Simon wakes up early in his narrow bed and stares up at the low, gray metal of the ceiling. The engine hums steadily beneath him, and when he swings his feet over and stands, the floor vibrates up his legs. Across the room, River whimpers in her sleep and rolls over, her hair falling off the side of the bed, hanging long and wavy.
He dresses quickly and quietly. River's foot pokes out from beneath the thin brown covering - pale and bare. Before he leaves, he pulls the blanket up, covering it. She'll sleep for several hours more.
Serenity has harbored him long enough that Simon doesn't have to look up from his bright black shoes as he strides across the aluminum grid of floor. He makes himself a cup of coffee by rote, hands moving without thought. It's bitter, with a chalky aftertaste, but Simon drinks it gratefully. He's used to it, though six months ago, he would have spat it out, disgusted.
He's become used to many things, lately.
He leaves before anyone else comes down, and heads to the infirmary. It's his place - the cool lines of the medical equipment make Simon think, "This is familiar, this makes sense." He runs his fingers over the examination table, and breathes deeply, closing his eyes. The room smells like alcohol, sharp, clean and exactly as it should. When Simon opens his eyes, all of the surfaces around him gleam whitely - immaculate. Not a thing is out of place, not an item is mislabeled.
Simon sighs, and picks up a rag. He wipes methodically at the countertop, chasing away phantom dirt. He has nothing else to do.
***
River's hunched over in the corner, her face pillowed against her knees as she murmurs urgently to her toes.
Simon sits on the stairs and tries to read the book Inara loaned him. When he changes the pages, the smell of patchouli wafts up. At his parent's house, all the books smelled like lavender and cigars - his mother's perfume and his father's vice. Simon misses that smell.
Upstairs the crew sits in the common area, and their voices tumble down the stairway. "Of course then she looks at me, and she says, 'I never wanted that old thing anyway,'" Mal says, in his big warm voice. Everyone laughs as Kaylee protests and Simon smiles weakly. He looks up over his shoulder, toward the light and their voices.
"You could go up," River says, surprising him by sounding steady - by sounding like the sister she was before she went away to the Academy.
"No," Simon replies, closing his book in his hands. "If I went up, who would be here with you?"
She stares at him, her eyes dark like slate and unreadable in her blank, round face. Simon smiles again, stands.
"I'm fine here," he tells her, and River shrugs, raising her hands up in front of her face. She stares at them for a moment, turning them over and over before moving them through the air like birds. They swoop and dive, and River giggles, enchanted.
"I'm fine here," Simon repeats, watching her. Upstairs, they keep laughing.
***
At dinner, he sits between Kaylee and River. River's sharp elbows knock against his, and Kaylee shoots him friendly smiles. Across from Simon, Jayne eats like a hungry animal, and it's a good thing that Simon's never really cared for old protein and canned peaches anyway, because watching Jayne certainly puts a damper on one's appetite.
" 'S matter, Doc?" Mall calls, eyeing his full plate pointedly. "Our fare not up to your high culinary standards?"
"I find I don't have much of an appetite," Simon responds, glancing over at Jayne as he says something to Book around the roll in his mouth.
"Jayne certainly ain't a delicate eater, that's for certain," Mal snickers, and Kaylee smothers a chuckle with her hand.
"What?" Jayne asks, turning toward them, mouth full. "What'd I do?"
"It's a wonder he's even housebroken," Wash says to Zoe in an undertone, and she laughs outright.
"You so sure he is, husband?" she teases back, and Simon finds himself grinning.
Jayne glares at all of them, and Inara gives him a wide, false smile. "Your table manners are unique," she tells him.
"Yeah, I'm a ruttin' gentleman," he grunts, turning back to his meal.
"Jayne's unique habits aside, Doctor, you best start chowing down," Mal advises, nodding toward Simon's plate. "I won't have any of my crew undernourished."
"No, no, really - " Simon begins, but Mal's brows draw close together and he crosses his powerful arms and Simon can feel the gathering lecture about not taking Mal's dictums as suggestions. Mal's eyes are gold in the light, and his jaw is tight, and Simon thinks that for a man who spends so much time looking as hard as he can, Mal's lips look awfully soft.
Simon spears a peach, letting his gaze skitter away from Mal. "Delicious," he says, putting it into his mouth. When he looks up, Mal's eyes are on his face and for a second, Simon thinks Mal is watching *his* lips. Heat washes over his skin, followed by cold prickles, and he shivers. When Simon looks back up, Mal is as amiable and unreadable as always.
"Ain't they just?" Mal says, eating a forkful of peaches himself.
***
He dreams about Mal's lips on his neck, kissing him, nipping at his skin. He dreams about Mal's hands - long, hot fingers that move over his body, taking hold of him. Touching him, claiming him. He dreams about Mal, naked, lying beside him and grinning that comfortable lazy grin of his, talking in his comfortable, lazy voice saying things that Simon never would have thought of. Making Simon feel things that Simon hasn't felt in a very long time, making Simon *feel*.
He's always dreamed vividly - and now's no different. Mal's hands are rough and hot, and just as confident as everything about the man. He dreams of Mal cupping his cock, and sucking on his lower lip, jacking him off slow and sweet with those big, tan hands of his. And Simon can feel it - can feel skin against his skin, can feel fingers holding him tightly, moving up and down nice and easy, squeezing him just tightly enough and as he's floating up, closer to waking, closer to coming, he thinks that this is too real. Far too real. And then he can't think anymore because he's coming.
Suddenly he's awake. And, he realizes in a quick start, sucking in a frightened breath as his eyes pop open, he's not alone. There *is* a pair of warm hands on him, a warm body next to him in the dark, pressed all along side him, and oh God, oh God there's a wave of long hair spread over his face.
A long, thin arm drapes over his chest, and Simon can't even move. He's horrified, sickened, and hopeful that, God, maybe he's still just dreaming, but it's like the metal beneath him has evaporated and he's being sucked out into the vast, black nothingness all around Serenity. River cranes her head up to look into his face and smiles.
"You liked that," she says, putting her head on his shoulder.
"Oh, oh, God, River," Simon whispers. "Oh, what did you *do*?"
It's like being paralyzed, it's like being dead or waking up from it, this horror that creeps up over Simon's skin, and he didn't know, he didn't --
"I grasped your erect penis in my hand and manually brought you to full orgasm - to whit, I masturbated you and you ejaculated," River tells him very matter of factly, yawning into his collarbone. "And now we go to sleep."
Simon tries to struggle up, tries to stand, but River tightens her arm around his chest. "Now we go to sleep," she repeats more forcefully, looking up into his face again. "Horses sleep with their eyes open as do lesser forms of reptiles, but not homo sapiens."
In the dark, Simon can't see her eyes, just the lines of her face. He can feel her body holding him down, and the sheets as they cool and stick to his body. She stares at him, tapping an impatient finger against his arm, and Simon closes his eyes. River curls beside him, gives a contented sigh, and Simon lies next to her, still and stiff as salt makes tracks down his cheek.
He waits until her breathing slows and becomes regular, and deep, to slide off the bed and be ill.