. "Making you twitch is good fun."
"Insulting my sister usually isn't the best way to get on my good side," Simon replied tartly. He rolled the rest of the rice liquor around in the bottom of his filthy glass. River. River was waiting for him. "This Zeke. Do you think he'll take my offer?"
Malcolm shrugged. "He'll take your money, that's for sure."
Simon sighed. God, he wanted to believe Malcolm, wanted to believe in the frank solidness of him. Malcolm had his own streak of honour, but it was honour nonetheless. Simon respected that. He had been raised with a strong sense of duty and propriety, except in his family that had turned into sacrificing their daughter to their blind faith in the government. Simon didn't know what sort of honour he could trust anymore, but the thought he could believe in Malcolm's.
He wondered what River would have done. "So you're saying my evening has been a complete waste."
Malcolm grinned with all his teeth. "Aw, you're breaking my heart, xiao ya."
"Well, no," Simon floundered. "I meant with the…" He saw the glint in Malcolm's eye and realised he was being teased. Simon glanced towards the barkeep, who nodded. He nodded back and drained his last cup. "I can find someone else."
"That's recommended, son," Malcolm said and swept his coat back around his shoulders. "I gotta find my crew. Might be we're going the same way. I'll see you out."
"Alright. Thank you." Simon got up and staggered slightly, but Malcolm put a steadying arm around his shoulders, and it made Simon feel very warm.
"See you in the world, Garth," Malcolm said as steered Simon out.
"Yeah, better be seeing you, Reynolds, with the tab you've got," the barkeep shouted back. "You tell the corporal I said hello."
"Will as soon as I spring her," Malcolm promised. "You tell Zeke I stoled his client."
Simon smiled at that but ducked his head so Malcolm didn't see.
The night air hit them all at once. It felt chilly after emerging from the hot stuffy bar, and Simon was grateful for the warmth of Malcolm's arm. He looked up at Malcolm and wished he hadn't, because the streetlights were reflecting in Malcolm's eyes, and it made Simon's thoughts stir dangerously. Malcolm was loyal and bad-mannered and most certainly a criminal, and Simon had to get away and sober up before he did something incredibly stupid.
He ducked out from under Malcolm's arm and felt cold, but he kept on walking till he could see the main road up ahead. "I appreciate all you've done," he said, striving for formality. "I think I can go from here."
"Wei," Malcolm said. When Simon turned around, Malcolm fisted a hand in the front of his jacket and bodily pulled him forward into a kiss.
Simon gasped against his mouth and then pressed forward. Malcolm made a sound low in his throat, and Simon loved that, loved the proprietary way Malcolm grabbed him and pulled him around as he pleased. Malcolm didn't treat him as something fragile. Wuo de ma, he couldn't think of the last time he had been this attracted to someone. Malcolm was all ferocity, and Simon wrapped his arms around Malcolm's neck and kissed back with the same angry urgency like they were in the middle of a back-alley brawl. They had been born in very different circumstances, but Simon imagined he and Malcolm were both stubborn bastards who always got their way.
They pulled back short of breath, and Simon's lips tingled with pain. He wondered if Malcolm had made his lips bruise. Malcolm cupped his hands around Simon's face and pressed their foreheads together. "Good luck, xiao ya. I do hope you find your sis."
Simon wondered if that was that, if this was how Malcolm chose to cut ties. Then again, he didn't seem the type for sentimental goodbyes, and Simon was probably just a temporary blip in the broad spectrum of his day. He tried not to feel disappointed.
"That money for your crew," he said. He was feeling hazy and generous. "How will you get it?"
"Got a few ideas," Malcolm replied. His eyes were intense and almost…embarrassed.
Simon opened his mouth to ask why but suddenly the world went fuzzy, and he couldn’t stand up. For a moment, he thought perhaps the baijiu was coming back to hit him, but then his body went numb, and he pitched forward. Malcolm caught him by the shoulders and eased him to the ground till he was sitting propped against the graffitied wall of the bar.
You drugged me, Simon wanted to say, but he couldn’t make his lips form the words. His mouth felt numb and puffy, too large for his face. He tried to raise his mouth to it, but his arm wouldn't move. Patients had come into the late-night shift like this, men who had been knocked out and robbed. The Goodnight Kiss, they called it. Usually it was used by women, so Simon thought he understood Malcolm's embarrassment. He must have been desperate to do something so underhanded. That didn't make Simon any less furious.
"Sorry 'bout this," Malcolm's voice was floating towards him from far away, and he didn't sound sorry at all. "But think of it as a mercy. Zeke would've put a bullet in you as soon as looked at you."
He felt Malcolm reach into his coat pocket, and he tried to struggle. That money was for Zeke. That money was for River. That inspired feeling in one of his arms, but he only succeeded in making flop pathetically to the ground next to him.
Malcolm opened the wallet and emptied out the credits. "Way I see it, you can get plenty more where this came from, but I need it right now. My crew could die." He looked at the credits and grunted in approval. "Untraceable, just like you said. You're careful, I'll give you that."
He flipped through the wallet and took some other things, Simon's authorization pass for restricted zones and his city transport pass.
Give that back, Simon wanted to shout.
Malcolm took out his hospital authorization card and held it up, looking between it and Simon a few times. Simon cringed inside. They had taken the id picture when Simon had been younger, gawky and terribly pale.
"Cute," Malcolm remarked and put the card back.
He didn't take anything else, just tucked the wallet back into Simon's coat and then did up the buttons of his jacket in an odd tender gesture. "Gets a mite cold out here," he said, his conversational tone belying the way his fingers lingered at the top button near Simon's throat.
God, Simon thought and would have laughed out loud if he could have. Even after being manipulated, drugged, and robbed, even after being so blindingly furious with Malcolm that he could have killed him on the spot, he still wanted the hot points of Malcolm's fingertips against the hollow of his throat.
He managed a quiet huff, but Malcolm mistook that. He stepped back and held up his hands. "Only interested in your money, son. I swear I won't be touching a hair on your pretty head."
Despite everything, Simon believed him. Malcolm was an honest criminal. He had the money for his crew, and that was all he had wanted from Simon in the first place. God, he had been so naïve. He had been so blinded with wonder that a man like Malcolm wanted to help him, wanted to be with him, that he hadn't stopped to wonder why.
Malcolm knelt down so they were face to face, and Simon tried to communicate some of his thoughts with his eyes. He wasn't sure how much got across. He blinked at Malcolm a few times instead and wondered why he hadn't passed out yet. Maybe Malcolm hadn't adjusted the dose properly. He was new at this kind of crime after all and seemed like the kind of man that preferred his solutions to lie in his fists.
Malcolm reached out to cup Simon's chin. "No, sir," he murmured, running a thumb over Simon's bottom lip. Simon shivered. "You don't have to worry about me none."
Then he promptly went against his word and kissed Simon again, just a hard press of lips. Simon felt his lips sing with pain and relished in it. Another rush of icy numbness ran through his body, and Malcolm's face began to blur. The drug. Simon felt himself teetering on the edge of consciousness and thought that it would be very easy to just let go and fall. He groaned.
"No need to get upset, xiao ya," a low voice was echoing. "Feds make rounds here every hour. They'll find you soon enough."
Simon surrendered and tipped over the edge into blackness.
"No ruttin' way!" Jayne shouted, and the whole crew roared again. Simon thought he could see tears in Kaylee's eyes, and she was bright red from laughter. He was the only one that wasn't laughing, but Jayne had written him off as being too prissy to enjoy a good joke. No one on the crew realised that Simon knew this joke far too well.
"It's true," Zoe said, grinning wide and vicious. "And then Mal showed up with enough money to bail us out."
"Wait, wait," Wash said. He was still nursing his head wound, and every time he smiled, he winced at the pull of stitches. "Are you saying the captain used the Goodnight Kiss on some rich hundan to steal his money?" He turned to Mal, who was covering his face with a hand. "Wow, you and the harpy really were the perfect couple! We should fly back and get her!"
"Zoe, I thought we agreed we would never speak of that ever again," Mal muttered.
"I remember no such thing, sir," Zoe said primly. "May I say, it was mighty noble of you going through all that trouble."
"Wasn't no trouble," Mal snapped. "He was a rich idiot with twenty-thousand untraceable. I was young and desperate, and we needed the money."
"There's no need to be ashamed, Captain. You saved your crew," Book said. His moustache twitched. "And besides, after all the trouble your wife gave us, I think you owe us some tales."
"Yeah, tell another!" Jayne shouted, and Simon finally stood up and left. River eyed him as he passed but only gave him an enigmatic smile that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
He went about the arduous task of cleaning the infirmary because he wanted the sting of strong soap and the glint of sterilized scalpels. He slammed some cabinet doors and felt better.
He had boarded Serenity with the full intention of keeping his identity a secret from Malcolm Reynolds till he disembarked at Boros. He had worn his dark glasses and richest clothes to camouflage himself among the class of 'rich hundans' that Malcolm seemed to particularly hate because Simon knew that sometimes the best cover was to stay right in plain sight. He could have evaded Malcolm easily and boarded another ship at the port, but the captain of the Serenity was a thief and an honourable man, and he hadn't found too many of those after his fall from the Osiran elite.
He knew Malcolm wouldn't remember him, but he had felt a mixture of disappointment and relief nonetheless. But then Malcolm had turned into Mal, and it had become increasingly difficult for Simon to keep his head down. And then, just when he thought he was learning how to swallow down his past and start looking Mal in the eye, Saffron had floated into their lives with her deadly smiles and goodnight kisses, and now Simon didn't know where else he could run.
He finished disposing with the dirty bandages and cotton in the satisfying flash of the incinerator and was calming down enough to consider doing the inventory when the doors of the infirmary whooshed open behind him. He heard heavy boots step over the threshold and pause.
"Something the matter, Captain?" Simon asked. He was pleased to find his voice was calm. "Side effects from the drug?" He knew all about side effects. The first thing he'd done when he'd come around was throw up all the liquor and scant dinner from the night before. Then he'd looked around and realised he was in a hospital bed, that Malcolm had carried him to the nearest emergency clinic and dropped him on their doorstep.
"Nope, feeling fine," Mal said. Simon turned his head for a moment and saw Mal was still standing at the doors with his arms folded across his chest. Mal caught his eye, and Simon looked away and returned to his work.
"That rich idiot you stole from in the bar," Simon said. He kept his attention to the scalpels, checking them for flaws and then stowing them neatly away. "What was he like?"
Mal suddenly appeared in his peripheral, leaning against the counter. Simon could feel his eyes on him but refused to look up. "He was soft and stupid," Mal said. "Too trusting. Not a good combination for such a pretty face. When I met him, I thought that could land him into trouble easy."
"I see," Simon murmured. It had been a long time ago, but the words still stung. He wondered if Mal had ever really been attracted to him, or if it had just been about the money. He supposed Mal had just answered that question well enough. Crew came first. He was on Mal's crew now too, and he knew Mal would move heaven and earth to protect what was his. He still felt a wave of petulance rise within him and shut the drawer with more force than necessary.
He could hear Mal shift in the ensuing quiet. "But he was smart," Mal continued. "And the finest-looking man I have ever met. And he wasn't weak."
Simon's head jerked up and found Mal had been staring at him. His eyes were dark and intense, and Simon couldn't look away. "Malcolm," he whispered. "Mal."
"He wasn't weak," Mal repeated, holding his gaze. "Reckon that's why I liked him. Had to steal from him anyway, but I liked him. Didn't have to kiss him the second time." And now his face was close. Simon could see his eyelashes and the faint scar above his eyebrow. "Didn't even have to kiss him the first time. Could have hit him, done it proper."
Simon tried to speak, but it felt like the Goodnight Kiss all over again, and he couldn't make his lips shape the right words. "How long have you known?"
"Took me a while," Mal admitted. "You never said anything. You've changed, xiao ya."
"I told you not to call me that," Simon said, but he could feel a smile at his mouth.
"Oh, really?" Mal rumbled. He stepped closer till their noses were almost touching. "Then what am I gonna call you?"
"The people I like call me Simon," Simon said. He grabbed the front of Mal's shirt and hauled him in the rest of the way. Their mouths collided in a shock of pain and heat.
"Xiao ya," Mal growled against his mouth and kissed him back, hard and possessive. Simon had always liked that about Mal, the way he took what he wanted and said mine.
Simon curled his hands in the hair at the nape of Mal's neck as Mal wrapped his calloused hands around Simon's waist and pressed him back against the metal counter with his warm broad body. Mal smelled familiar, like gun oil and metal. Like a troublemaker. Simon had always had a weakness for his type, and he ducked his head to press his mouth under Mal's ear and breathe him in. Mal gasped and cursed softly, and Simon smiled against his skin.
"Your dose wasn't correct, you know," he said with his lips brushing the soft shell of Mal's ear. "You didn't have a medic back then. I could have done it right."
He felt Mal's laugh reverberate through his chest. "You woulda helped me rob you blind?"
"In a second," Simon breathed and hooked an ankle around Mal sturdy leg to shamelessly press against him. In retrospect, he supposed it had been a good thing that he had never waited around in the bar to meet with Zeke.
TRANSLATION NOTES:
*baijiu: Chinese rice liquor
*xiao ya: duckling
*hundan: bastard
* gou shi: crap
*wei: hey
*wo de ma: mother of god
foolish_mortal
Fandom: Firefly
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Malcolm Reynolds/Simon Tam
Characters: Malcolm Reynolds, Simon Tam Summary:
Summary: Simon knows about the Goodnight Kiss first-hand. Pre-series.
It wasn't the sort of bar Simon would have chosen, but he was supposed to meet a smuggler named Zeke here in two hours. One of his contacts in this blackout zone (and when had he started knowing people like that?) had given him Zeke's name, and it had only taken a little digging to find his information and arrange a meeting. Zeke was his best option if he wanted to break into the Alliance facility and get River out. God, River. He wondered what she was doing right now. They had always shared a mental connect, an instinct that had let them share feelings and sometimes speak in unison. River always felt whenever Simon was frustrated with his father, and Simon always knew where River hid herself when she was feeling lonely. But then he had gone off to medical school, and she had gone to the Academy, and something between them had broken.
Simon knuckled his eyes. He and some of the other surgeons had just finished double-shifts, so he knew he looked like hell. The other bar patrons were eyeing him. He knew he looked too clean and respectable to belong here, and they probably thought he was a plainclothes Fed. He discreetly checked his wallet to make sure it was still in the inside pocket of his jacket; money up front, Zeke had said, but Simon was no fool.
A man sat next to him and gestured. "Baijiu."
"Reynolds," the barkeep growled. "You got some nerve showing your face round here again." He grabbed the man's head in his huge meaty hands and shook him like a dog with a bone. Simon tensed, ready to get away if a fight broke out, but then the two men were laughing and punching each other amicably.
"Haven't seen you in an age, Garth," the man said.
"Same," the barkeep replied. "Where's Corporal Alleyne?"
"Well you see." The man ran a hand across the stubble on his jaw and looked apprehensive. "We got into a…disagreement with one of Osiris's fine upstanding folk. Zoe's keeping them busy while I get the rest of their money."
"How's that?" the barkeep asked and placed a small metal cup of baijiu on the table.
The man took a deep swallow and smacked his lips in appreciation. "Still figuring that out."
Simon tried to move away without looking obvious. This man was a troublemaker. He smelled like gunpowder and engine exhaust. He glanced sidelong at the brown leather duster on the back of the man's chair. Yes, definitely a troublemaker. But from the way the women at the bar were watching him, he supposed they had a weakness for the type, which he didn't understand at all. Simon had learned long before to avoid such people; they just dragged you down with them.
"Got a problem, kid?" the man asked, and it took Simon a moment to realise he was talking to him.
"What?" he said. His eyes flashed to the man's face. His expression was dangerous. "N-No. No trouble. I'm waiting for…are you Zeke?"
"No." The man didn't seem willing to say any more, but the barkeep put a massive forearm on the table and leaned in.
"Zeke? Zeke Wallace? What do you want him for?"
"That's private," Simon replied.
"Well then keep it to yourself and let folk drink in peace," the man interrupted. He turned on his bar stool and eyed Simon up and down. "Fancy hundan like you shouldn't be in a blackout zone anyhow."
"Don't you start picking fights in my bar, Reynolds," the barkeep growled. "I like you, but I'll still kick you out on your ass if you start making trouble with the Alliance."
"Damn the Alliance," Simon muttered.
The man's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" he drawled in a tone that made Simon's hackles rise. "Isn't that interesting, Garth? Reckon we've got a genuine rebel here." He crowded closer. Simon's hand curled into a fist. "What did they do to you? Raised your taxes? Shut down your favourite country club?"
"They took my sister!" Simon spat. The man and the barkeep went silent. Simon took a deep breath and let it out. He felt very small. "They took my sister," he said. "They're keeping her somewhere, and I'm getting her back."
"And that's why you're talking to Zeke," the man said. His voice was softer now. "You are some kind of stupid, boy."
"I don't care," Simon said. "She's my sister."
The man shook his head. "Sometimes you got to cut your losses. Do what you can to survive."
"You don't just leave people," Simon said angrily.
A shadow passed over the man's face. "No," he said. "I reckon you don't." He finished his liquor in one gulp and held out a hand. After some hesitation, Simon took it, and they shook hands. "Name's Malcolm Reynolds."
"Mr. Reynolds," Simon began.
"Folk I like call me Mal," the man said. "You can call me Malcolm." He turned and waved an arm. "Another round. Let's have one for the xiao ya, too."
"Don't call me that," Simon snapped.
Malcolm just grinned, and for the first time Simon noticed that he was handsome. "Go on, Garth." Malcolm waved a hand. "Put it on my tab."
"Your tab is the size of my leg," the barkeep grumbled but slid another metal cup in front of Simon. It was full of baijiu so cheap that the smell of it burned Simon's nostrils. He touched the liquor to his lips and shuddered.
Malcolm found that amusing. "Drink up," he said. "Bet a soft thing like you hasn't tasted real rice liquor. You people drink too much of that fancy gou shi."
Simon stared down at the cup. Residency seemed very far away now. He felt so much older, even though it had only been three years. The boy that had climbed on the statue of Hippocrates and belted out the national anthem seemed like he had never existed at all. Simon put the cup to his lips and drank down the liquor in one stinging gulp. All around him, he felt the others at the bar relax, and he wondered what sort of initiation he had just passed.
Malcolm just whistled low and called for another. Simon couldn't meet his eyes, and he could feel himself turning pink. It felt odd drinking with a man like Malcolm Reynolds who did everything with the single-minded intensity of a man expecting any day to be his last. He wondered what had made a man like that.
They didn't talk very much. Malcolm kept him silent company once in a while, and other times he left to speak to someone that had shown up at the bar. He knew a lot of people in the blackout zones, and it seemed as if he was asking all of them to trade favours for credits.
"Remember that one time we fenced those microchips for you, Freddy?" Simon heard him saying as he and another man came by for drinks. "Come on."
"No can do, Mal," Freddy replied. "Wish I could help you, but I don't have the credits."
Mal waited till Freddy had left and then hit the table with his fist with a curse. He caught Simon watching, glared at him as if Simon were the one refusing to give him a loan, and then left to charm someone else. He was surly and coarse and everything Simon had been brought up to shun, and Simon couldn't take his eyes off him. He almost forgot about his meeting with Zeke till Malcolm came back to the bar later and sat down. Simon bought a round out of courtesy, and Malcolm swigged it.
"You're still here," he said.
"Of course I'm still here," Simon replied. He wondered if Malcolm had really expected him to back down and run.
"Thought you'd be meeting with Zeke by now."
Surprised, Simon checked his watch. "Oh. He's late."
"Yeah, that's Zeke." Malcolm sighed and pulled a hand down his face. It looked like the drinks were catching up with him now. "Listen, I think it's damn admirable what you're doing for your sister, but is what she did-"
"What she did?" Simon repeated. "You think she's in prison? She didn't do a thing-"
"I don't give a damn," Malcolm interrupted. Simon bristled. "It's best I don't know." He glanced around and then lowered his voice. "How are you paying Zeke?"
"Untraceable credits," Simon replied. "I'm not a complete idiot."
Malcolm grunted. "Didn't say you were. But if you want to back out, now's your chance. I know Zeke. He's a mean sonovabitch."
"You know Zeke?" Simon asked. "When were you going to tell me?"
"Wasn't," Malcolm said with a shrug. "Gotta look after me and mine first."
Simon stiffened. "Well then. I don't see how my welfare is any of your concern, Malcolm."
Malcolm grunted. "That's right, it ain't. So if you want to go and get your fool head blown off, it's all the same to me."
Simon regretted his words immediately. Malcolm had warned him in the end, after all. "I'll keep what you said in mind," he mumbled. "Thank you."
Malcolm shrugged and looked straight ahead. "Just some friendly advice is all." Then the corner of his mouth twitched. "Don't take much to get your feathers ruffled, does it, xiao ya?"
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. God, he shouldn’t have drunk so much. He was getting a headache. "No. That is…I'm not usually like this."
"That's a damn shame," Malcolm said. "Making you twitch is good fun."
"Insulting my sister usually isn't the best way to get on my good side," Simon replied tartly. He rolled the rest of the rice liquor around in the bottom of his filthy glass. River. River was waiting for him. "This Zeke. Do you think he'll take my offer?"
Malcolm shrugged. "He'll take your money, that's for sure."
Simon sighed. God, he wanted to believe Malcolm, wanted to believe in the frank solidness of him. Malcolm had his own streak of honour, but it was honour nonetheless. Simon respected that. He had been raised with a strong sense of duty and propriety, except in his family that had turned into sacrificing their daughter to their blind faith in the government. Simon didn't know what sort of honour he could trust anymore, but the thought he could believe in Malcolm's.
He wondered what River would have done. "So you're saying my evening has been a complete waste."
Malcolm grinned with all his teeth. "Aw, you're breaking my heart, xiao ya."
"Well, no," Simon floundered. "I meant with the…" He saw the glint in Malcolm's eye and realised he was being teased. Simon glanced towards the barkeep, who nodded. He nodded back and drained his last cup. "I can find someone else."
"That's recommended, son," Malcolm said and swept his coat back around his shoulders. "I gotta find my crew. Might be we're going the same way. I'll see you out."
"Alright. Thank you." Simon got up and staggered slightly, but Malcolm put a steadying arm around his shoulders, and it made Simon feel very warm.
"See you in the world, Garth," Malcolm said as steered Simon out.
"Yeah, better be seeing you, Reynolds, with the tab you've got," the barkeep shouted back. "You tell the corporal I said hello."
"Will as soon as I spring her," Malcolm promised. "You tell Zeke I stoled his client."
Simon smiled at that but ducked his head so Malcolm didn't see.
The night air hit them all at once. It felt chilly after emerging from the hot stuffy bar, and Simon was grateful for the warmth of Malcolm's arm. He looked up at Malcolm and wished he hadn't, because the streetlights were reflecting in Malcolm's eyes, and it made Simon's thoughts stir dangerously. Malcolm was loyal and bad-mannered and most certainly a criminal, and Simon had to get away and sober up before he did something incredibly stupid.
He ducked out from under Malcolm's arm and felt cold, but he kept on walking till he could see the main road up ahead. "I appreciate all you've done," he said, striving for formality. "I think I can go from here."
"Wei," Malcolm said. When Simon turned around, Malcolm fisted a hand in the front of his jacket and bodily pulled him forward into a kiss.
Simon gasped against his mouth and then pressed forward. Malcolm made a sound low in his throat, and Simon loved that, loved the proprietary way Malcolm grabbed him and pulled him around as he pleased. Malcolm didn't treat him as something fragile. Wuo de ma, he couldn't think of the last time he had been this attracted to someone. Malcolm was all ferocity, and Simon wrapped his arms around Malcolm's neck and kissed back with the same angry urgency like they were in the middle of a back-alley brawl. They had been born in very different circumstances, but Simon imagined he and Malcolm were both stubborn bastards who always got their way.
They pulled back short of breath, and Simon's lips tingled with pain. He wondered if Malcolm had made his lips bruise. Malcolm cupped his hands around Simon's face and pressed their foreheads together. "Good luck, xiao ya. I do hope you find your sis."
Simon wondered if that was that, if this was how Malcolm chose to cut ties. Then again, he didn't seem the type for sentimental goodbyes, and Simon was probably just a temporary blip in the broad spectrum of his day. He tried not to feel disappointed.
"That money for your crew," he said. He was feeling hazy and generous. "How will you get it?"
"Got a few ideas," Malcolm replied. His eyes were intense and almost…embarrassed.
Simon opened his mouth to ask why but suddenly the world went fuzzy, and he couldn’t stand up. For a moment, he thought perhaps the baijiu was coming back to hit him, but then his body went numb, and he pitched forward. Malcolm caught him by the shoulders and eased him to the ground till he was sitting propped against the graffitied wall of the bar.
You drugged me, Simon wanted to say, but he couldn’t make his lips form the words. His mouth felt numb and puffy, too large for his face. He tried to raise his mouth to it, but his arm wouldn't move. Patients had come into the late-night shift like this, men who had been knocked out and robbed. The Goodnight Kiss, they called it. Usually it was used by women, so Simon thought he understood Malcolm's embarrassment. He must have been desperate to do something so underhanded. That didn't make Simon any less furious.
"Sorry 'bout this," Malcolm's voice was floating towards him from far away, and he didn't sound sorry at all. "But think of it as a mercy. Zeke would've put a bullet in you as soon as looked at you."
He felt Malcolm reach into his coat pocket, and he tried to struggle. That money was for Zeke. That money was for River. That inspired feeling in one of his arms, but he only succeeded in making flop pathetically to the ground next to him.
Malcolm opened the wallet and emptied out the credits. "Way I see it, you can get plenty more where this came from, but I need it right now. My crew could die." He looked at the credits and grunted in approval. "Untraceable, just like you said. You're careful, I'll give you that."
He flipped through the wallet and took some other things, Simon's authorization pass for restricted zones and his city transport pass.
Give that back, Simon wanted to shout.
Malcolm took out his hospital authorization card and held it up, looking between it and Simon a few times. Simon cringed inside. They had taken the id picture when Simon had been younger, gawky and terribly pale.
"Cute," Malcolm remarked and put the card back.
He didn't take anything else, just tucked the wallet back into Simon's coat and then did up the buttons of his jacket in an odd tender gesture. "Gets a mite cold out here," he said, his conversational tone belying the way his fingers lingered at the top button near Simon's throat.
God, Simon thought and would have laughed out loud if he could have. Even after being manipulated, drugged, and robbed, even after being so blindingly furious with Malcolm that he could have killed him on the spot, he still wanted the hot points of Malcolm's fingertips against the hollow of his throat.
He managed a quiet huff, but Malcolm mistook that. He stepped back and held up his hands. "Only interested in your money, son. I swear I won't be touching a hair on your pretty head."
Despite everything, Simon believed him. Malcolm was an honest criminal. He had the money for his crew, and that was all he had wanted from Simon in the first place. God, he had been so naïve. He had been so blinded with wonder that a man like Malcolm wanted to help him, wanted to be with him, that he hadn't stopped to wonder why.
Malcolm knelt down so they were face to face, and Simon tried to communicate some of his thoughts with his eyes. He wasn't sure how much got across. He blinked at Malcolm a few times instead and wondered why he hadn't passed out yet. Maybe Malcolm hadn't adjusted the dose properly. He was new at this kind of crime after all and seemed like the kind of man that preferred his solutions to lie in his fists.
Malcolm reached out to cup Simon's chin. "No, sir," he murmured, running a thumb over Simon's bottom lip. Simon shivered. "You don't have to worry about me none."
Then he promptly went against his word and kissed Simon again, just a hard press of lips. Simon felt his lips sing with pain and relished in it. Another rush of icy numbness ran through his body, and Malcolm's face began to blur. The drug. Simon felt himself teetering on the edge of consciousness and thought that it would be very easy to just let go and fall. He groaned.
"No need to get upset, xiao ya," a low voice was echoing. "Feds make rounds here every hour. They'll find you soon enough."
Simon surrendered and tipped over the edge into blackness.
"No ruttin' way!" Jayne shouted, and the whole crew roared again. Simon thought he could see tears in Kaylee's eyes, and she was bright red from laughter. He was the only one that wasn't laughing, but Jayne had written him off as being too prissy to enjoy a good joke. No one on the crew realised that Simon knew this joke far too well.
"It's true," Zoe said, grinning wide and vicious. "And then Mal showed up with enough money to bail us out."
"Wait, wait," Wash said. He was still nursing his head wound, and every time he smiled, he winced at the pull of stitches. "Are you saying the captain used the Goodnight Kiss on some rich hundan to steal his money?" He turned to Mal, who was covering his face with a hand. "Wow, you and the harpy really were the perfect couple! We should fly back and get her!"
"Zoe, I thought we agreed we would never speak of that ever again," Mal muttered.
"I remember no such thing, sir," Zoe said primly. "May I say, it was mighty noble of you going through all that trouble."
"Wasn't no trouble," Mal snapped. "He was a rich idiot with twenty-thousand untraceable. I was young and desperate, and we needed the money."
"There's no need to be ashamed, Captain. You saved your crew," Book said. His moustache twitched. "And besides, after all the trouble your wife gave us, I think you owe us some tales."
"Yeah, tell another!" Jayne shouted, and Simon finally stood up and left. River eyed him as he passed but only gave him an enigmatic smile that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
He went about the arduous task of cleaning the infirmary because he wanted the sting of strong soap and the glint of sterilized scalpels. He slammed some cabinet doors and felt better.
He had boarded Serenity with the full intention of keeping his identity a secret from Malcolm Reynolds till he disembarked at Boros. He had worn his dark glasses and richest clothes to camouflage himself among the class of 'rich hundans' that Malcolm seemed to particularly hate because Simon knew that sometimes the best cover was to stay right in plain sight. He could have evaded Malcolm easily and boarded another ship at the port, but the captain of the Serenity was a thief and an honourable man, and he hadn't found too many of those after his fall from the Osiran elite.
He knew Malcolm wouldn't remember him, but he had felt a mixture of disappointment and relief nonetheless. But then Malcolm had turned into Mal, and it had become increasingly difficult for Simon to keep his head down. And then, just when he thought he was learning how to swallow down his past and start looking Mal in the eye, Saffron had floated into their lives with her deadly smiles and goodnight kisses, and now Simon didn't know where else he could run.
He finished disposing with the dirty bandages and cotton in the satisfying flash of the incinerator and was calming down enough to consider doing the inventory when the doors of the infirmary whooshed open behind him. He heard heavy boots step over the threshold and pause.
"Something the matter, Captain?" Simon asked. He was pleased to find his voice was calm. "Side effects from the drug?" He knew all about side effects. The first thing he'd done when he'd come around was throw up all the liquor and scant dinner from the night before. Then he'd looked around and realised he was in a hospital bed, that Malcolm had carried him to the nearest emergency clinic and dropped him on their doorstep.
"Nope, feeling fine," Mal said. Simon turned his head for a moment and saw Mal was still standing at the doors with his arms folded across his chest. Mal caught his eye, and Simon looked away and returned to his work.
"That rich idiot you stole from in the bar," Simon said. He kept his attention to the scalpels, checking them for flaws and then stowing them neatly away. "What was he like?"
Mal suddenly appeared in his peripheral, leaning against the counter. Simon could feel his eyes on him but refused to look up. "He was soft and stupid," Mal said. "Too trusting. Not a good combination for such a pretty face. When I met him, I thought that could land him into trouble easy."
"I see," Simon murmured. It had been a long time ago, but the words still stung. He wondered if Mal had ever really been attracted to him, or if it had just been about the money. He supposed Mal had just answered that question well enough. Crew came first. He was on Mal's crew now too, and he knew Mal would move heaven and earth to protect what was his. He still felt a wave of petulance rise within him and shut the drawer with more force than necessary.
He could hear Mal shift in the ensuing quiet. "But he was smart," Mal continued. "And the finest-looking man I have ever met. And he wasn't weak."
Simon's head jerked up and found Mal had been staring at him. His eyes were dark and intense, and Simon couldn't look away. "Malcolm," he whispered. "Mal."
"He wasn't weak," Mal repeated, holding his gaze. "Reckon that's why I liked him. Had to steal from him anyway, but I liked him. Didn't have to kiss him the second time." And now his face was close. Simon could see his eyelashes and the faint scar above his eyebrow. "Didn't even have to kiss him the first time. Could have hit him, done it proper."
Simon tried to speak, but it felt like the Goodnight Kiss all over again, and he couldn't make his lips shape the right words. "How long have you known?"
"Took me a while," Mal admitted. "You never said anything. You've changed, xiao ya."
"I told you not to call me that," Simon said, but he could feel a smile at his mouth.
"Oh, really?" Mal rumbled. He stepped closer till their noses were almost touching. "Then what am I gonna call you?"
"The people I like call me Simon," Simon said. He grabbed the front of Mal's shirt and hauled him in the rest of the way. Their mouths collided in a shock of pain and heat.
"Xiao ya," Mal growled against his mouth and kissed him back, hard and possessive. Simon had always liked that about Mal, the way he took what he wanted and said mine.
Simon curled his hands in the hair at the nape of Mal's neck as Mal wrapped his calloused hands around Simon's waist and pressed him back against the metal counter with his warm broad body. Mal smelled familiar, like gun oil and metal. Like a troublemaker. Simon had always had a weakness for his type, and he ducked his head to press his mouth under Mal's ear and breathe him in. Mal gasped and cursed softly, and Simon smiled against his skin.
"Your dose wasn't correct, you know," he said with his lips brushing the soft shell of Mal's ear. "You didn't have a medic back then. I could have done it right."
He felt Mal's laugh reverberate through his chest. "You woulda helped me rob you blind?"
"In a second," Simon breathed and hooked an ankle around Mal sturdy leg to shamelessly press against him. In retrospect, he supposed it had been a good thing that he had never waited around in the bar to meet with Zeke.
TRANSLATION NOTES:
*baijiu: Chinese rice liquor
*xiao ya: duckling
*hundan: bastard
* gou shi: crap
*wei: hey
*wo de ma: mother of god